MOTHER, I'VE COME HOME TO EAT.
Sung by R. FRAZER, of CARNCROSS and DIXEY's Minstrels. Written by W. B. CAVINAUGH.
TUNE-Dear Mother, I've come home to die.
Dear Mother, I remember well
The food we got from Uncle Sam,
Salt junk and rusty pork, sometimes a scanty piece of ham
When I furlough did receive,
I bade good-bye to Brother Pete;
Oh, Mother, for a plate of hash,
Dear Mother, I've come home to EAT.
Chorus-Oh for an hour at some eating-house!
I oft have dreamed when fast asleep;
Stay, Waiter, cod-fish balls for me,
Dear Mother, I've come home to EAT.
When lying stretched out in my tent,
Wounded by a cod-fish ball,
I often heard the bugle sound,
And thought it was the dinner call.
When visions of the past came back,
Of Boston chowder and pig's feet,
Oh, Mother dear, don't weep for me,
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat.
But I'm content-no more I'll fight,
Except it is a beefsteak, rare,
The army is no place for me, and shoddy is not fit to wear.
Oh for some quail from Jersey's woods,
With asparagus sauce and pig's feet neat,
Dear Mother, that my bill of fare.
Dear Mother, I've come home to eat.
THE WIFE'S DREAM.
COMPANION TO THE "HUSBAND'S DREAM."
Sung by J. L. CARNCROSS.
Pray tell me, Mary, how it is that you can look so gay,
Whe evening after evening your husband is away?
I never see you sulk about, nor say an angry word,
But still you've plenty cause for tears, if all be true I've heard.
It is because. my sister dear, a husband you've ne'er wed;
To see your children gath'ring round asking you for bread,
You ne'er can tell how it becomes a woman's lot through life,
To be even to a drunkard's life, a faithful loving wife.
But still I can recall the time when bitter tears I shed,
And when my husband staggered home, what angry words I said;
I never thought I could be as cheerful as now I seem,
Yet this happy change was brought about by a simple little dream.
One eve as I sat waiting at our humble cottage-door.
And listening for my husband's steps, as oft I'd done before,
Some wicked thoughts came in my mind, and bitterly I said,
I never wish to see him more I would that he were dead.
They say the wretched cannot rest, but sure it is not so,
For very soon I fell asleep, midst cares of grief and woe;
I dreamed I had my wish fulfilled-my husband was no more,
I fell upon his lifeless corpse, and kissed him o'er and o'er.
Dearest darling, speak to me, I meant not what I said,
Oh, speak one word unto your wife, say, say you are not dead!
Oh, sure I am not, Mary, dear-I woke up with a scream,
And found my husband standing by-his death was but a dream
Ever since that time, whene'er I feel disposed to be unkind,
The warning of that fearful dream comes fresh into my mind;
Although it costs me many a pang to know the life he leads,
I strive to greet him with a smile when oft my poor heart bleeds.
I'll humbly put my trust in God, and ask for strength to bear
The trials he has sent on earth for all of us to share ;
And if, by patience, I should change my husband's wandering life,
He'll bless the hour that dream was sent to his neglected wife.
SAMMY SLAP, THE BILL-STICKER.
Sung by LEW SIMMONS, of CARNCROSS and DIXEY's Minstrela. I'm Sammy Slap, the bill-sticker, and you must all agree, sire, I sticks to business like a trump, and business sticks to me, sirs; The low folks call me plasterer. but they deserve a banging, Because, genteelly speaking, why, my trade is paper-hanging. Chorus. With my paste, paste, paste,
Oh, all the world is puffing,
So, I paste, paste, paste.
All 'round about the city, now, when anything's the go, sirs,
You'll always find me at my post, a sticking up the posters;
I've hung Ned Forrest twelve feet high, and did it, sirs, quite easy,
And I've been engaged, too, lately both by Mario and Grisi.
I'm not like some in our trade, they deserve their jackets laced, sira,
They stick up half their bosses' bills, and sells the rest for waste,
Now, honesty's best policy, with a good name to retire with,
So what I doesn't use myself my old girl lights the fire with.
With my paste, &c.
Sometimes I'm jobbing for the church, with charitable sermons,
And sometimes for the theatres, the English and the Germans ;
To me, of course, no odds it is, so long as I'm a winner,
Whether I sticks up for a saint, or hangs up for a sinner.
With my paste, &c.
There's Jenny Lind, I'm proud to say, sweet music's great adorner,
I've had the honor of posting her in every hole and corner;
Alboni, too, so nice and plump, I've stuck her up, that's certain,
And I've plastered Mrs. Mowatt right on top of Billy Burton.
With my paste, &c.
Well, now, before I say good-bye, permit me to remind ye,
That 'round about the city here, you're always sure to find me;
And if ever you shall have a job, to show how I deserve ye,
About the town, through thick and thin, I'll brush along to serve
ye.
NEAR THE BANKS OF THAT LONE RIVER. Sung by J. L. Carncross, of Carncross and DIXEY's Minstrels. Near the banks of that lone river Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded years ago;
How we met, and loved, and parted
None on earth can ever know,
Nor how pure and gentle-hearted
Beamed the mourn'd one years ago.
Chorus. Near the banks of that lone river,
Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded long ago.
Like the stream, with lilies laden,
Will life's future current flow,
Till in heaven I meet thee, maiden,
Fondly cherished years ago:
Hearts that love like mine forget not,
They're the same in weal or woe.
And that star of memory set not,
In the grave of years ago,
Chorus. Near the banks of that lone river,
Where the water-lilies grow,
Breathed the fairest flower that ever
Bloomed and faded long ago.
KATHLEEN MAVOURNEEN.
Kathleen Mavourneen, the gray dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill,
The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking,
Kathleen Mavourneen! what, slumbering still!
Oh! hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever?
Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part?
It may be for years, it may be for ever,
Oh! why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? It may be for years, it may be for ever,
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen?
Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers,
The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light:
Ah! where is the spell that once hung on my numbers?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of the night.
Mavourneen, Mavourneen! my sad tears are falling,
To think that from Erin and thee I must part;
It may be for years, it may be for ever,
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my
It may be for years, and it may be for ever,
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen?
LARBOARD WATCH.
Sung by CARNCROSS and DIXEY'S Minstrels. Both voices.-At dreary midnight's cheerless hour, Deserted e'en by Cynthia's beams, When tempests beat and torrents pour, And twinkling stars no longer gleam,
Both voices. But who can speak the joy he feels, While o'er the foam his vessel reels, And his tired eyelids slumbering fall, But he arouses at the welcome call, Of larboard watch ahoy, Larboard watch ahoy,
Both voices. With anxious care he eyes each wave,
That threatens him to o'erwhelm,
And his storm-beaten bark to save,
Directs with skill the faithful helm.
With joy he drinks the cheering grog,
2d voice. 'Mid storms that bellow loud and hoarse
With care he heaves the reeling log,
2d voice. And marks the leeway and the course.
1st voice.-Larboard watch ahoy,
Both voices.-Larboard watch ahoy,
1st voice.-Larboard watch ahoy.
Both voices.-But who can speak the joy he feels,
While o'er the foam his vessel reels,
And his tired eyelids slumbering fall
But he arouses at the welcome call,
Of larboard watch ahoy,
Larboard watch ahoy,
Larboard watch ahoy,
Larboard watch ahoy.
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