Down in New Mexico, where the plains are brown and sere,
There is a ghostly story of a yellow spectral steer.
His spirit wanders always when the moon is shining bright,
One horn is lopping downwards, the other sticks upright.
On three legs he comes limping, as the fourth is sore and lame;
His left eye is quite sightless, but still this steer is game.
Many times he was bought and counted by a dude with a monocle in his eye;
The steer kept limping round a mountain to be counted by that guy.

When footsore, weary, gasping, he laid him down at last,

DOWN IN FRONT of Casey's old brown wooden stoop
On a Summer's evening we formed a merry group;
Boys and girls together, we would sing and waltz
While the " Ginnie " played the organ
On the sidewalks of New York.

That's where Johnny Casey and little Jimmie Crowe,
With Jakey Krause, the baker, who always had the dough,
Pretty Nellie Shannon, with a dude as light as cork,
First picked up the waltz-step
On the sidewalks of New York.

Things have changed since those times,
Some are up in " G, "

1 Down in Alabama I was born,
Roll the cotton down;
Way down in Alabama I was born,
And I rolled the cotton down.

2 When I was young and in my prime;
Oh, roll the cotton down;
I thought I'd go and join the Line
And roll the cotton down.

3 And as a sailor caught a shine;
Roll the cotton down;
I shipped on board of the Black Ball Line;
And roll the cotton down.

4 Now, the Black Ball Line is the line for me;
Roll the cotton down:
That's when you want to go on a spree
And roll the cotton down.

1.

Down in a lonesome valley
Where the modest violets bloom,
There's where my sweetheart Ella
Lies mouldering in the tomb.

2.

One eve when the moon was shining
And the stars were shining too,
A-lightly to her cottage
The jealous lover flew.

3.

Saying, " Come my love, let's wander
In these wild woods so gay.
While wandering there we'll ponder
And name our wedding day. "

4.

" Oh, the night is growing dreary
And I'm afraid to stay,
For I am growing weary

Down in a garden olden,—
Just where, I do not know,—
A buttercup all golden
Chanced near a rose to grow;
And every morning early,
Before the birds were up,
A tiny dewdrop pearly
Fell in this little cup.

This was the drink of water
The rose had every day;
But no one yet has caught her
While drinking in this way.
Surely, it is no treason
To say she drinks so yet,
For that may be the reason
Her lips with dew are wet.

Down by yon garden green
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.

She has twa weel-made feet,
Far better is her hand;
She 's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow-wand.

" Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
It 's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see."


He spak a word in jest;
Her answer wasna good;
He threw a plate at her face,
Made it a' gush out o blood.

She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,

Down by the glenside I met an old woman
A plucking young nettles nor saw I was coming,
I listened awhile to the song she was humming: —
" Glory O! Glory O! to the Bold Fenian Men. "

" Tis fifty long years since I saw the moon beamin,'
On strong manly forms, an' on eyes with hope gleamin,'
I see them again sure thro' all my day-dreamin,'
Glory O! Glory O! to the Bold Fenian Men. "

" When I was a girl their marchin' an' drillin'
Awoke in the glenside sounds awesome an' thrillin,'

Down by the brook which glides through yonder vale
His hair all matted, and his cheeks all pale,
Robin, sad swain, by love and sorrow pained,
Of slighted vows, and Susan, thus complained:
" Hear me, ye groves, who saw me blessed so late;
Echo, ye hills, my sad reverse of fate;
Ye winds, that bear my sighs, soft murmurs send;
Come pay me back, ye streams, the drops I lend.
And you, sweet Susan, source of all my smart,
Bestow some pity on a broken heart.
" Happy the times, by painful mem'ry blessed,
When you possessing, Robin all possessed.

Dousing clean a thousand old cares,
sticking it out through a hundred pots of wine,
a good night needing the best of conversation,
a brilliant moon that will not let us sleep —
drunk we lie down in empty hills,
heaven and earth our quilt and pillow.

With open shells in seas, on heavenly dew
A shining oyster lusciously doth feed,
And then the birth of that aethereall seed
Shews, when conceiv'd, if skies looke dark or blew:
So do my thoughts, caelestiall twins, of you,
At whose aspect they first begin and breed,
When they came forth to light, demonstrate true,
If ye then smil'd, or lowr'd in mourning weed.
Pearles then are orient fram'd, and faire in forme,
If heavens in their conceptions do look cleare;
But if they thunder, or do threat a storme,
They sadly darke and cloudy do appeare: