American Old Time Song Lyrics: 14 No, Never Can Thy Home Be Mine

Theater, Music-Hall, Nostalgic, Irish & Historic Old Songs, Volume 14

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No, Never Can Thy Home be Mine.

I have told thee how sweet the roses are
In my home beyond the sea;
There the dark-eyed maid with her sweet guitar
Sits under the orange tree.
Then fly, oh, fly from this isle of storm,
Where all that is fair must pine;
To a sky more blue, And a sun more warm,
Henceforth let my home be thine.

I have heard thee tell of a sky more blue,
And a sun more warm than this;
And I've sometimes thought, if thy tale be true,
To dwell in that clime were bliss.
But, oh, when I gaze on my tranquil cot,
Where the clematis boughs entwine,
The land of the stranger tempts me not.
No, ne'er can thy home be mine.

I will sing to thee, if with me thou'lt rove.
The songs of the olden time;
Thou wilt never compare with my ardent love.
The love of this colder clime.
Thou wilt scorn the fruits of thy mountain home.
Beholding the purple vine;
Then come to the land of my birth, oh, come,
Henceforth let my home be thine.

Alas, 'tis plain that my mountain home
Must ever be scorned by thee;
And may I not fear that a time will come.
When thou wilt have scorn for me?
And, oh, there is one who loves me here,
Whose voice, if less sweet than thine,
To my simple taste is far more dear,
No, ne'er can thy home be mine.
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