While The Billy BoilsSearchSongHiding away from the sunlight, Close by a rippling stream,Hallowed by childish fancies And many a waking dream;There is my royal palace, Within it my regal throne,The former, a grave of willows, The latter, a mossy stone.And legends of hope did the willows tellTo my childish ears, in that rustic dell.
Here, in my sunny childhood, I dreamed in my mystic home,Weaving the fairy garlands To wear in the years to come.Friendship, and love, and honour, They all were to be my own;The future was strewn with roses, As I dreamed on my mossy stone.And still through the leaves, as they fluttered or fell,The breezes sang, in the willow dell.
Visions of hope are departed, Fairy-like dreams have fled.The thorns still remain, but the roses, Like friendship and love, are dead.The breezes sigh through the willows, I ponder and dream aloneOf the life beyond the river, As I sit on my mossy stone.And the breezes sound like a funeral knell,As they sigh and sob, through the willow dell.