 | Morning Songs |  |
8
OUR GIRLS.
A song to the damsels, our Ethiope maids!
Her crisp curly locks, in beauty arrayed.
Her voice is so gentle, so tender so true;
Her smiles glow like sun-beams;
Her eyes spark like dew.
Her crisp curly locks, in beauty arrayed.
Her voice is so gentle, so tender so true;
Her smiles glow like sun-beams;
Her eyes spark like dew.
Her teeth shine like pearls, her laughter the while,
Re-echoes with music, like waves on the Nile;
Her steps are so gentle, kindhearted is she;
The Ethiope maid, is the damsel for me.
Re-echoes with music, like waves on the Nile;
Her steps are so gentle, kindhearted is she;
The Ethiope maid, is the damsel for me.
No paints and no powder, bedecks her sweet face;
Her beauty is nature, the rarest of grace.
The oils and pomatums, ne'er touches her hair;
Those curled raven locks, by nature are there.
Her beauty is nature, the rarest of grace.
The oils and pomatums, ne'er touches her hair;
Those curled raven locks, by nature are there.
Before ev'ry nation, exultant we'll sing;
Arrayed in her beauty, our maids we will bring.
Arrayed in her beauty, our maids we will bring.
| Morning Songs | |