NINTH EDITION
"The Carrier Dove" (1841)
also
The Spirit Bird,
A Ballad
As sung with distinguished applause by
MRS. BAILEY, Lady Miss Wilson & MISS POOLE.
The Music Composed and Arranged for the
PIANO FORTE,
by
DANIEL JOHNSON.
with additional words by the
REVd. Dr. J. N. MAFFITT.

New York, NY: J. F. ATWILL, 201 Broadway
[Source: 123/015@Levy]

* * * The Popularity of this Song has induced persons in
Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New York to publish music with
the title of the “CARRIER DOVE;” the publisher of this Song
would respectfully remind purchasers: that the GENUINE Copy has the Imprint
                    —OF—
NEW YORK, Published at 201, Broadway, by ATWILL.

1. Fly away to my native land sweet dove, 
  Fly away to my native land, 
And bear these lines to my lady love, 
  That I’ve trac’d with a feeble hand, 
She marvels much at my long delay 
  A rumour of death she has heard, 
Or she thinks perhaps I falsely stray, 
  Then fly to her bowers sweet dove.

2. Fly away to the promis’d land Sweet dove, 
  Fly away to the promis’d land. 
And bear these sighs to the friends I love, 
  The happy, the beauful band, 
Deep Gloom hath sadden’d my weary breast, 
  With sorrow my heart is stirred 
I   long   to bear from the land of the blest, 
  Oh fly to their bowers sweet Bird.

3. Oh! fly to her bower, and say, the chain,
  Of the tyrant is o’er me now,
That I never shall mount my steed again,
  With helmet upon my brow.
No friend to my lattice a solace brings,
  Except when your voice is heard
When you beat the bars with your snowy wings,
  Then fly to her bower sweet bird.

4. I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove.
  I shall miss thy visit at eve,
But bring me a line from my lady love,
  And then I shall cease to grieve!
I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth.
  I can fall by the conqueror’s sword.
But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth
  Then fly to her bower sweet bird.

[Additional Words]
5. Oh! fly to their Bowers sweet dove, and say
  The light of hope is on me now,
I long to list to a Seraph’s lay
  With bright glory upon my brow.
I feel that this world is not my home.
  An Angel’s sweet voice I’ve heard.
It comes from beyond the dark lone tomb,
  Oh! fly to their bowers, Sweet Bird.

6. I will wait thy coming at dawn, sweet dove,
  I will wait thy coming at eve,
But bear some news from the friends I love.
  And then I will cease to grieve,
I would spring from this prison on wings of love.
  I would fall by death’s conquering sword.
But I cannot stay from my friends above.
  Oh fly to their bowers Sweet Bird.