A Merry Gipsy Girl again.
Copied by permission of Firth, Pond & Co., 547 Broadway, N. Y., publishers of the music.
A merry Gipsy girl again,
I’m free to rove at will:
The woodlands wild, the meadows sweet,
The valley and the hill
How poor the proudest roof ye boast
To that high-arched dome,
Whose boundless circle makes me think
The whole wide world my home.
Here none can bar the free fresh air,
Nor mete out heaven’s light,
Nor make the glorious day appear
Too near akin to night.
Amid the beauties of the mead
My summer days are spent,
And joyfully the stars look down
Upon my Gipsy tent;
And joyfully the stars look down
Upon my Gipsy tent.
I wander freely as the fawn
Which hath not learnt to fear
The death-cry of the hunter’s voice
Resounding far and near;
And bounding through the woods
I feel as if I too could soar,
Bird-like, upon the wings of joy,
And sing for evermore!
Come out, ye pent-up toilers!
Come, from city dark and drear,
And see what gladness Nature has
In all her beauties here;
And ere ye seek your homes, ye’ll say,
Your time has well been spent,
And wish that all the world
Could be, one happy Gipsy tent;
And wish that all the world
Could be, one happy Gipsy tent.