Thou Art the Queen of My Song
I long for thee; must I long and long in vain?
I sigh for thee; will thou come not back again?
Though cold forms surround us
To sever all that bound us,
Gentle queen of my song.
The fields and the fair flowers shall welcome thee,
And all to thy pleasures shall belong;
Pride of my early years,
Thou art the queen of my song.
The days are gone, days of summer bright and gay,
The days of love we so fondly whiled away;
But still while I'm dreaming
Thy smiles are o'er me beaming,
Gentle queen of my song.
The wind o'er the lone meadow wails for thee,
The birds sing thy beauties all day long;
Pride of my early years,
Thou art the queen of my song.
I turn to thee; though our happy hours have flown?
I turn to thee; and my saddest thoughts are gone,
For love will be burning
And memory still returning,
Gentle queen of my song.
Come let thy warm heart rejoice with me,
Come from the bright and luring throng;
Pride of my early years,
Thou art the queen of my song.
I Dream Of Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair
I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Borne, like a vapor, on the summer air;
I see her tripping where the bright streams play,
Happy as the daisies that dance on her way.
Many were the wild notes her merry voice would pour,
Many were the blithe birds that warbled them o'er:
Oh! I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.
I long for Jeanie with the daydawn smile,
Radiant in gladness, warm with winning guile;
I hear her melodies, like joys gone by,
Sighing round my heart o'er the fond hopes that die:
Sighing like the night wind and sobbing like the rain,
Wailing for the lost one that comes not again:
Oh! I long for Jeanie, and my heart bows low,
Never more to find her where the bright waters flow.
I sigh for Jeanie, but her light form strayed
Far from the fond hearts round her native glade;
Her smiles have vanished and her sweet songs flown,
Flitting like the dreams that have cheered us and gone.
Now the nodding wild flowers may wither on the shore
While her gentle fingers will cull them no more:
Oh! I sigh for Jeanie with the light brown hair,
Floating, like a vapor, on the soft summer air.
