The Banks of The Schuykill
On the banks of the Schuylkill so pleasant and gay,
There blessed with my true love I spent the short day,
Where the sun shed his rays through the mulberry tree,
And the stream formed a mirror for my true love and me.
On that spot of clover we sat ourselves down,
Not envying the greatest of monarchs that's crown'd,
My name in the sand with his finger he drew,
And he swore aby the stream he would ever prove true.
To which I beheld the gay pride of my fair,
I gazed on his face while he played with my hair,
He need not have told me his love with a sigh,
For the Schuylkill secures my dear fellow to me.
Oft times has he told me fine stories of love,
He would sing me a song my affections to move,
My lips were oft solicited my hands gently pressed,
On the banks of the Schuylkill where I was blessed.
When ever we leave this enchanting retreat,
With blushes she says when next shall we meet,
Next Sunday he says, if the weather proves clear,
On the banks of the Schuylkill I'll meet you my dear.
Now all these innocent pleasures are over,
The murmuring river can please me no more,
Since the banks of the Schuylkill has lost all its charm,
And the soldiers have torn my dear boy from my arms.
But should ever I clasp him again to my heart,
No more shall my true love and I ever part,
No more shall the wars take my true love a way,
And the banks of the Schuylkill shall ever be gay.