From A History of the Cries of London, Ancient and Modern by Charles Hindley (London: Reeves and Turner, 1881), page 132:


THE LAVENDER GIRL.

I am poor, and my friends are all dead,
Nor mother nor father have I;
Cold charity finds me in bread,
And thus as I wander, I cry—
Sweet lavender!

I'm sad, and no comfort is mine;
I'm tired, and no home have I to rest;
In sorrow, neglected, I pine,
With a wearisome load at my breast.
Sweet lavender!

In vain through the day do I grieve
While taking my rounds, as you see;
The folks who are rich ne'er relieve,
Or pity a poor girl like me.
Sweet lavender!

Cold, cold blows the winterly wind,
The rain-drops they beat on my head;
When, when in the grave shall I find
Repose with my friends who are dead?
Sweet lavender!

Soon, soon may that hour come, I pray,
The time that sound slumber shall bring;
When no more in my grief I shall stray,
When no more with faint voice I shall sing—
Sweet lavender!