Weeping Sad and Lonely
		      or
   When this cruel war is over
Dearest love, do you remember,
When we last did meet
How you told me that you loved me
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh; how proud you stood before me
In your shirt of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true.
	Chorus
Weeping sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain!  Yet praying
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again!

When the summer breeze is sighing
	Mournfully along;
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
	On the battle plain,

Lonely wounded, even dying,
	Calling, but in vain.

If amid the din of battle
   Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you,
   None to hear you call - 
Who would whisper words of comfort,
Who would soothe your pain?
Ah!  the many fancies
	Ever in my brain.

But our country called you, darling,
Angels cheer your way;
While our nation’s sons are fighting,
	We can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and liberty,
	Let all nations see
How we love the starry banner
   Emblem of the free.

   Athens  March 26, 1864
	J.S. Dowd

Love in a Cottage.
	They may talk of love in a cottage,
       And bowers of trellised vine -
       Of nature bewitchingly simple,
And milkmaids half divine;
They may talk of the pleasure of sleeping
In the shade of a spreading tree
And a walk in the fields at morning,
By the side of a footstep free!

But give me a sly flirtation
By the light of a chandelier - 
With music to play in the pauses,
And nobody very near;
Or a seat on a silken sofa,
With a glass of pure old wine,
And mamma too blind to discover
The small white hand in mine.

Your love in a cottage is hungry,
Your vine is a nest for flies -
Your milkmaid shocks the Graces,
And simplicity talks of pies!  

You lie down to your shady slumber,
And wake with a bug in your ear,
And your damsel that walks in the morning
Is shod like a mountaineer.

True love is at home on a carpet,
And mightily likes his ease -
And true love has an eye for a dinner,
And starves beneath shady tree.
His wing is the fan of a lady,
His foot’s an invisible thing,
And his arrow is tipp’d with a jewel
And shot from a silver string
		Willis