Then here's to old Cotton, the king! His true loyal subjects are we: We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing, A jolly old fellow is he, Boys, is he, A jolly old fellow is he! Words Adapted to a Spanish Melody. My lady hath as soft a hand As any queen in fairy-land; And, hidden in her tiny boot, As dainty and as light a foot. Her foot! Her little hand and foot! No star that kindles in the sky Burns brighter than my lady's eye; And ne'er before did beauty grace So fair a form, so sweet a face! Her face! Her gentle form and face! My lady hath a golden heart, Free from the dross of worldly art; Which, in the sight of heaven above, Is mine with all its hoarded love! Her love! Her boundless wealth of love! Love in Exile. Adapted to a Hungarian melody. My heart I gave you with my hand, In brighter days than these, In that down-trodden father-land Beyond the distant seas, Where you were all the world to me, Devoted, fond, and true, And I, in our prosperity, Was all the world to you! Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway, We're banished from that land away! Sad wanderers from our native home! A ruler in a foe! An exiled caravan we roam; But hand in hand WE go! And thus whatever fate betide We bless our lot in life, Since no misfortunes may divide The husband and the wife! Here we defy the tyrant's will, We're happy in each other still! To The Evening Star. The woods waved welcome in the breeze, When, many years ago, Lured by the songs of birds and bees, I sought the dell below; And there, in that secluded spot, Where silver streamlets roved, Twined the green ivy round the cot Of her I fondly loved. In dreams still near that porch I stand To listen to her vow! Still feel the pressure of her hand Upon my burning brow! And here, as in the days gone by, With joy I meet her yet, And mark the love-light of her eyes, Fringed with its lash of jet. O fleeting vision of the past! From memory glide away! Ye were too beautiful to last, Too good to longer stay! But why, attesting evening star, This sermon sad recall: "THAN LOVE AND LOSE 'TIS BETTER FAR TO NEVER LOVE AT ALL!" Welcome Home. My Mary's voice!--It is the hour She promised to be here: Taught by love's mysterious power, I know that she is near. I hear the melody she sings Beneath our happy dome, And now the woodland cheerly rings With Mary's welcome home. My Mary's voice!--I hear it thrill In rapture on the gale, As she comes gliding down the hill To meet me in the vale. In all the world, on land or sea, Where'er I chance to roam, No music is so sweet to me As Mary's welcome home. The Sycamore Shade. I knew a sweet girl, with a bonny blue eye, Who was born in the shade The wild sycamore made, Where the brook sang its song All the summer-day long, And the moments went merrily by, Like the birdlings the moments flew by.