George Cooper, 1863
The bluebird is singing his lay,|
To all the sweet flow’rs of the dale,
The wild bee is reaming at play,
And soft is the sigh of the gale;
I stray by the brookside alone,
Where oft we have wander’d before,
And weep for my lov’d one, my own,
My Willie has gone to the war!
Willie has gone to the war, Willie,
Willie my lov’d one my own;
Willie has gone to the war,
Willie, Willie my lov’d one is gone!
2. ’Twas here, where the lily bells grow,|
I last saw his noble young face,
And now while he’s gone to the foe,
Oh! dearly I love the old place;
The whispering waters repeat
The name that I love o’er and o’er,
And daisies that nod at my feet,
Say Willie has gone to the war!
3. The leaves of the forest will fade,
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