Neues Taschen-Liederbuch: eine auswahl der beliebtesten volks-, jägers-, studenten-, trink-gesellschafts- und opera - lieder

Első borító
Friedrich Rauchfuss
New Yorker Abend Zeitung, 1868 - 360 oldal
 

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258. oldal - Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ; A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Home ! home ! sweet, sweet home ! There's no place like home...
10. oldal - Allons, enfants de la patrie, Le jour de gloire est arrivé ; Contre nous de la tyrannie L'étendard sanglant est levé.
258. oldal - An exile from home splendor dazzles in vain, Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again! The birds singing gaily that came at my call; Give me them, with the peace of mind dearer than all.
168. oldal - Immortal patriots! rise once more ; Defend your rights, defend your shore; Let no rude foe with impious hand, Let no rude foe with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize.
10. oldal - Français, pour nous, ah ! quel outrage ! Quels transports il doit exciter ! C'est nous qu'on ose méditer De rendre à l'antique esclavage ! Aux armes, citoyens ! etc.
137. oldal - Chorus — Yankee Doodle, keep it up, Yankee Doodle, dandy, Mind the music and the step, And with the girls be handy. And there we see a thousand men, As rich as 'Squire David; And what they wasted every day, I wish it could be saved.
258. oldal - Which, seek thro' the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere. Chorus. Home, home, sweet, sweet, home, There's no place like home, Oh, there's no place like home. I gaze on the moon as I tread the drear wild, And feel that my mother now thinks of her child; As she looks on that moon from our own cottage door, Thro' the woodbine whose fragrance shall cheer me no more.
138. oldal - I shrinked it off, And hung by father's pocket. And Captain Davis had a gun, He kind of clapt his hand on't, And stuck a crooked stabbing iron Upon the little end on't.
11. oldal - Amour sacré de la patrie, Conduis, soutiens nos bras vengeurs ! Liberté ! Liberté chérie, Combats avec tes défenseurs ! Sous nos drapeaux, que la victoire Accoure à tes mâles accents ! Que tes ennemis expirants Voient ton triomphe et notre gloire ! Aux armes, etc.
138. oldal - And every time they shoot it off, It takes a horn of powder, And makes a noise like father's gun, Only a nation louder.

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