Joseph Haydn
2 voix · Voice, Piano
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My Mother bids me bind my hair, With bands of rosy hue; Tie up my sleeves with ribands rare, And lace my boddice blue. Tie up my sleeves with ribands rare, And lace, and lace my boddice blue. For why, she cries, sit still and weep, While others dance and play? A- las! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is a- way. Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is away While Lubin is a- way, is away, is away. 'Tis sad to think the days are gone, When those we love are near; I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear. I sit up- on this mossy stone, And sigh, and sigh when none can hear. And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay; The Village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away. The Village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away. Now Lubin is away, is away, is away.
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