| First Line |
Page |
Verses |
| I sing Columbia's nation's boast |
73-74 |
3 |
| This life is like a country-dance |
74-76 |
4 |
| Life's as like as can be to an Irish wake |
76-78 |
4 |
| 'Twas post meridian, half past four |
78-80 |
6 |
| One sweet May-morn, in woody dale |
80-82 |
5 |
| Tho' far beyond the mountains, that look so distant here |
82-83 |
5 |
| They lighted a taper at the dead of night |
83-85 |
5 |
| Yes, yes, be merciless, thou tempest dire |
85-86 |
2 |
| Spirit of victory! no more assume |
86-87 |
4 |
| At the wake, at the fair, at the harvest-home meeting |
87-88 |
3 |
| To post-down fair I [??] O law |
88-89 |
2 |
| Stript of fortune's gay profusions |
89-90 |
2 |
| Her image ever rose to view |
90 |
2 |
| Blue Peter at the mast-head flew |
90-91 |
3 |
| I was, d' ye see, a waterman |
91-93 |
4 |
| Faint and wearily, the way-worn traveller |
94 |
2 |
| Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling |
94-95 |
3 |
| For Columbia, when with fav'ring gales [sic] |
95-96 |
3 |
| With my jug in one hand, and my pipe in the other |
96-97 |
2 |
| In the down-hill of life, when I find I'm declining |
97-99 |
4 |
| Dear Nancy I've sailed the world around |
99-100 |
3 |
| My heart's soft emotions admit no disguise |
100-101 |
3 |
| Of the ancients in speaking, my soul you'll be after [sic] |
101-103 |
5 |
| Sea was calm, the sky serene, The |
103-104 |
3 |
| Come all hands ahoy to the anchor |
104-106 |
6 |
| Let care be a stranger to each jovial soul |
106-107 |
5 |
| Hush ev'ry breeze, let nothing move |
106 |
3 |