I once had gold and silver—
I thought them without end:
I once had gold and silver,
And I thought I had a friend!
My wealth is lost—my friend is false—
My love he stole from me;
While here I lie, alone to die,
Beneath the Willow Tree.
Hail to the Beam of Morning.
LONG time a blooming lass I courted,
A lovely girl: with manners simple;
Upon her cheek the graces sported,
And Cupid lurk'd in ev'ry dimple.
Each morning, at the crimson flushes,
Which spread above the misty mountain,
She rose with modest healthy blushes,
To fill the pitcher at the fountain.
And as the skylark spreads his wing,
Thus would my lovely Ellen sing,
Hail, hail, hail to the beam of morning.
Pride for a while my passion quelling,
Forbade my soul it's vows to render;
But soon her eye my pride expelling,
Gave birth to every impulse tender.
Now with my girl and friends surrounding,
My lisping offspring round me clinging,
Whilst hope in promis'd joys abounding,
Inspires the artless strain we're singing;
And when the skylark spreads his wing,
We make each neighbouring valley ring,
Hail, hail to the beam of morning!