OLD SONGS.
Old Songs, Old Songs,—how well I sung
Your varied airs with lisping tongue;
When breath and spirit, free and light,
Caroll'd away from morn till night!
When this beginning and that end,
Were mystically made to blend,
And the sweet "Lass of Richmond Hill"
Gave place to her of "Patie's Mill!"
Your varied airs with lisping tongue;
When breath and spirit, free and light,
Caroll'd away from morn till night!
When this beginning and that end,
Were mystically made to blend,
And the sweet "Lass of Richmond Hill"
Gave place to her of "Patie's Mill!"
Old Songs, Old Songs,—how thick ye come,
Telling of Childhood and of Home,
When Home forged links in Memory's chain.
Too strong for Time to break in twain;
When Home was all that Home should be,
And held the vast, rich world for me!
Telling of Childhood and of Home,
When Home forged links in Memory's chain.
Too strong for Time to break in twain;
When Home was all that Home should be,
And held the vast, rich world for me!
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