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With the aid of Bell's guitar and Jack's banjo the girls and boys soon caught the pretty air, and sung it in chorus. Pretty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, will you be my own? Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, as cold as a stone; But my love has grown warm-er as cold-er you've grown, O Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, will you be my own? Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I love you so dear!
He thought he could hear their spurs rattling in the dark passages. Sometimes he thought he could hear their swords clanking. The little boy was afraid of a sign that hung over the sidewalk. It was a great, big, wooden hand. It was the sign of a place where gloves were made. This big hand swung in the air. Little Ol-i-ver Holmes had to walk under it on his way to school.
Everybody praised it. When you are older, you will like to read his his-to-ries. Doctor Holmes, the poet, was a boy full of fancies. He lived in an old house. Soldiers had staid in the house at the time of the Revolution. The floor of one room was all battered by the butts of the soldiers' muskets. Little Ol-i-ver Holmes used to think he could hear soldiers in the house.
Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, my hope and my fear; I've wait-ed for you, sweet-heart, this many a long year; For Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I've loved you so dear! Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, I'll bid you good bye: Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, for you I'll not die; You'll nev-er get a tru-er true lov-er than I, So Pret-ty Pol-ly Ol-i-ver, good-bye, love, good-bye! At the end, Dr.
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