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Sons & daughters

Fisherman's daughter that lives over the water

(17) Fisherman's daughter that lives over the water

[NLS note: a graphic appears here – see image of page]


                     THE

         Fisherman's

         DAUGHTER

      that lives over the water

I've been caught in a net by my dear pet
And her eyes are so blue as the deep rol-
ling sea,
She's a Fisherman's daughter, she lives o'er
the water,
She's going to be married next Sunday to
me.
She's as rare as the salmon, there's really
no gammon,
As sweet as shrimps newly served up for
tea ;
My soul she has caught, and a place I have
bought,
Where a ray of bright sunshine for ever
will be.

And she's a Fisherman's' daugher, she lives
o'er the water.
She's going to be married next Sunday to
me.

She's barfooted and pretty, she's lively and
witty,
She sings her wild songs to the murmur-
ing sea ;
She'll dance on sands where the Fisherman
stands,
And join in the music of a wild swelling
glee,
She sits in her boat, and scuds o'er the
billows,
And thirts with the spray like a sea-skim-
ming gull,
She laughs at the winds—whose revels are
music,
And beats to the time with the stroke of
her skull
And—she's a Fisherman's daughter, &c.

The bells they shall ring, and the sailors
shall sing,
Y -heave ho y-heave ho boys ime's
on the wing,
To see pretty Sarah, the pride of the sea,"
Who's going to be married next Sunday
to me,
Her hair I will deck with a wreath of bright
sea-weed,
I'll plant in her bosom a blooming moss
rose ;
She shall go like a fairy, with sweet tink-
ling music,
Rings on her finger, and bells on her
toes,

And-she's a Fisherman's daughter, &c.

[NLS note: a graphic appears here – see image of page]

                   Meet me at

                     the Lane.

ILL meet the at the lane when the clock strikes nine.
In ecstacy, love, again to call thee mine ;         
My heart for thee is burning my brain is almost whirling
Thro' loving thee so madly, my sweet Mountain Rose,
When evening stars are peeping oh, then shall be our meeting

Old time too softly fleeting our happy time away.
I'll meet thee in the laue when the clock strikes nine,
In ecstacy again, love, to call thee mine :
My heart for thee is burning, my brain is almost whirling,
Thro' loving thee so madly, my sweet Mountain Rose.

I'll meet thee in the lane when the clock strikes nine,
In ecstacy again, love, to call thee mine :           
I'll meet thee at the lane, meet thee at the lane
When the clock strikes nine,

I'll leave thee at the lane when the clock strikes ten,
And faithful will remain, love believe me then ;
Decieve thee I will never, and breath must from me sever

If I forget thee ever, my sweet Mountain Rose
Thy presence care dispelling, all other charms excelling,
Oh, what to grace my dwelling, as thee my mountain Rose,

Then meet me at the lane when the clock strikes nine,
In ecstacy again, love, to call thee mine ;
My heart for thee is burning, my brain is almost whirling,
Thro' loving thee so madly, my sweet Mountain Rose.

                     NO. 320

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