Thomas Haynes Bayly. 1797-1839.
I 'd be a butterfly born in a bower,
Where roses and lilies and violets meet.
I 'd be a Butterfly.
Oh no! we never mention her,—
Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word.
Oh no! we never mention her.
We met,—'t was in a crowd.
We met.
Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.
Welcome me Home.
Why don't the men propose, Mamma?
Why don't the men propose?
Why don't the Men propose?
She wore a wreath of roses
The night that first we met.
She wore a Wreath.
Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.
Teach me to forget.
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.
Long, long ago.
The rose that all are praising
Is not the rose for me.
The Rose that all are praising.
Oh pilot, 't is a fearful night!
There 's danger on the deep.
The Pilot.
Fear not, but trust in Providence,
Wherever thou may'st be.
The Pilot.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder:[581:1]
Isle of Beauty, fare thee well!
Isle of Beauty.
[582]
The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly-branch shone on the old oak wall.
The Mistletoe Bough.
Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands,
And many friends I 've met;
Not one fair scene or kindly smile
Can this fond heart forget.
Oh, steer my Bark to Erin's Isle.
Footnotes
[581:1] I find that absence still increases love.—Charles Hopkins: To C. C.
Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it.—Howell: Familiar Letters, book i. sect. i. No. 6.