I'M LONELY SINCE MY MOTHER DIED.

Music published by OLIVER DITSON & Co., Boston.

I'm lonely since my mother died,

Tho' friends and kindred gather near,
I cannot check the rising sigh,

Or stay the silent heartfelt tear;
Of earthly friends she was the best,
My erring youthful steps to guide;
Oh, do not smile because I weep,
I'm lonely since my mother died.

I'm lonely since my mother died,

Tho' friends and kindred gather near,

I cannot check the rising sigh,
Or stay the heartfelt silent tear.

You may not deem it brave or strong,
To let these tears so often flow,
But those who've lost a mother's love'
Can tell the pain of my sad woe.
Could I but call her back again,

And kneel once more down by her side,

I'd love her better than before,

I'm lonely since my mother died.

I'm lonely since my mother died,

Tho' friends and kindred gather near,

I cannot check the rising sigh,
Or stay the heartfelt silent tear.

Oh, you who have a mother dear,
The Let not a word or act give pain
But cherish, love her with your life,

You ne'er can have her like again.
Then when she's called from you away,
Across death's dark and troubled tide,
In pain with me you need not say,
I'm lonely since my mother died,

I'm lonely since my mother died,
Tho' friends and kindred gather near,

I cannot check the rising sigh,

Or stay the heartfelt silent tear.

DISMAL SWAMP.

They made her a grave, too cold and damp

For a heart so warm and true;

And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where all night long, by her fire-fly lamp,.

She paddles her light canoe.
And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
And her paddle I soon shall hear;
Long and loving our life shall be,
And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,

When the footsteps of death draw near.

Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds,
His path is rugged and sore,

Through tangled juniper, beds of weeds,
Through many a fen where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before!

And when on the earth he lay down to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,

He lay where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear, and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew.

And near him the she-wolf stirred the brake,

in his ear,

And the copper, snake breathem awake,

Till he starting, cried, from his

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"Oh! when shall I see the dusky lake, And the light canoe of my dear!" He reached the lake, and a meteor spark

Quick over its surface played;

"Welcome," he cried, my dear one's light," And the dim shore echoed for many a night The name of that death-cold maid.

Till he made him a boat from birchen bark,
Which carried him off from the shore;
Long he followed that meteor spark,
The wind was high, and the night was dark,
And the boat returned no more.
And oft from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true,
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp,
To cross the lake by their fire-fly lamp,
And to paddle their light canoe.

DO THEY THINK OF ME AT HOME?

Sung by JAMES LAMONT, of CARNCROSS & DIXEY's Minstrels.

Do they think of me at home,
Do they ever think of me?
I, who shared their every grief,
I, who mingled in their glee.

Have their hearts grown old and strange

To the one now doomed to roam?

I would give the world to know-

Do they think of me at home?

Chorus A nerve, a nerve, oh, yes, a nerve,
Oh! aint we got a nerve,

Now what do you think the people say,
Josey Mariah, what will you have?
Oh! aint we got a nerve!

I'll go and be a volunteer,

And shoulder up my gun;

A volunteer you'll never be,

For you'll cut your sticks and run.
That I know I'll never do,

My country I will serve

What! go and be a volunteer!

Why certainly;

Oh aint he got the nerve!

Chorus-A nerve, a nerve, oh, yes, a nerve, &o.

I likes my pipe, I likes my glass,
I likes myself the best,
I likes to go out Sunday night,
When I'm dressed in my best.
In doing what we ought to do,
Kind folks, you will observe,
I likes the boys, I likes the gals,
Oh! aint he got the nerve!

Chorus-A nerve, a nerve, oh, yes, a nerve, &

I AM NOT A GAL OF THAT SORT.

AIR-Nothing like pride about me.

Young ladies, pray listen to me, tho' to gossip I'm no ways inclin'd,

And I'll make you as wise as myself, if you store up my hints in your mind.

My conduct, you'll own, is discreet, tho' to tell of some people I

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oughtBut I never tell tales out of school because I'm not a gal of that. sort!

CHORU! –So ladies, take pattern by me, let your conduct be'

just as it ought;

You may all have the follies of youth-but I'm not a gal of that sort!

There's many young gals that I know tho' the same thing of me can't be said——

Bring home to their mother's a child, before they've a husband to wed;

With me, now it's different quite, for I'm rather too wise to be caught;

I should like 'em to try it with me-but I'm not a gal of that sort! Chorus-So, ladies, take pattern by me, by the he creatures

never be caught;

I don't care for the men, not a bit-for I'm not a gal of that sort!

There's many folks cut a fine dash, and their clothes on the tally they get;

But I always pay ready for mine, you can tell by the style and

the fit.

There's Miss Futtox, a neighbor of mine, has a tallyman call once a week,

And the furniture could tell a tale if it had but the power to speak. fo om et 89 'If T

Chorus-So, ladies, take pattern by me, by a bonnet or shawl don't be caught,

For I never take tallymen in for I'm not a gal of that sort!

Tavisu sdf dog od sals 149

It's really surprising to me, and my morals it oftentimes shocks, To see a woman walking the streets, with mud on their draggletailed frocks!

Now I always take care of my tail, as the puddles I'm stepping

between,

What's the use of having good legs, if you're frightened to let 'em be seen?

Chorus-So, ladies, take pattern by me, to keep up clean - * #02 linen you ought of til graf 9.bs! gatito? You'll find nothing dirty on me-no, I'm not a gal si eti yuq of that sort! Mogu sa oniw na be, gåre VivaA

My dear Miss, I don't know your name, tho!l'offended I hope you'll not be, But that young man that's sitting with you,lis laughing land! winking at me;

Ia company that's not genteel,
taught,
Tho' I blush, I don't know what

that sort.

better manners he ought to be *dquo ti es te

you mean for I'm not a gal of !3mos seat to leg e