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What people are saying - Write a reviewUser Review - Flag as inappropriate This book is largely a plagiarized abridgment of the far more complete collection by John Fairburn, originally published in 1825 in London in 3 volumes, with about 1500 poems or songs in each. Still, this Boston version contains the lyrics to about 340 poems, including a full section of United States patriotic poems not found in its precursor. Except for the added US section which opens the book, this volume doesn't include authors' names nor tunes to which the songs should be sung; even in the US section, these aren't always to be found. Also missing is the notable artwork of the London version. My particular interest is Masonic and club songs, of which I found none in this volume, though it was a full category in Fairburn's books. Contents
Common terms and phrasesadieu Bay of Biscay blow blue boatswain bonnie lassie bosom bottle boys brave braw John bright charms cheek cheer crew cried d'ye dear Derry Dicky drink drum e'er ev'ry fair fame fat friar fear fight flowers Fol de riddle frae gallant girl glass glory grave hand head heart Heaven Heigho Highland Highland laddie horn Jack John Anderson jolly Kentucky kiss kiss'd laddie lady land lass Lochinvar maid merrily merry morning ne'er never night o'er Paddy pibroch pleasure poor riddle lol roar Rob Roy Macgregor rose round sail sailor Sally Brown Scotland shore sigh sing sleep smile sodger soldier Soldier fly song soon sorrow soul sound sure sweet tear tell thee thine thro toast trepan Troubadour true Tune Twas wave weep whistle wind Yankee young young Jessie Popular passagesPage 73 - River where ford there was none: But ere he alighted at Netherby gate The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. Page 29 - Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Page 171 - By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw; And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Page 21 - When Freedom, from her mountain height, Unfurled her standard to the air, She tore the azure robe of night, And set the stars of glory there; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky baldric of the skies, And striped its pure, celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Then, from his mansion in the sun, She called her eagle bearer down, And gave into his mighty hand, The symbol of her chosen land. Page 175 - Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow. Page 30 - Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave. Page 268 - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home... Page 26 - And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear;— They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. Page 75 - O' my sweet Highland Mary. How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk , How rich the hawthorn's blossom , As underneath their fragrant shade I clasp'd her to my bosom ! The golden hours, on angel wings, Flew o'er me and my dearie; For dear to me , as light and life , Was my sweet Highland Mary. Wi' monie a vow , and lock'd embrace , Our parting was fu' tender; And , pledging aft to meet again , We tore oursels asunder; But oh! |