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4
THE POLACCA.
No more by sorrow chas'd my heart
Shall yield to fell despair;
Now joys repel the envenom'd dart,
And conquers ev'ry care.
Shall yield to fell despair;
Now joys repel the envenom'd dart,
And conquers ev'ry care.
So in our woods the hunted boar,
On native strength relies;
The forest echoes with his roar,
In turn the hunter flies.
On native strength relies;
The forest echoes with his roar,
In turn the hunter flies.
CHARLIE HE'S MY DARLING.
‘Twas on a Monday morning
Right early in the year,
That Charlie cam to our town,
The young Chevalier.
And Charlie he's my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie he’s my darling.
The young Chevalier.
Right early in the year,
That Charlie cam to our town,
The young Chevalier.
And Charlie he's my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie he’s my darling.
The young Chevalier.
As he was walking up the street,
The city for to view,
O there he spied a bonny lass;
The window looking through.
And Charlie, &c.
The city for to view,
O there he spied a bonny lass;
The window looking through.
And Charlie, &c.
