Five Street Songs

Go my songs! Draw Daphnis from the city.

A minor tune from Todd's opera house,
comes to me as I cross the square, there,
We boys used to shout the songs that rouse
the hearts of the brave and fair.
As we march along down Main street, behind the village band,
The dear old trees, with their arch of leaves
seem to grasp us by the hand.
While we step along to the tune of an Irish song,
Glad but wistful sounds the old church bell,
for underneath's a note of sadness,
"Old home town" farewell.

A corner lot, a white picket fence,
daisies almost everywhere, there,
We boys used to play "One old cat,"
and base hits filled the summer air.
As we march along on Main street,
of that "Down East" Yankee town,
Comes a sign of life,
from the "3rd Corps" fife,
- strains of an old breakdown;
While we step along to the tune of [it's]* Irish song,
Comes another sound we all know well.
It takes us way back forty years,
that little red schoolhouse bell.

As we march along down Main street, behind the village band,
The dear old trees, with their arch of leaves
seem to grasp us by the hand.
While we step along to the tune of an Irish song,
Glad but wistful sounds the old church bell,
for underneath's a note of sadness,
"Old home town" farewell.

On my way to work one summer day,
Just off the main highway,
Through a window in an alley
smiled a lass, her name was Sally,
O could it be!
O could it be she smiled on me!
All that day, before my eyes,
amidst the busy whirl,
came the image of that lovely Irish girl,
And hopes would seem to rise,
as the clouds rise in the skies,
When I thought of her and those beaming eyes.
So that evening, dressed up smart and neat,
I wandered down her street,
At the corner of the alley 
was another man with Sally,
and my eyes grew dim,
She smiles on him, only on him!

Come join my humble ditty,
From Tippery town I steer,
Like ev'ry honest fellow,
I take my lager beer,
Like ev'ry honest fellow,
I take my whiskey clear.
I'm a rambling rake of poverty,
And a son of a Gambolier.

I wish I had a barrel of rum,
And sugar three hundred pound,
The college bell to mix it in,
The clapper to stir it round;
I'd drink the health of dear old Yale,
And friends both far and near.
I'm a rambling rake of poverty,
And a son of a Gambolier.

Songs! Visions of my homeland,
come with strains of childhood,
Come with tunes we sang in school days
and with songs from mother's heart;
Way down east in a village by the sea,
stands an old, red farm house
that watches o'er the lea;
All that is best in me,
lying deep in memory,
draws my heart where I would be,
nearer to thee.
Ev'ry Sunday morning,
when the chores were almost done,
from that little parlor
sounds the old melodeon,
"Nearer my God to Thee, nearer to Thee,"
With those strains a stronger hope
comes nearer to me.

All summer long, we boys
dreamed 'bout big circus joys!
Down Main street, comes the band, 
Oh! "Aint it a grand and glorious noise!"

Horses are prancing, knights advancing;
Helmets gleaming, pennants streaming,
Cleopatra's on her throne!
That golden hair is all her own.

Where is the lady all in pink?
Last year she waved to me I think,
Can she have died? Can! that! rot!
She is passing but she sees me not.