Thomas Haynes Bayly

Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.

Gayly the troubadour
Touched his guitar.

Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.

Friends depart, and memory takes them
To her caverns, pure and deep.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Isle of Beauty, Fare thee well!

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, Isle of Beauty, Fare thee well!

Oh! no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to read more

Oh! no! we never mention her,
Her name is never heard;
My lips are now forbid to speak
That once familiar word.
- Thomas Haynes Bayly,

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.

Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long, long ago, long, long ago.