“WHEN I WAS SINGLE”
I.
When a young chap I was jolly and gay;
Not a lark was as merry as I;
I whistled and sang both night and day;
And the hours in pleasure swung by.
No parties or dances for miles around
But what I attended with glee;
And wherever I frolicked the girls me found
And chatted and flirted with me.
Chorus.
But I was still single then!
O that I were single again!
For when I was single
With the world I could mingle:
O that I were single again!
II.
Of no cares I knew and the days passed fair,
And the nights like a laugh and a song;
Toil left me no pain and cash scarce, ne’er.
As I moved in the young gay throng.
I never had trouble to find a miss
To accompany me to the ball;
My greatest concern always lay in this;
That I could not wait on them all.
Chorus: But I was, etc.
III.
But one time a lass at a ball I met
Who gave me an ache in my heart.
I took her to church and made her my pet,
And out on life’s journey did start.
We have been married now for years one score;
I must work from morning till night;
Six babes come to meet me at our door,
And our living puts me to fright.
Chorus.
O that I were single again!
O how I should whistle then!
For when I was single
The money did gingle.
O that I were single again!
IV.
But now my pockets are empty and bare;
And the girls never smile at me;
My poor heart is overburdened with care;
And the world yields a pitiless fee.
So boys meditate on my sad plight;
Don’t tie up your gay hearts too soon,
Do treat the girls with respect and delight;
But just let them giggle and spoon.
Chorus: O that I were, etc.
This sure delighted them. How they did cheer!
The sentiment was light; the tune was gay.
Such airy ditties people like to hear,
And with such happy veins are borne away.
’Twas ever so; the human heart, ’tho staid,
Bends willingly to levity thus made.
The other singer was James Carbott, who
A way had all his own; and when he sang,
His hearers to him like a magnet drew;
Their fancy tickled and their laughter rang,
Until they were enraptured thru and thru;
The more he sang the more this feeling grew.
He was the opera star in this young crowd,
Well seasoned as a wielder of the birch;
By neither class nor audience was cowed:
He had the gift of song a hundred worth.
He sentimental songs could ably sing;
But at comics was an operatic king.
That night his old time energy was there;
He threw his heart and soul into the song.
When e’er his name was mentioned anywhere,
A gust of high hopes overtook the throng,
Because he had been heard ofttimes before,
And he had always pleased them—even more.
His hearers always reaped a fond delight;
Such thrills as e’er a noble singer brings;
He had the power to set their souls aright;
And on the heights of ecstacy take wings—
Those gifts of voice and heart that others beam
With floods of mirth while yet itself serene.
The program of the evening neared its close,
When some admirer called out Carbott’s name;
A dozen called it then. He slowly rose
And said, “The hour’s late; time we’re going home,”
But leave, they’d not, without from him a song;
They called and cheered; and cheered and called along.
“Just one,” he said, and took his chair ahead.
He hummed awhile as if him to imbue
Upon the melody; then out he led
To carol, “In the Valley of the Blue.”
He sang as sings a sorrow sweetened heart,
Which made from some eyes silent tear drops start:—