Volltext Seite (XML)
Lieder mit Begleitung’ des Pianoforte, gesungen von Miss Stabbach. 1) May Dow, componirt von W. Stern d a 1 e-Bennett. With the dew from harebells shaken, Virgin cheeks out vie the rose. When she halbes her golden tresses, Heav’nly bright the maiden glows. E’en the eye that’s red with weeping, Loves the cooling drops of dew, ’Till with their sweet rain hesprinkled, Starlike beams that orb anew. O’er the woodlands, o’er tlie meadow, When the dawning shies are grav, Soft from heav’n descends a shower Lightly falling dews of May. All the holv charms that hover Round the joy dilTusing spring, Fragrant buds and leaves enaniell’d May dews ever with them bring. Gently thcn descend upon me Sweetest eure for ev’ry ill, 0 refresh my wearied eyelids, And my thirsty heart springs fill. Pour upon me Youth’s cnchantmenl, Gilded with a heavnly ray, Lei me gaze upon the sunlight Lorely daughter of the May. 2) Schottische Ballade. Tak’ hack the ring, dear Jamie, The ring ye gae to me, An’ a’ the wows ye made vestreen Beneath the birken tree. But gie me back my heart again, Its a’ I hae to gie; Sin’ ye’d no wait a fittin’ time, Ye canna marry me. I promised to my daddie, Afore he slipp’d awa’, I ne’er wad leave my dear old minnie, Whate’er su’d her befa’; 1*11 faith fu' keep my promise, For a’ that ye can gie; Sae Jamie, gif ye winna wait, Ye ne’er can marrv me. I canna leave my minnie, She’s beeil sae kind to me: Sin’ e’en I was a bairnie, A wee thing on her knee; Nae mair she’ll caim my gowden hair, Nor busk me snood sae hraw; She’s auld an’ frail, her e’en are dim, An’ soon will close on a’. I maunna leave my minnie; Her journey is nae lang’, Her head is bendin’ to the mools, Where it maun shortlv gang. I’ll faith fu’ keep my promise, For a’ that ye can gie; Sae Jamie, gif ye winna wait, Ye ne’er can marry me. 3) Canzonctte, componirt von Joseph Haydn. rare, My mother bids me bind my hair, With bands of rosv hue, Tye up mv sleeves with ribbands And lace my boddice blue, For why, she cries, sit still and weep, While others dance and plav? Alas! I searce can go or creep, While Lubin is awav. ’Tis sad to think the days aregonc, When those we lowe are near; I sit upon this mossv stone, And sigh when none can hear. And while I spin my llaxen thread, And sing iny simple lay; The village seems asleep or dead, Now Lubin is away.