Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss within the cup, And I'll not ask for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be. But thou thereon didst only breathe And send'st it back to me: Since when it grows, and smells, I swear Not of itself, but thee.
The Arnold Book of Old Songs
by Roger Quilter (1877 - 1953)
1. Drink to me only with thine eyes  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Ben Jonson (1572 - 1637), "Song to Celia"
Based on:
- a text in Greek (Ελληνικά) by Lucius Flavius Philostratus (c170 - c248), quotes from love letters 24, 30 and 31 [text unavailable]
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) [singable] (Bertram Kottmann) , "Lied an Celia", copyright © 2010, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Note: parodied in Archibald Stodart-Walker's Blink to me only with thine eyes.
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
2. Over the mountains  [sung text checked 1 time]
Over the mountains,
And over the waves,
Under the fountains
And under the graves.
Under floods that are deepest
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks that are steepest,
Love will find out the way.
Where there is no place
For the glow-worm to lie,
Where there is no space
For receipt of a fly;
Where the midge dare not venture
Lest herself fast she lay,
If love come, he will enter
And [soon find out his way]1.
Some think to [lose him
By having]2 him confined;
[And]3 some do suppose him,
Poor thing, to be blind;
But if ne'er so close ye wall him,
Do the best that ye may,
Blind love, if so ye call him,
[Will find out his way]4.
[ ... ]
You may train the eagle
To stoop to your fist;
Or you may inveigle
The phoenix of the East,
The lioness, [ye]5 may move her
to [give]6 o'er her prey;
But you'll ne'er stop a lover:
[He will find out his way]7.
Authorship:
- from Volkslieder (Folksongs) , "Love will find out the way", appears in Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, collected by Thomas Percy
See other settings of this text.
View original text (without footnotes)1 Quilter: "will find out the way"
2 Quilter: "loose him/ Or have"
3 omitted by Quilter.
4 Quilter: "Soon will find out his way"
5 Quilter: "you"
6 Quilter: "get"
7 Quilter: "love shall find out the way"
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
3. My Lady Greensleeves  [sung text checked 1 time]
Oh who is fair as she is fair And who can such a grace posess! The rose itself could not compare Nor rob her of her comeliness. Come love be all my joy, Thou alone are my delight. Come love be my heart of gold And who but my lady Greensleeves. Oh who is sweet as she is sweet Above all things that mortals prize: I’d lay a kingdom at her feet Nor seek a richer merchandise Come love… Oh who is rare as she is rare And who is such a charming maid. The lute shall tell her my despair And fill with song the myrtle shade. Come love… Oh who is kind as she is kind. Whose gentle heart could ne’er betray! If Argus prove himself but blind. Yet she would have my constancy. Come love…
Authorship:
- by John Irvine (1903 - 1964)
Go to the single-text view
Please note: this text, provided here for educational and research use, is in the public domain in Canada, but it may still be copyright in other legal jurisdictions. The LiederNet Archive makes no guarantee that the above text is public domain in your country. Please consult your country's copyright statutes or a qualified IP attorney to verify whether a certain text is in the public domain in your country or if downloading or distributing a copy constitutes fair use. The LiederNet Archive assumes no legal responsibility or liability for the copyright compliance of third parties.
Researcher for this page: Malcolm Gain4. Believe me if all those endearing young charms  [sung text not yet checked]
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Like [fairy-gifts]1, fading away! Thou wouldst still be ador'd as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And, around the dear ruin, each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still! It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofan'd by a tear, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! [No, the]2 heart, that has truly lov'd, never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose!
Authorship:
- by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), no title, written 1808
See other settings of this text.
View original text (without footnotes)1 Herbert: "fairy wings"
2 Stevenson: "Oh! the"
Researcher for this page: Robert Grady
5. Oh! 'tis sweet to think  [sung text not yet checked]
Oh! 'tis sweet to think, that, where'er we rove, We are sure to find something blissful and dear, And that, when we're far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near! The heart, like a tendril, accustom'd to cling, Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing It can twine with itself, and make closely its own. Then oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, To be sure to find something still that is dear, And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near. 'Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest, if the rose isn't there; And the world's so rich in resplendent eyes, 'Twas a pity to limit one's love to a pair. Love's wing and the peacock's are nearly alike, They are both of them bright, but they're changeable too, And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, It will tincture Love's plume with a different hue! Then, oh! what pleasure, where'er we rove, To be sure to find something still that is dear, And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips that are near.
Authorship:
- by Thomas Moore (1779 - 1852), "Oh! 'tis sweet to think"
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]6. Ye banks and braes  [sung text checked 1 time]
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye [chant]1, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care! Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling bird, That [wantons]2 thro' the [flowering]3 thorn: Thou minds me o' departed joys, Departed -- never to return! [Aft]4 hae I rov'd by bonnie Doon, To see the rose and woodbine twine; And ilka bird sang o' its [luve]5, And fondly sae did I o' mine. Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, Fu' sweet upon its thorny tree; [And my fause luver]6 [stole the]7 rose, [But, ah! he]8 left the thorn wi' me.
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796), "The Banks o' Doon", subtitle: "[Second version]"
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CZE Czech (Čeština) (Josef Václav Sládek) , "Břehy Doonu"
- FRE French (Français) (Guy Laffaille) , copyright © 2017, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- IRI Irish (Gaelic) [singable] (Gabriel Rosenstock) , copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Confirmed with The Complete Works of Robert Burns: Containing His Poems, Songs and Correspondence. With a New Life of the Poet, and Notices, Critical and Biographical, by Allan Cunningham. Elegantly illustrated, Boston: Phillips, Sampson, and Company, 1859, page 257.
1 Grainger, Quilter: "chaunt"2 Grainger: "warbles"
3 Quilter: "flower"; Grainger: "flow'ring"
4 Quilter: "Oft"
5 Quilter: "love"
6 Grainger, Quilter: "But my fause lover"
7 Grainger: "staw my"
8 Quilter: "And oh, he"
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
7. Charlie is my darling  [sung text not yet checked]
Refrain: O Charlie is my darling, My darling, my darling; O Charlie is my darling, The young cavalier. 'Twas on a Monday morning, When birds were singing clear; That Charlie to the Highlands came, The gallant cavalier. (Refrain) And many a gallant Scottish chief, Came round their Prince to cheer, That Charlie was their darling, The young cavalier. (Refrain) Now up the wild Glen Nevis, And down by Locky side; Young Malcom leaves his shealing, And Donald leaves his bride. (Refrain)
Authorship:
- from Volkslieder (Folksongs) , Scottish
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- GER German (Deutsch) (Georg Pertz) , "Charlie ist mein Liebling"
8. Ca' the yowes to the knowes  [sung text not yet checked]
Ca' the yowes tae the knowes, Ca' them whar the heather grows, Ca' them whar the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. Hark, the mavis' e'enin' sang, Soundin' Cluden's woods amang; Then a fauldin' let us gang, My bonnie dearie. We'll gang down by Clouden side, Through the hazels spreading wide O'er the waves that sweetly glide To the moon sae clearly. Fair and lovely as thou art, Thou hast stol'n my very heart; I can die, but canna part, My bonnie Dearie. While waters wimple to the sea, While day blinks in the lift sae hie Till death shall blin' my e'e Ye shall be my dearie.
Authorship:
- by Robert Burns (1759 - 1796)
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2019, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
9. The man behind the plough  [sung text checked 1 time]
The man behind the plough,
He has trouble and to spare.
From the cradle to the grave
Heavy burden must he bear.
Come rain, come wind, come tempest,
No matter when or how,
His toil must be unceasing,
The man behind the plough.
The man behind the plough,
He has bairns to call his own;
Must breed them to his trade,
Some are babes and some half grown.
Come rain, come wind, come thunder,
No matter when or how,
His life is toil and labour,
The man behind the plough.
[ ... ]
The man behind the plough,
He will sing the time along;
As he guides the cleaving share...
Never is the day an hour too long.
No prince, nor duke, nor lordling,
Nor king with crown on brow
But lives upon his labour,
The man behind the plough.
Authorship:
- by Rodney Bennett (1890 - 1948)
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist , "Le pauvre labourer"
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]9. Le pauvre laboureur  [sung text checked 1 time]
Le pauvre laboureur
Il a bien du malheur
Du jour de sa naissance
'L est déjà malheureux.
Qu’il pleuve, qu’il tonne, qu’il vente,
Qu’il fasse mauvais temps,
L’on voit toujours, sans cesse,
Le laboureur aux champs.
Le pauvre laboureur
[A de]1 petits enfants ;
Les [envoie]2 à la charrue
[À l’âge de]3 quinze ans.
[Il a perdu sa femme
À l’âge de trente ans ;
Elle le laisse tout seul
Avecques ses enfants.]4
[ ... ]
Le pauvre laboureur,
Il est toujours [content]5 ;
Quand [’l]6 est à la charrue,
Il est toujours [chantant]7.
Il n’est [roi]8 ni prince,
Ni [duc]9, ni seigneur
Qui [ne vive]10 de la peine
Du pauvre laboureur.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author, "Le pauvre labourer"
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)1 Quilter: "L'a deux"
2 Quilter: "mène"
3 Quilter: "N'ont pas encor'"
4 Quilter:
Qu’il pleuve, qu’il tonne, qu’il vente, Qu’il fasse mauvais temps, L’on voit toujours, sans cesse, Le laboureur aux champs.5 Quilter: "chantant"
6 Quilter: "il"
7 Quilter: "content"
8 Quilter: "ni roi"
9 Quilter: "ducque"
10 Quilter: "n'vive"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
10. L'amour de moi  [sung text checked 1 time]
L'amour de moi, s'y est enclose Dedans un joli jardinet Où croît la rose et le muguet, Et aussi fait la passerose. Ce jardin est bel et plaisant, Il est garni de toutes fleurs. On y prend son ébattement, Autant la nuit comme le jour. Hélas ! il n'est si douce chose Que de ce doux rossignolet Qui chante au soir, au matinet. Quand il est las, il se repose. Je la vis l'autre jour cueillir La violette en un vert pré. Le plus belle qu'oncque je vis, Et la plus plaisante à mon gré. Je l'ai regardé une pose ; Elle était blanche comme lait Et douce comme un agnelet, Vermeille et fraîche comme rose.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author ( 15th century ) , from Le Manuscript de Bayeux
See other settings of this text.
Note: this is the version with modernized spelling.
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Adam Taylor
10. My lady's garden  [sung text checked 1 time]
There is a garden that all sweets encloses, Where my love is wont to stray; There blow the fairest flow'rs of May And, lovelier yet, soft damask roses. There by her side among the flow'rs Would I might pass the days of June, Fleeting the careless summer hours, Whether by night or by noon. Happy the nightingale that haunts its closes, Telling his love as best he may: Freely he sings both night and day, And then at last in peace reposes. Fairer than blossom red or white, Lily or violet wet with dew, No flow'r that blooms the summer through Half so fair is to my sight. I saw her gath'ring matchless posies, Yet were they not so sweet as she. Would that my fortune were to be As dear to her as are the roses.
Authorship:
- by Rodney Bennett (1890 - 1948)
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist , from Le Manuscript de Bayeux
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]11. Joli moi de mai  [sung text checked 1 time]
Aime moi, bergère,
Et je t'aimerai ;
Ne sois point légère,
Je ne le serai :
Ah ! que l'amour est gai
Le joli mois de mai.
Mon cœur et ma vie
Je te donnerai,
Jamais d'autre amie
Je ne servirai.
Ah ! Que l'amour est gai
Le joli mois de mai.
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author, written <<1613
See other settings of this text.
Confirmed with Bulletins de la Société des Compositeurs de Musique, 1re Année, Paris, 1863, page 230.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
11. Pretty month of May  [sung text checked 1 time]
Will you love me, pretty one
As I love thee?
I'll be true and loving
If you're true to me.
Ah! love is sweet and gay,
The pretty month of May!
Now my own, my dearest,
You have all my heart;
We will love forever,
Nevermore to part.
Ah! love is sweet and gay,
The pretty month of May!
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist , written <<1613
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]12. The jolly miller  [sung text checked 1 time]
There was a jolly Miller once Lived on the river Dee; He danced and sang from morn till night, No lark more blithe than he; And this the burden of his song Forever used to be: - I care for nobody, no not I, If nobody cares for me. I love my mill, she is to me Both parent, child, and wife; I would not change my station for Another one in life. Then push, push, push the bowl, my boys, And pass it round to me; The longer we sit here and drink The merrier we shall be. Thus like the miller, bold and free, Let us rejoice and sing. The days of youth were made for glee And time is on the wing. This song shall pass from me to thee Around this jovial ring; Let heart and voice and all agree To sing "Long live the king."
The text shown is a variant of another text. [ View differences ]
It is based on
- a text in English by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]13. Barbara Allen  [sung text checked 1 time]
In Scarlet Town, where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin', Made ev'ry youth cry "Well-a-day!" Her name was Barb'ra Allen. All in the merry month of May When green buds they were swellin', Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay For love of Barb'ra Allen. Then slowly, slowly she came up, And slowly she came nigh him, And all she said when there she came "Young man, I think you're dying". As she was walking o'er the fields She heard the dead-bell knellin', And ev'ry stroke the dead-bell gave Cried "Woe to Barb'ra Allen!" When he was dead and laid in grave Her heart was struck with sorrow. "O mother, mother, make my bed, For I shall die tomorrow." "Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in; Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barb'ra Allen."
Authorship:
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry14. Three Poor Mariners
O we be three poor Mariners . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —
15. Since first I saw your face  [sung text not yet checked]
Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and renown ye, If now I be disdained I wish my heart had never known ye. What? I that loved and you that liked shall we begin to wrangle? No, no no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle. If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you may forgive me Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly might you leave me. I asked you leave, you bade me love; is’t now a time to chide me? No no no, I’ll love you still what fortune e’er betide me. The sun whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth no beholder, And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the bolder, Where beauty moves, and wit delights and signs of kindness bind me There, O there! where’er I go I’ll leave my heart behind me.
Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author
See other settings of this text.
Lyrics from the Song-Books of the Elizabethan Age, ed. by A. H. Bullen, London, John C. Nimmo, 1887, pages 105-106.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
16. The Ash Grove  [sung text checked 1 time]
Away in the shadows a lone bird is singing, The wind whispers low in a sighing refrain; Their music makes memory’s voices go winging: The Ash Grove in beauty I see once again; The voices of friends that the log years have taken, Oh faintly I hear them, the song and the word. How much in the heart can so little awaken: The wind in the leaves and the song of a bird. How little we knew, as we laughed there so lightly, And time seemed to us to stretch endless away, The hopes that then shone like a vision so brightly Could fade as a dream at the coming of day! And still, spite of sorrow, whene’er I remember, My thoughts will return like a bird to the nest, No matter though summer may wane to December, And there in the ash grove my heart be at rest.
Authorship:
- by Rodney Bennett (1890 - 1948)
Based on:
- a text in Welsh (Cymraeg) from Volkslieder (Folksongs) [text unavailable]
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this page: Malcolm Gain