For A Ballad's A Thing

Sure My Love Is All Crostlike A Bud In The Frostand There's No Use At All In My Going To Bed,for 't Is Dhrames And Not Slape That Comes Into My Head!

There Was A Place In Childhood That I Remember Well, And There A Voice Of Sweetest Tone Bright Fairy Tales Did Tell.

Circumstances Are The Rulers Of The Weak; They Are But The Instruments Of The Wise.

A Baby Was Sleeping, Its Mother Was Weeping.

Reproof On Her Lip, But A Smile In Her Eye.