Šrift:Väiksem АаSuurem Aa
My Home in Kentuck
I long, how I long for my home in Kentuck,
With its fields where I labor’d, so green,
Where the possum and the coon, and the juicy wild duck,
And the ’bacco so prime, I have seen:
There I’ve fish’d from the banks of the Masella creek,
And oft, in the shades of the night,
Have I watch’d with my gun, nigh the old Salt Lick,
For the game as it come to my sight.
Chorus.– There is my old cabin home,
There are my sisters and brother,
There is my wife, joy of my life,
My child, and the grave of my mother.
That hut, my dear home, my log-cabin home,
With the bench that I stood at the door,
Where weary at night, from my work I would come
And there rest, ere I stepp’d on its floor.
The calabash vine, that then clung to its walls,
Oh! ’tis dear in my memory still to me,
And my master, who lives in his own handsome halls,
Not so happy as then I could be.
Chorus.– There is my old cabin home, &c
But that cabin is far, far away from me now,
I am far from the scenes that I love,
Far away from that wife who once heard me vow
That forever I faithful would prove —
My friends are still there, and still there is my child,
And still there, all in life, I must crave —
Still there is that mound, with its flowers so wild,
That covers my old mother’s grave,
Chorus.– There is my old cabin home, &c
Do they miss me at Home
Do they miss me at home, do they miss me!
’Twould be an assurance most dear,
To know that this moment some loved one,
Were saying I wish he was here,
To feel that the group at the fireside
Were thinking of me as I roam,
Oh, yes, ’twould be joy beyond measure
To know that they miss’d me at home,
To know that they miss’d me at home.
When twilight approaches, the season
That ever is sacred to song,
Does some one repeat my name over,
And sigh that I tarry so long?
And is there a chord in the music
That’s miss’d when my voice is away,
And a chord in each heart that awaketh
Regret at my wearisome stay,
Regret at my wearisome stay.
Do they sit me a chair near the table,
When evening’s home pleasures are nigh,
When the candles are lit in the parlor,
And the stars in the calm azure sky?
And when the “good-nights” are repeated,
And all lay them down to their sleep,
Do they think of the absent, and waft me
A whisper’d “good-night” while they weep,
A whisper’d “good-night” while they weep?
Do they miss me at home – do they miss me
At morning, at noon, or at night?
And lingers one gloomy shade round them
That only my presence can light?
Are joys less invitingly welcome,
And pleasures less hale than before,
Because one is miss’d from the circle,
Because I am with them no more,
Because I am with them no more!
Unfurl the Glorious Banner
Unfurl the glorious banner, let it sway upon the breeze,
The emblem of our country’s pride, on land, and on the seas
The emblem of our liberty, borne proudly in the wars,
The hope of every freeman, the gleaming stripes and stars.
CHORUS
Then unfurl the glorious banner out upon the welcoming air,
Read the record of the olden time upon its radiance there;
In the battle it shall lead us, and our banner ever be,
A beacon-light to glory, and a guide to victory.
The glorious band of patriots who gave the flag its birth,
Have writ with steel in history, the record of its worth;
From east to west, from sea to sea, from pole to tropic sun,
Will eyes grow bright, and hearts throb high at the name of Washington.
Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c
Ah! proudly should we bear it, and guard this flag of ours,
Borne bravely in its infancy amidst the darker hours;
Only the brave may bear it, a guardian it shall be
For those who well have won the right to boast of liberty.
Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c
The meteor flag of seventy-six, long may it wave in pride,
To tell the world how nobly the patriot fathers died:
When from the shadows of their night outburst the brilliant sun,
It bathed in light the stripes and stars, and lo! the field was won.
Chorus.– Then unfurl the glorious banner, &c
My own Native Land
I’ve roved over mountain, I’ve cross’d over flood;
I’ve traversed the wave-rolling sand;
Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,
Yet it was not my own native land.
No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, no, no, no, no,
Though the fields were as green, and the moon shone as bright,
Yet it was not my own native land.
The right hand of friendship how oft I have grasp’d
And bright eyes have smiled and looked bland,
Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’d
In the West – in my own native land.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,
Yet happier far were the hours that I pass’d
In the West – in my own native land.
Then hail, dear Columbia, the land that we love,
Where flourishes Liberty’s tree;
The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,
’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,
The birth-place of Freedom, our own native home,
’Tis the land, ’tis the land of the free!
Root Hog or Die
I’ll tell you of a story that happened long ago,
When the English came to America, I s’pose you all do know,
They couldn’t whip the Yankees, I’ll tell you the reason why,
Uncle Sam made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
John Bull sent to Boston, as you shall plainly see,
Forty large ships loaded clear up with tea;
The Yankees wouldn’t pay the tax, I’ll tell the reason why,
The Yankee boys made em sing, Root Hog or Die,
They first met our armies on the top of Bunker Hill,
When it came to fighting, I guess they got their fill;
The Yankee boys chased them off, I’ll tell you the reason why,
The Yankee boys made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Then they met our Washington at Yorktown,
There the Yankees mow’d ’em down, like grass from the ground;
Old Cornwallis gave up his sword, I’ll tell you the reason why,
General Washington made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Then they came to Baltimore forty years ago,
They tried to take North Point, but found it wouldn’t go;
The Baltimoreans chased them off, I’ll tell the reason why
The Yankee boys made ’em sing Root Hog or Die.
Then they march’d their arms down to New Orleans,
That was the place, I think, that Jackson gave ’em beans;
They couldn’t take our cotton bales, I’ll tell the reason why,
General Jackson made ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Now Johnny Bull has been kicking up a fuss,
He’d better keep quiet or he’ll surely make it worse,
We’re bound to have Cuba, I’ll tell you the reason why,
For Uncle Sam will make ’em sing, Root Hog or Die.
Root Hog or Die,
No. 2
The greatest old nigger that ever I did see,
Look’d like a sick monkey up a sour apple-tree;
It don’t make a bit of difference to either you or I
Big pig, little pig, root hog or die.
CHORUS
Chief cook and bottle washer, captain of the waiters,
Stand upon your head while you peel a bag of taters.
Jog along.
I come from old Virginny with a pocket-full of news
I am worth four shillings, standing in my shoes;
Doesn’t make a bit of difference to either you or I,
Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c
The Broadway niggers look so mighty grand,
Shanghai coats and gloves upon the hand,
A big standing collar, standing away up to the sky,
Little pig, big pig, root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c
Oh, these Broadway gals look so mighty gay,
With their hoop’d skirts promenading Broadway,
Their bonnets on their shoulders, and their noses to the sky,
They go it in the sun or shade – root hog or die.
Chief cook, &c
Root Hog or Die,
No. 3
I am a jolly nigger as ever you did see,
I come from Alabama just for to have a spree;
I tought I come to York, dey do things up so high,
Bound to have a spree, boys – root hog or die.
CHORUS
New York gals – dey are so mighty tender,
Have to put on hoops when dey go out on a bender.
Jog along.
I jump’d upon de boat as she started from de lebby,
Dey put me in de hole in something of a hurry,
De coal dey made me shovel, oh, how dey made me fly;
Dat’s de way I come, boys – root hog or die.
New York gals, &c
You tallk about your niggers dat grow up in de North,
Can’t compete wid dis one dat sprouted in de South,
Dey call me Blind Dick, kase I’ve only got one eye,
Dat’s not my name, boys – root hog or die.
New York gals, &c
When I take a walk I look so mighty gay,
All de gals I draw from over cross de way,
Wid my long-tail coat, mustache to de eye,
Dat’s what dey like, boys – root hog or die.
New York gals, &c
I’ll go back to Alabama wid a head full of nollige,
And tell de folks dare I jis cum from college;
Dey’ll take me for a lord, or somethin’ else, I’m thinkin
I’se a mighty smart nigger, but I do my own drinkin’.
New York gals, &c
Root Hog or Die,
No. 4
I am de greatest little darkey on de top ob de earth,
New York is my home and de place ob my birth
I do ply upon de banjo, and dar I don’t deny,
I’m bound to be a sport, boys – root hog or die.
CHORUS
Now I’ll tell all you, boys, what you’d better stop a doing,
Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing;
Now I’ll tell all you boys, what you’d better stop a doing,
Dat is a drinking lager beer, and give up tobacco chewing.
Jog along.
De shanghai coats and de stub-toed boots,
Tight-legg’d pants, and all such fancy suits,
Big Byron collars and mustaches to de eye,
Dat’s de way to sport, boys – root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c
Now I’ll tell you, one and all, dat I feel mighty proud,
When I have my banjo wid me, and gets into a crowd,
Dey do make a circle round me, and out dey do cry,
For to sing dis good old song, boys – root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c
You may talk about your fiddles and de old tambo,
But they cannot be compared with de old banjo,
On it I’ll end my song, and I’m not ashamed to deny
The title that I give it, boys, was – root hog or die.
Now I’ll tell you all, &c
Twenty Years Ago
I have wander’d by the village, Tom – I’ve sat beneath the tree,
Upon the school-house playing-ground which shelter’d you and me;
But none are left to greet me, Tom, and few are left to know
That play’d with us upon the green just Twenty Years Ago.
The grass is just as green, dear Tom, bare-footed boys at play
Are sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay;
But master sleeps upon the hill, all coated o’er with snow,
That afforded us a sliding-place just Twenty Years Ago.
The old school-house is alter’d some, the benches are replaced
By new ones, very like the same our penknives had defaced;
But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro,
The music just the same, dear Tom, ’twas Twenty Years Ago.
The boys are playing some old game, beneath that same old tree,
I do forget the name just now – you have play’d the same with me;
On that same spot ’twas play’d with knives, by throwing so and so,
The leaders had a task to do there Twenty Years Ago.
The river is running just as still – the willows on its side
Are larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide;
The grape-vine swing is ruin’d now, where once we play’d the beau,
And swung our sweethearts, pretty girls, just Twenty Years Ago.
The spring that bubbled ’neath the hill, close by the spreading beach,
Is very high-’twas once so low that we could almost reach,
But in kneeling down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so,
To see how sadly I am changed since Twenty Years Ago.
Down by the spring upon an elm you know I cut your name —
Your sweetheart is just beneath it Tom – and you did mine the same,
Some heartless wretch has peel’d the bark-’twas dying sure but slow,
Just as the one whose name you cut did Twenty Years Ago.
My lids have long been dry, dear Tom, but tears come in my eyes,
I thought of her I loved so well – those early broken ties;
I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew
Upon the graves of those we loved some Twenty Years Ago.
Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea,
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me:
But when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are call’d to go,
I hope they’ll lay us were we play’d just Twenty Years Ago.