Stephen Foster, 1862
Little Jenny Dow lives beyond the mill,|
Her merry voice is heard all round;
Her happy smiles are seen on the green clad hill,
Where'er the budding flow'rs are found,
She greets the blushing morn like a dewdrop bright
And carols thro' the live-long day;
She gladdens up my heart like a beam of light,
And drives my bitter cares away.
Merrily, merrily, merrily,
Her winning little voice is ringing
And the woodland birs are singing
To little Jenny Dow.
2. Many are the hearts that have sigh'd for her,|
And many that have sigh'd in pain,
Many that I know would have died for her,
And alas they would have died in vain
Little Jenny Dow never clouds her brow
In sorrow o'er a lovelorn swain;
With spirits full of glee none so gay as she,
As she rambles o'er the hill and plain.
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