George P. Morris

THROUGH the streets of New York City,

Blithely every morn,

I carolled o’er my artless ditty,

Cheerly though forlorn!

Before the rosy light, my lay

Was to the maids begun,

Ere winters snows had passed away,

Or smiled the summer sun.

Carol-O-a-y-e-o!

In summer months I’d fondly woo,

Those merry dark-eyed girls,

With faces of the ebon hue,

And teeth like eastern pearls!

One vowed my love she would repay—

Her heart my song had won—

When winter songs had passed away

Or smiled the summer sun.

Carol-O-a-y-e-o!

A year, alas! had scarcely flown—

Hope beamed but to deceive—

Ere I was left to weep alone,

From morn till dewy eve!

She died one dreary break of day!—

Grief weighs my heart upon!—

In vain the snows may pass away,

Or smile the summer sun.

Carol-O-a-y-e-o!