"I Shouldn't Like to Tell" [not dated; never published]
Words by S. C.
Sung by Fred Buckly
Music by John Hill Hewitt, 1801-1890

[Source: manuscript photocopy from
Emory University, Special Collections
The Robert W. Woodruff Library
Atlanta, Georgia]

'Twas early in the spring time 
When birds begin to mate 
When first I met young Ed-ward Brown 
By the garden gate 
Upon the evening's stillness 
his voice so sweet-ly fell 
The morning words he whispers 
I should'nt like to tell. 
In many a summer toiling 
We stop together there 
And oh the bright love ever 
To me seem'd half so fair. 

The batton beats, the lights are gone, 
The camp around in slumber lies, 
The night with solemn pace moves on, 
And sad uneasy thoughts arise,
O think of thee, Oh, dearest one 
Where

	love my only life hath blest, 
Of thee, and him our ba-by son, 
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast, 
Who slumbers on thy gentle breast.