She left the place one moonlight night—we sorrow’d much to part;
No token did she leave me, but her picture on my heart,
And I moan, and I groan, all alone, all alone.
CHORUS
But fretting won’t do for a darkey of this figure—
Time enough for that when he gits a little bigger;
Dancing with the yellow girls, and shucking out the corn,
Will make him forget ’Tilda Horn.
While ago I got a letter from her, thinking, as I sat,
If I met her, how she’d like me, in my stylish Kossuth hat.