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THE
NEW-ENGLAND
POCKET
SONGSTER;
A CHOICE COLLECTION OF
POPULAR SONGS,
NEW AND OLD.
Claremont, N. 2.
1846.
HARVARD UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
1436.
CONTENTS.
191
A boat danc'd on Clyde's bonny stream
A Chieftain, to the Highlands bound
Adieu, adieu, my only life
Ah! what is the bosom's commotion
A little cock sparrow sat up in a tree
A mason's daughter, fair and young
An Indian girl was sitting where
A rose-tree in full bearing
As the sun climbs o'er the hills
As slow our ship her foamy track
As I walked out one evening fair
A soldier's the lad I adore
As walking forth to view the plain
A tailor I once was, as blithe, &c.
Blow high, blow low, let trumpets, &c.
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn
But are you sure the news is true?
Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer
Columbian tars are hearts of oak
Come, come, bonnie lassie, &c.
Come, strike the bold anthem, &c.
Come, tell me, blue-eyed stranger
Come hither, thou beautiful rover
Come, each gallant lad
29
39
42
53
93
154
Come, rest in this bosom, &c.
Could this ill warld hae been contriv'd
Days of absence, sad and dreary
Dear John, prithee tell me,' cried Ruth.
Deserted by the waning moon
Diogenes, surly and proud
Down in yon village I live so snug
Encompass'd in an angel's frame
Fall'n is thy throne, O Israel!
Fly to the desert, fly with me
For England, when, with fav'ring gale
Friendship to every willing mind
Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown
Gloomy, winter's now awa'
Go where glory waits thee
Good night, good night, my dearest
. 116 115
51
41
91
77
124
Have you not seen the Scotchman's wallet 24
Hail Columbia! happy land!
43
97
82
Hail to the chief, who in triumph advances 50
Hail! ye sighing sons of sorrow
Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing.
Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling
Here's the bower she lov'd so much
Here's a health to them that's awa'
He comes from the wars, &c.
How stands the glass around?
How blest the life a sailor leads
How happy lives the rural clown
I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower
If a body meet a body
38
78
99
. 160
55
84
If a body meet a body comin' thro' the rye 116
I'll pull a bunch of buds and flow'rs
145
In a chariot of light from the regions, &c. 89
I remember, 1 remember
I sing the Maid of Lodi
It oft-times has been told
122
12
36
59
John Anderson, my Jo, John'
Joy to the victors! the sons of old Aspen! 19
Judy leads me such a life! .
Lady, throw back thy raven hair
Lassie wi' the lint-white locks
Let the farmer praise his grounds
Let him who sighs in sadness, &c.
Life let us cherish
Light as thistle down moving, &c.
Little wat ye wha's coming
Loud roared the dreadful thunder
143
. 134
. 155
€ 108
67
46
24
73
85
Merrily every bosom boundeth
Mister Po was a man of great learning, My heart is sair, I dare na tell My seventeenth year scarce over My heart with love is beating
No breeze was on the mirror wave
Not a drum was heard, nor, &c.
Now the rage of battle ended
Now we're all met here together
Now is it not a pity such a pretty girl as I 101
Oh! cruel were my parents
Oh! cease to upbraid, while I seek, &c.
Oh, say not woman's love is bought
Oh, years have flown since first we met
O how can I be blithe and glad
O Lady twine no wreath for me
O lassie art thou sleeping yet
146