Anonymous Americas Poems

Through Goshen Hollow, where hemlocks grow,
Where rushing rills, with flash and flow,
Are over the rough rocks falling;
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O! I am a conscript
O! how I do wish
That I had stayed away up North
And kept out of the 'milish.'
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Come back to me, mother! why linger away
From thy poor little blind boy, the long weary day!
I mark every footstep, I list to each tone,
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In Scotland there was a babie born,
Lill lal, etc.
And his name it was called young Hind Horn.
With a fal lal, etc.
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Alas! the weary hours pass slow,
The night is very dark and still;
And in the marshes far below
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I wear a splendid uniform;
I ride a splendid nag;
I talk both loud and valiantly
Of Honor and the Flag;
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The plumed staff officer gallops
Along the swaying line,
That shakes as, beaten by hailstones,
Shakes the loaded autumn vine;
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I pity the slave mother, careworn and weary,
Who sighs as she presses her babe to her breast;
I lament her sad fate, all so hopeless and dreary,
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Lully, lulley, lully, lulley,
The faucon hath borne my make away.
He bare him up, he bare him down,
He bare him into an orchard brown.
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Pacience is a poynt, þa33e,
& quo for þro may no3t þole, þe þikker he sufferes.
&Thorn;en is better to abyde þe bur vmbestoundes
&Thorn;en ay þrow forth my þro, þa33e masse,
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