Lilies of the Valley.
O'er barren hills and flowery dales,
O'er seas and distant shores,
With merry songs and jocund tales,
I've pass'd some pleasant hours:
Though wand'ring thus, I ne’er could find
A girl like blithesome Sally;
Who picks, and culls, and cries aloud,
"Sweet Lilies of the Valley."
From whistling o'er the harrow'd turf,
From nestling of each tree,
I chose a soldier's life to wed,
So social, gay, and free:
Yet tho' the lasses love me well,
And often try to rally,
None pleases me like her who cries,
"Sweet Lilies of the Valley."
I'm now return’d, of late discharg'd,
To see my native soil;
From fighting in my country's cause,
To plough my country's soil;
I care not which, with either pleas'd,
So I possess my Sally,
That little merry nymph, who cries,
"Sweet Lilies of the Valley."