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When she was gone, good lack!
My hair like hogs-hair bristled;
I thought she'd ne’er come back,
So went to work and whistled.
Then let her go, I’ve got my stall,
Whicn may no robber rifle,
Twou’d break my heart to lose my awl,
To lose my wife’s a trifle.
My hair like hogs-hair bristled;
I thought she'd ne’er come back,
So went to work and whistled.
Then let her go, I’ve got my stall,
Whicn may no robber rifle,
Twou’d break my heart to lose my awl,
To lose my wife’s a trifle.
The Wounded Hussar.
Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube
Fair Adelaide hied, when the battle was o’er,
‘O whither,’ she cried, 'hast thou wander’d, my lover,
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?
What voice have I heard?—'Twas my Henry that sigh’d!”
All mournful she hastened, nor wandered she far,
When bleeding and low on the heath she descried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar.
Fair Adelaide hied, when the battle was o’er,
‘O whither,’ she cried, 'hast thou wander’d, my lover,
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?
What voice have I heard?—'Twas my Henry that sigh’d!”
All mournful she hastened, nor wandered she far,
When bleeding and low on the heath she descried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar.
From his bosom, that heaven, the last torrent was streaming,
And pale was his visage, deep mark’d with a scar,
And pale was his visage, deep mark’d with a scar,
