There's none to soothe my soul to rest,
There's none my load of grief to share
Or wake to joy this lonely breast,
Or light the gloom of dark despair.
The voice of joy no more can cheer,
The look of love no more can warm
Since mute for aye's that voice so dear,
And closed that eye alone could charm.
The trees they grow so high (Early one morning)
- Early one morning
- Come you not from Newcast..
- Sweet Polly Oliver
- The trees they grow so hi..
- The Ash grove
- O Waly, Waly
- How sweet the answer
- The plough boy
- Voici le Printemps
- The last rose of summer
- La belle est au jardin d'..
- Dear harp of my country!
- Little sir William
- O can ye sew cushions?
- Oft in the stilly night
- Quand j'étais chez mon pè..
- There's none to soothe
- Oliver Cromwell