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With rich and poor a welcome guest,
No cares intrude upon my breast;
The blythe old Harper call'd am I,
In the Welch vales, 'mid mountains high.
In the Welch vales, 'mid mountains high.

Now sol illumes the western sky,
And evening zephyrs softly sigh,
Oft times on village green I play,
While round me dance the rustic gay:
And oft, when veil'd by sable night,
The wond'ring shepherds I delight;
The blythe old Harper call'd am I,
In the Welch vales, 'mid mountains high,
In the Welch vales, 'mid mountains high.

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Far, far at Sea.

'Twas night when the bell had toll'd twelve,
And poor Susan was laid on her pillow,
In her ear whisper'd some fleeting elve,
Your love now lies tost on a billow,
Far, far at sea.

All was dark, when she woke out of breath,
Not an object her fears could discover;
All was still as the silence of death,
Save fancy, which painted her lover,
Far, far at sea.