Green Hills of Tyrol.

Green hills of Tyrol ! again I see, The home of childhood so dear to me : Again I press the verdant shade, Where oft my footsteps have gently stray'd.

Once more I am near him, My own one ! my fond one !

Again I shall hear him, Love's accents repeat ;

While to his sighs my heart replies, And every glance is soft and sweet.

Green hills of Tyrol, &c. From yonder woodlands sounding clear, His merry bugle note I hear, With eye of hawk and falchion keen, H e comes, he comes,— my Tyrolien !

Once more I behold him, My dear one ! my fond one !

T o my bosom I'll fold him, My own Tyrolien !

Haste, haste, my love ! why linger now ? T h e sun is shedding its parting glow ; The chamois seeks his peaceful glade, And homeward wanders the mountain maid.

Oh ! come, then, and cheer me, My own one ! my fond one !

Again thou shalt hear me, Sing love's tender strain,

While every note my lips repeat, As soft and sweet thou'll breath't again

Haste, haste, my love, &c. Hark, hark ! I hear his well known cry, While answering echo makes reply ; Now, now he waves his scarf of green, He comes, he comes—my Tyrolien !

Once more I behold him, My dear one—my fond one !

T o my bosom I'll fold him, My own Tyrolien.

The

Lover's Lament for her Sailor.

As I was walking on the sea shore, Where the breeze it blew cool, and the billows

did roar ; W h e r e the wind, and the waves, and the waters

run round, I heard a shrill voice make a sorrowful sound.

CHORUS.

Crying, O my love's gone whom I do adore, He's gone, and I never shall see him more.

I tarried awhile still listening near, And heard her complain for the loss of her dear, Which grieved me sadly to hear her complain, Crying, he is gone, and I never shall him

again.

She appeared like some goddess, and dressed like a queen.

She's the fairest of creatures that ever was seen ; I told her I 'd marry her myself, if she pleas'd, But the answer she made me was, my love is on

the seas.

I never will marry, nor be any man's bride, I choose to live single all the days of my life ; For the loss of my sailor I deeply deplore, As he's lost on the seas I shall ne'er see him more.

I will go down to my dearest that lies in the deep, And with kind embraces I will him entreat ; I will kiss his cold lips with the coral so red, I will close up his eyes that have been so long dead

The shells of the oysters shall be my love's bed, And the shrimps of the sea shall swim over his

head ; Then she plunged her fair body right into the

deep, And closed her fair eyes in the water to sleep.

Walker, Printer, Durham. [29]