#Americans #Women
CHEERFUL voices by the sea-sid… Echoed through the summer air, Happy children, fresh and rosy, Sang and sported freely there, Often turning friendly glances,
Love comes to all soon or late, And maketh gay or sad; For every bird will find its mate, And every lass a lad,
In a quiet, pleasant meadow, Beneath a summer sky, Where green old trees their branch… And winds went singing by; Where a little brook went rippling
We are sending you, dear flowers Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…
‘Y’ are the maiden posies, And so graced, To be placed Fore damask roses. Yet, though thus respected,
‘Chevalita, Pretty cretr, I do love her Like a brother; Just to ride
The moonlight fades from flower an… And the stars dim one by one; The tale is told, the song is sung… And the Fairy feast is done. The night-wind rocks the sleeping…
From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring
‘A little bird I am, Shut from the fields of air, And in my cage I sit and sing To Him who placed me there: Well pleased a prisoner to be,
‘The puir auld folk at home, ye mi… Are frail and failing sair; And weel I ken they’d miss me, la… Gin I come hame nae mair. The grist is out, the times are ha…
Little shadows, little shadows Dancing on the chamber wall, While I sit beside the hearthston… Where the red flames rise and fall… Caps and nightgowns, caps and nigh…
We mourn the loss of our little pe… And sigh o’er her hapless fate, For never more by the fire she’ll… Nor play by the old green gate. The little grave where her infant…
‘We are sending you, dear flowers, Forth alone to die, Where your gentle sisters may not… O’er the cold graves where you lie… But you go to bring them fadeless…
Brighter shone the golden shadows; On the cool wind softly came The low, sweet tones of happy flow… Singing little Violet’s name. ‘Mong the green trees was it whisp…
Oft, in the silence of the night, When the lonely moon rides high, When wintry winds are whistling, And we hear the owl’s shrill cry, In the quiet, dusky chamber,