1.
Dear Madelaine Gray, I am sure you remember,
And prize the sweet dreams of our youth's sunny days,--
Our hearts wre as fresh as the dew on the roses,
Our footsteps as light as the music of fays:
Oh, don't you remember where often we rambled,
And watched the millwheel wildly dashing around,
And how the pure stream brightly flash'd in the sunlight,
And flung the cold drops on the blossoming ground?

CHORUS
Madelaine Gray, Madelaine Gray,
Madelaine Gray, Madelaine Gray!
I am sure you remember
And prize the sweet dreams,
the sweet dreams of our youth's sunny days.

2.
And, Madelaine Gray, you cannot have forgotten,
The lessons we learned at the old willow tree;
With sweet summer sounds all around to allure us,
The thrush, and the hum of the musical bee:
The hundreds of games at the swing on the hillock,
The sports ev'ry morn morn 'neath the widespreading vine,
The quarrel I had with you once in the wildwood,
For liking my brother's eyes better than mine!

(CHORUS)

3.
Dear Madelaine Gray, we have known the heart's sorrow
Since those happy days have flown rapidly past;
We've tossed on an ocean of tumult and trouble,
And found the next morrow as dark as the last:
Yet bright are the hopes that from sorrow we've garner'd,
And rich are the joys that our memories store;
Our hearts are still glowing with life's sweetest pleasures,
Tho' childhood's fond days, like its flow'rs, are no more.

(CHORUS)

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