Complete text(s)
A Robyn Jolly Robyn From Percy/Wheatley, I.ii.4, pp. 186-187 "[P]rinted from what appears to be the most ancient of Dr. Harrington's poetical MSS. and which has, therefore, been marked No. I. (Scil. p. 68.) That volume seems to have been written in the reign of King Henry VIII. and, as it contains many of the poems of Sir Thomas Wyat, hath had almost all the contents attributed to him by marginal directions written in an old but later hand...." A Robyn, Jolly Robyn, Tell me how thy leman doeth And thou shalt know of myn. 'My lady is unkynde perde.' Alack! why is she so? 'She loveth an other better than me; And yet she will say no.' I fynde no such doublenes: I fynde women true. My lady loveth me dowtles, And will change for no newe. 'Thou art happy while that doeth last; But I say, as I fynde, That women's love is but a blast, And torneth with the wynde.' Suche folkes can take no harme by love, That can abide their torn. 'Bu I alas can no way prove In love by lake and mourn.' But if thou wilt avoyde thy harme Lerne this lessen of me, At others fierse thy selfe to wame, And let them warme with the.
(No title) From Shakespeare, "Twelfth Night" Act IV, scene 2. In the scene, the Clown and Malvolio are talking past each other. The text below shows the reconstructed lines of the song, with Malvolio's answers in the margin. Line numbers are in the left margin. 71 'Hey, Robin, jolly Robin, 72 Tell me how thy lady does.' Malv: Fool. 74 'My lady is unkind, perdie!' Malv: Fool. 76 'Alas, why is she so?' Malv: Fool, I say. 78 'She loves another.' Who calls, ha?
File: Perc1185
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 160-161.
Its O, but aw ken well --
A, U, hinny burd;
The bonny lass o' Benwell,
A, U, A.
She's lang-legg's and mother-like
A, U, hinny burd;
See, she's raking up the dyke,
A, U, A.
The Quayside for sailors
A, U, hinny burd;
The Castle Garth for tailors,
A, U, A.
The Gateshead Hills for millers,
A, U, hinny burd;
The North Shore for keelers,
A, U, A.
Hartley Pans for sailors,
A, U, hinny burd;
And Bedlington for nailers,
A, U, A.
(Stanzas 1-4, 10 of 10)
File: StoR160
Complete text(s)
Adieu to Erin As found in Gale Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 255-256. Transcribed from the journal of William Histed of the Cortes. Oh, when I breathed a last adieu To Erin's and mountain blue When nursed by hope my moments flew In life's unclouded spring Though on the breezy deck reclined I listen to the rising wind What fetters could restrain the mind That roved on fancy's wind She bore me to the woodbine bower Where oft I passed the twilight hour Where first I felt love's thrilling power From Mary's beaming eye Again I watched her flushing breast Her honeyed lips again were pressed Again by sweet confession blest I drank each melting sigh Dost thou dear Mary my love deplore And lone on Erin's emerald shore In memory trace the love I bore On all our transports dwell Can I forget the fateful day That called me from thy arms away When nought was left me but to say Farewell my love farewell
File: SWMS255
Complete text(s)
The Song of Agincourt
From the Bodleian Library (Cambridge), MS. Selden B. 26
As transcribed in Chappell/Wooldridge, pp. 25-26.
Collated against the version in Robert D. Stevick, One Hundred
Middle English Lyrics, #51 (S), the version in
Percy/Wheatley, II.i.5 (P), and that in R. T. Davies, Medieval
English Lyrics, #80 (D), all of these being versions of the
same text but with different modernizations. (It appears that the
original probably used the letter yogh (3). Chappell, Davies, Stevick
have transcribed this as gh; Percy uses y. I suspect the manuscript
had thorn also, but this cannot be proved from the transcriptions.
Chappell/Wooldridge report that Percy's source was from a copy of
the Cambridge MS.)
The Song of Agincourt
Deo gracias anglia,
Redde pro victoria
1 Owre kynge went forth to normandy,
With grace and myght of chyvalry:
Ther god for him wrought mervelusly.
Wherfore englonde may calle and cry
Deo gracias....
2 He sette a sege the sothe for to say,
to harflu toune with ryal aray;
that toune he wan, and made afray,
that fraunce shal rywe tyl domesday.
Deo gracias....
3 Than went owre Kynge with alle his oste,
thorwe fraunce for all the frenshe boste:
he spared no drede of leste ne most,
tyl he come to agincourt coste.
Deo gracias....
4 Than forsoth that knyght comely,
in agincourt feld he faught manly:
thorw grace of god most myghty,
he had bothe the felde and the victory.
Deo gracias....
5 Ther dukys and erlys, lorde and barone,
were take and slayne, and that wel sone,
and some were ladde into Lundone
with ioye and merthe and grete renone.
Deo gracias....
6 Now gracious god he save owre Kynge,
his peple, and all his wel wyllynge:
gef him gode lyfe and gode endynge,
that we with merth mowe savely synge,
Deo gracias....
Variant readings (differences such as upper/lower case are
not noted, nor is the modernized punctuation of Davies,
but spelling differences are listed. Differences which
affect the sense are noted in ALL CAPS:
Refrain: gracias: gratias P (P also prints as a single line)
1.1 owre ] oure S D; kynge ] kyng S, kinge D
1.2 with ] wyth S; myght ] myyt P, might D; chyvalry ] chivalry P D
1.3 THER ] THE P;
him wrought mervelusly ]
him wroghte merveilously S,
hym wrouyt marvelously P
1.4 Wherfore englonde ] wherfor Englond S
2.1 sothe ] soth S; for to ] for-to S; say ] seye S
2.2 harflu ] harflue P; toune ] toun S, towne D;
with ] wyth S; ryal aray ] royal array S, ryal array D
2.3 toune ] toun S; afray ] affray S D, a fray P
2.4 shal ] shall P; rywe tyl ] rewe til S, riwe till D;
domesday ] domes day P
3.1 than ] then P; owre kynge with all his oste ]
oure kyng wyth al his ost S
oure kinge with alle his hoste D
3.2 thorwe ] thurgh S, thorowe P; all ] al S; boste ] bost S
3.3 no ] 'for' (sic) P; leste ] leest S, lest D
3.4 tyl ] til S, till D; COME ] CAM S; coste ] cost S
4.1 forsoth ] for sothe S P; knyght ] knyyt P, knught S, knight D;
comely ] comly S
4.2 feld ] feeld S; faught ] fauyt P
4.3 thorw ] thurgh S, thorow P; myghty ] myyty P, mighty D
4.4 had ] hadde S; felde ] feeld S; victory ] victorie S
5.1 dukys ] dukis D; erlys ] erles S, erlis D;
lorde and barone ] lord and baroun S
5.2 slayne ] slayn S, slaine D; sone ] soon S, sone D
5.3 ome ] summe D; ladde into ] ledde in to P; led in-to S, ladde into D;
Lundone: Londoun S
5.4 with ioye ] with joye P D; wyth joye S; merte ] myrthe S, merthe D;
grete renone ] greet renoun S
6.1 owre kynge ] oure kyng S, oure kinge D
6.2 all ] alle S D; wel wyllynge ] wel-wyllyng S, well-willinge
6.3 gef ] yeve S, yef D; gode lyfe ] good lyf S, gode life D;
gode endyng ] good endyng S, gode ending D
6.4 with merth ] wyth myrthe S; savely synge ] saufly synge S,
safely singe D
Transcription into modern English
Deo gracias anglia, [Give thanks to God, England
Redde pro victoria In return for victory]
1 Our king went forth to Normandy,
With grace and might of chivalry:
There God for him wrought marv'lously.
Wherfore England may call and cry
Deo gracias....
2 He set a siege, the truth for to say,
To Harfleur town with royal array;
That town he won, and made afraid, [properly "made a disturbance"]
That France shall rue till doomsday.
Deo gracias....
3 Then went our Kynge with all his host,
Through France, despite the French [lords'] boast
He feared no danger from least or most,
Till he came to Agincourt coast. [district]
Deo gracias....
4 Then in truth that knight comely,
In Agincourt field he fought manly:
Through grace of God most mighty,
He had [held] both the field and the victory.
Deo gracias....
5 Theer dukes and earls, lord and baron,
Were taken and slain, and that so soon,
And some were brought into London
With joy and mirth and great renown
Deo gracias....
6 Now gracious God he save owre King,
His people, and all his well-wishing: [those who wish him well]
Give him good life and good ending,
That we with morth more safely sing,
Deo gracias....
File: MEL51
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 75-77. Supplied by Celeste Hazen, from a copy made by or for Amanda Culver, apparently in 1841. Oh, what is this that steals upon my frame? Is it death? is it death? That soon will quench, will quench this vital pain? Is it death? is it death? If this is death, I soon shall be From every pain and sorrow free; I shall the King of Glory see. All is well, all is well. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr078
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 448-449. From Rebecca Taylor of South Carolina. Paul and Silas, bound in jail, All night long. One foh to sing an' de othah foh to pray, All night long, One foh to sing an' de othah foh to pray, All night long, Do, Lawd, delibah po' me! Straight up to heaven, straight right back, All night long. 'Tain' but de one train on dis track, All night long. 'Tain' but de one train on dis track, All night long. Do, Lawd, delibah po' me! Nebah seen de like since I ben born, All night long. People keep comin' an' de train done gone, All night long. People keep comin' an' de train done gone, All night long. Do, Lawd, delibah po' me!
File: San448
Complete text(s)
All Quiet Along the Potomac To-Night
From sheet music published 1863 by Miller & Beacham
Title page inscribed
ALL QUIET
ALONG THE
POTOMAC
TO-NIGHT
"All quiet along the Potomac to-night,"
Except here and there a stray picket
Is shot as he walks on his beat to and fro,
By a rifleman his in the thicket;
'Tis nothing! a private or two now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle,
Not an officer lost! only one of the men
Moaning out all alone the death rattle.
"All quiet along the Potomac tonight!"
"All quiet along the Potomac to-night,"
Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming,
And their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon,
And the light of the camp fires are gleaming;
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle bed
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
His musket falls slack -- his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a pray'r for the children asleep,
And their mother -- "May heaven defend her!"
The moon seems to shine as brightly as then --
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leap'd up to his lips, and when low murmur'd vows
Were pledg'd, to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly o'er his eyes,
He dashes off he tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun close up to his breast,
As if to keep down the heart's swelling;
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
And his footstep is lagging and weary,
Yet onward he goes, thro' the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it the night-wind that rustles the leaves!
Was it the moonlight so wond'rously flashing?
It look'd like a rifle! "Ha, Mary good bye!"
And his life-blood is ebbing and plashing.
"All quiet along the Potomac to-night,"
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead,
"The Picket's" off duty forever.
File: RJ19002
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 418-419. Sung by Mary Ann Galpin, Codroy, July 1960. Come all you fair maids take a warning, With a handsome young stranger don't wed, Try all that you can for to slight him, Or banish him out of your head, For once I lived light-hearted and cheerful, Such pleasure I never had before, But now I am lief for to wander Alone on the shamrock shore. (Three additional stanzas plus a half stanza.)
File: Pea418
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 380-382. Sung by Harry Curtis, Joe Batt's Arm, July 1952. A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright COnversed as the sat on the green; They gazed at each other with tender delight, Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight, And the maiden's name was fair Imogene. "And oh," said the youth, "since tomorrow I go To fight in some far distant land, Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow Some other will court you and you will bestow On a wealthier suitor your hand." "Hush hush these suspicions" fair Imogene said, "Offensive to love and to me; For if you be living or if you be dead I'll swear by the Virgin that none in your stead Shall husband of Imogene be." And now had the marriage been blessed b y the priest The revelry now was begun, The tables they groaned with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had their laughter and merriment ceased When the bell at the castle tolled one. His presence all bosoms appeared to dismay, The guests sat in silence and fear; At length spake the bride, while trembling, "I pray Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, And deign to partake of our cheer." The lady was silent, the stranger complied, His visor he slowly unclosed; Great God what a sight met fair Imogene's eyes, What words an express her dismay and surprise When a skeleton's head was exposed! All present then uttered a horrified shout, And turned with disgust from the scene; The worms they crept in and the worms they crept out, They sported his eyes and his temples about While the spectre addressed Imogene: So saying his arms 'round the lady he wound While loudly she shrieked in dismay; Then sank with his prey through the wide yawning ground And never again was fair Imogene found, Or the spectre that bore her away (Stanzas 1, 2, 3, 7, 10, 11, 12, 14 of 17)
File: RcAtBaFI
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O Falmouth Is a Fine Town by William E[rnest] Henley Text supplied by Don Duncan. Reportedly written 1878 and published in Henley's "Book of Verses," 1888. It was noted that "the burthen and the third stanza are old." O Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay, And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day; I wish from my heart I was far away from here, Sitting in my parlor and talking to my dear. For it's home, dearie home--it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree, They're all growing green in the old countrie. In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet With her babe on her arm as she came down the street; And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie. And it's home, dearie, home,-- O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring; And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king; With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do. And it's home, dearie, home-- O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west, And that of all the winds is the one I like the best, For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free, And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie. For it's home, dearie, home--it's home I want to be. Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea. O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree, They're all growing green in the old countrie.
File: LK43A
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 234. "From the Gernsey manuscript." The vale where the stream steals softly along Trough the green that did echo with music, but now Looks mournful; and mute is the meadowlark's song, For the sun had retired from the hill's shady brow. Hark, hark, hear that yell, 'tis the war hoop's dread sound; 'Tis the murdering voice that bids pity retire. Behold from yon woods where the savages bound, See they enter yon cottage. Ah, shriek, 'tis on fire. (6 additional stanzas)
File: GC093
Complete text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #22, p. 54. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. A fragment of a song probably originally Gaelic. "I'll deck you out in splendour With costly jewels my Arabian queen, I mean my charming Mary Ann With your bonny bunch of rushes green." "'Tis hard for to refuse you Although you have led me astray I'll go with you although I know My days I'll spend in mourning."
File: RcABLtlb
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(No title) From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number XXI, pp. 71-72. No source listed. It fell on a morning, a morning in May, My father's cows they all went astray, I loutit me doun, and the heather was gay, And a burr stack to my apron. O! ance my apron it was side, (sic.) But now my knees it will scarcely hide, And O the grief that I do bide, Whan I look to my apron. O! ance my apron it was new, But now it's gotten anither hue, But now it's gotten anither hue, There's a braw lad below my apron. I saw my father on the stair, Kaiming doun his yellow hair, Says -- "What is that ye've gotten there, Sae weel row'd aneath your apron?" It's no a vagabond, nor yet a loon -- He's the rarest stay-maker in a' the toun, And he's made a stomacher to bear up my goun, And I row'd it aneath my apron. I saw my mither on the stair, Kaiming done (sic.) her yellow hair, Says -- "What's that ye've gotten there, Sae weel row'd aneath your apron? It is my mantle and my shirt, I had nae will to daidle it, I had nae will to daidle it, And I row'd it aneath my apron. As I was walking up the street, Wi' silver slippers on my feet, O! aye my friends I'd ill will to meet, And my braw lad row'd in my apron.
File: KinBB21
Partial text(s)
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #106,
pp. 446-447. Source not listed.
The Angel Gabriel from God
Was sent to Galilee,
Unto a Virgin fair and free,
Whose name was called Mary:
And when the Angel thither came,
He fell down on his knee,
And looking up in the Virgin's face,
He said, 'All hail, Mary!'
Then, sing we all, both great and small,
Noel, Noel, Noel;
We may rejoice to hear the voice
Of the Angel Gabriel.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: OBB106
Partial text(s)
Angels Whisper As printed in Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 239-240. A baby was sleeping it mother was weeping For her husnand was far o'er the raging sea And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman's dwelling And she cried Dermot my darling come back to me. (3 additional stanzas)
File: OCon034
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 348-349. From W. W. Delaney, who apparently had it from minstrel performers. I went to the animal fair, The birds and the beasts were there. The big baboon by the light of the moon Was combing his auburn hair. The monkey he got drunk And sat on the elephant's trunk, The elephant sneezed and fell on his knees And what became of the monk, the monk?
File: San348
Complete text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #15, p. 32. "Sung by Mr. Richard Harlan, South-East Passage." Every evening, every evening as I go to my bed The thoughts of you, Annie, still run through my head, With a sobbing and a sighing as I turn myself round, When I think of you, Annie, the tears do run down. I rise in the morning, my heart full of woe, I go to my shop my shutters to throw, There's no one that grieves me but the innocent dove, So I hope to gain pardon to the girl that I love. Annie being listening and heard what was saying, She drew nigher and nigher to hear what he said. "Since you are the young man that I do adore, It's a trip I'll make with you to Lincolnham shores." My friends and relations they do all they can For to part me and Annie, that's more than they can.
File: CrNS015
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 353-354. "Obtained in 1935 from Mrs. Clyde Best, West Branch... to the tune of 'The Red River Valley.'" As I set by the fireside a-thinking Of my brother who's far, far away In a lonesome cell at Marquette prison All these long, long years has had to stay. He never had a chance to read those papers, Never knew if they were false or true Till they told him it was his confession; "Vera Snyder's death is now laid to you." (Stanzas 1, 7 of 13)
File: GC145
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #13, p. 58-60. Collected from Joe Thibadeau, Bobcaygeon, Ontario, October 1964. Oh, come all my brave companions, I won't detain you long. It's all about last winter I will tell you in my song. 'Twas in Anstruther township where we were bound to stay, And we worked the whole long winter there for very little pay. (8 additional stanzas)
File: FowL13
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From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 28-29. From the 1940 edition of Doyle. Hurrah for our own native isle, Newfoundland! Not a stranger shall hold one inch of its strang! Her face turns to Britain, her back to the Gulf, Come near at your peril, Canadian Wolf! (4 additional stanzas)
File: FJ028
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 158-159.
The Anti-Gallican's safe arrived,
On board of her with speed we'll hie,
She'll soon be fit to sail away,
To the Anti-Gallican haste away.
Haste away, haste away,
To the Anti-Gallican haste away.
For gold, we'll sail the ocean o'er,
From Briton's isle to the French shore;
No ships from us shall run away --
To the Anti-Gallican haste away.
Haste away, etc.
Those Spaniards, too, those cunning knaves,
We'll take their ships and make them slaves;
Till war's declared we'll never stay,
To the Anti-Gallican haste away.
Haste away, etc.
(Stanzas 1-3 of 7)
File: StoR158
Partial text(s)
As I Walked Forth in the Pride of the Season (The False Young Man) From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 422-423. Sung by Mrs. Freeman Bennett, St. Paul's, August 1958. As I walked forth in the pride of the season Thinking some pastime there for to see, Who should I spy but a lovely fair damsel Sitting all alone under a shady green tree. (8 additional stanzas)
File: Pea422
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A New Broom Sweeps Clean From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #40, pp. 93-94. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. As I went out walking one morning in May For to view the fair fields and the meadows so gay, Abroad as I wandered I chanced for to hear A young man lamenting for the loss of his dear. Young girls are as false and as fickle as the wind, For the one that proves true there is ten prove unkind, They will smile on you sweetly be you ever so mean, It's an old and true saying that a new broom sweeps clean. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 4, but stanzas 2 and 3 are of 6 lines rather than four; it seems likely that lines have been lost.)
File: HHH109
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 196. As remembered by Fuson himself. I'll tell you, George, in meter, If you will attend the while, How we forced out Saint Peter At Sullivan's fair isle.
File: Fus19gB
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From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume I, p. 109. From Dorsetshire. I wrote a letter to my love; I carried water in my glove; And by the way I dropped it -- I dropped it, I dropped it, I dropped it, &c.
Also from Gomme, p. 110. From Leicestershire. Jack lost his supper last night, And the night before; if he does again to-night, He never will no more -- more -- more -- more. I wrote a letter to my love, And on the way I dropt it; Some of you have picked it up, And got it in your pocket -- pocket -- pocket -- pocket. I have a little dog, it won't bite you -- It won't bite you -- it won't bite you -- It *will* bite you.
Also from Gomme, p. 111. From Winterton or Lincoln. Wisket-a-waskit, A green leather basket; I wrote a letter to my love, And on the way I lost it; Some of you have picked it up, And put it in your pocket. I have a little dog at home, And it shan't bite you, Nor you, nor you, nor you, But it shall bite *you*.
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #117, p. 169, final text. From New York. Reproduced on p. 806 of B. A. Botkin, American Folklore. Itisket, Itaskit, A green and yellow basket. I sent a letter to my love, And on the way I dropped it.
File: BAF806A
Partial text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 43-45. Apparently from a broadside published by David Webster
of Edinburgh.
O heard you o' the bauld blue-gown,
Auld Eddie Ochiltree?
Weel kent in ilka country town,
Auld Eddie Ochiltree;
When beggars o' the gangrell corps,
Are driven frae the hallen door,
The gudewife cries, "Come ye in ower
Auld Eddie Ochiltree."
(6 additional stanzas)
File: FVS218
Partial text(s)
Old Robin Gray From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 482-483. Sung by Phillip Foley, Tilting, July 1952. My Jimmy loved me well and he sought me for his bride, By saving a crown there was nothing else denied, To make the crown a pound my Jimmy went to see, And the crown and the pound they were both saved for me. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Pea482
Partial text(s)
From John Harrington Cox, Folk-Songs Mainly From West Virginia
(published as the second part of George Herzog, Herbert Halpert,
George Boswell, editors, Traditional Ballads and Folk-Songs
Mainly from West Virginia), #23, pp. 183-184. From Miss Lyle
Hatcher, Beckley, March 1, 1925, and ultimately from Mrs.
J. W. Bowmen.
Aunt Jemima she was old,
But very kind and clever;
She had a notion of her own,
That she would marry never.
Of all mankind, she did declare,
That none should be her master;
She made her living, day by day,
By selling of a plaster.
Refrain
Sheepskin and beeswax
Make this awful plaster;
The more you try to get it off,
The more it sticks the faster.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: R414
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published by J. Church. The sheet music shows
no copyright date, but copyright records indicate a date of 1861.
Title page inscribed
TO
S. C. Campbell, Esq.
of Hooley & Campbell's Minstrels
Aura Lea
SONG & CHORUS
Poetry by
W. W. FOSDICK ESQ.
Music by
GEO.R.POULTON
When the Blackbird in the Spring,
On the willow tree
Sat and rock'd, I heard him sing,
Singing Aura Lea.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.
SECOND VERSE
In thy blush the rose was born,
Music, when you spake,
Through thine azure eyes the morn,
Sparkling, seemed to break.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Birds of crimson wing
Never song have sung to me
As in that sweet spring.
CHORUS. Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Maid of golden hair;
Sunshine came along with thee,
And swallows in the air.
THIRD VERSE
Aura Lea! the bird may flee,
The willow's golden hair
Swing through winter fitfully,
On the stormy air.
Yet if thy blue eyes I see,
Gloom will soon depart;
For to me, sweet Aura Lea
Is sunshine through the heart.
CHORUS. Aura Lea, &c.
FOURTH VERSE
When the mistletoe was green,
Midst the winter's snows,
Sunshine in thy face was seen,
Kissing lips of rose.
Aura Lea, Aura Lea,
Take my golden ring;
Love and light return with thee,
And swallows with the spring.
File: RJ19014
Complete text(s)
From James J. Wilhelm, Medieval Song. The Latin text is on page 377. No source
is indicated. The first three verses are those quoted in Fowke/Mills/Blume;
I have glossed the Latin at right (note that this is neither a usable nor an
exact translation; more an indication of the intent of the individual words).
In the glosses, the symbol ~ means that the Latin word order must be inverted
for English sense. I follow this with a continuous English (indented),
loosely based on Wilhelm's but with reference to the Latin. - RBW
Ave, maris stella, hail [of the] sea~star
Dei mater alma [of] god the mother~kind
Atque semper virgo also always [a] virgin
Felix caeli porta fruitful/fortunate [of] heaven~gateway
Hail, star of the sea,
Kindly Mother of God,
Virgin eternally,
Gateway to heavenly joy.
Sumens illud "Ave" through (it) hail
Gabrielis ore, [of] Gabriel~[the] mouth
Funda nos in pace, establish us in peace
Mutans Evae nomen changing [of] Eve~[the] name
Ave!* Now we do hail!
From the mouth of Gabriel,
True peace to us do leave,
Changing the name of Eve!
Solve vincia reis, release [from] chains sinners
Profer lumen caecis, offer [the] light [of[ heaven
Mala nostra pelle, evils [of] us discard
Bona cuncta posce! good/blessing~complete/united [be] granted
Sinners from chains unbind,
Grant light unto the blind;
Make our evils all be gone,
And goodness for us be done.
Monstra essa matrem,
Sumat per te preces
Qui pro nobis natus
Tulit esse tuus.
Show you are the mother,
Our own requests gather
For him whom you gave birth
To suffer here on hearth.
Virgo singularis,
Inter omnes mitis,
Nos culpis solutos
Mites fac et castos
Virgin, the one and only,
Chosen out of so many,
Punish us for our guilt,
And free us if you will.
Vitam praesta puram,
Iter para tutum,
Ut videntes Iesum
Semper collaetemur!
Give us the holy life,
Guide us away from strife,
Show us Jesus's ways,
And let us live always.
Sit laus Deo patri,
Summum Christo decus,
Spiritui Sancto,
Honor, Tribus unus!
So praise God the Father,
Glory to Christ as well,
And the Holy Spirit,
Honor to the three in one.
* An anagram: AVE=Hail, inverse of EVA=Eve
File: FMB019
Partial text(s)
Awake, Awake
From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 194-195.
From the singing of Caroline Bridges, collected at Pembridge,
July 1909.
Awake, awake, sweet England, sweet England now awake,
And do your prayers obediently, and to your soul partake;
Our Lord our God is calling, all in the sky so clear,
So repent, repent, sweet England, for dreadful days draw near;
Let us pray, and it's to the living Lord let us pray.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: Leath194
Partial text(s)
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 158-160. From Jennie Hardy Linscott. There's a famous fabled country never seen by mortal eyes, Where the punkins are a-growin', and the sun is said to rise, Which man doth not inhabit, Neither reptile, bird, nor beast. But one thing we're assured of, it's AWAY DOWN EAST. (3 additional stanzas)
File: BNEF533
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs
of the Catskills, #176, pp. 635-636. As told and sung by Charles
Hinkley.
Joe, he said: Melvin dear, did you hear
What they did to dear old El?
They gave him a hearing 'fore old Judge Nearing
And sent the old man to the Poorhouse.
(4 additional stanzas of recitation)
Oh, it's now that we've parted on one shady lane,
On the steep, shady banks of the Eddy,
Where in the purple hue the highland hills we viewed,
And the moon was shining bright on Long Eddy.
(1 additional stanza)
File: FSC176
Partial text(s)
The Old Bachelor From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, p. 311. Collected in 1935 from Dora Ward of Princeton, Indiana. As I was walking all alone, I met an old bachelor making his mourn: "Of all the girls wherever they may be, I can't find a pretty girl that will marry me. "I've offered them silver, I've offered them gold, And may a lie in my lifetime told; Of all the girls wherever they may be, I can't find a pretty girl that will marry me." (Stanzas 1, 3 of 6)
File: JHCox160
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #101, pp. 217-218.
From Frank Faulkner.
One day in December I'll never forget.
A charming young creature I first met,
Here eyes shone like diamonds, she was dressed up to kill,
She was slipping and sliding down Back Bay Hill.
Chorus:
And sing fall de dol doodle dum,
Fall de dol doodle dum,
Fall de dol doodle dum,
Lidy I die.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: FJ165
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 84-86. No source listed. There is one class of men in this country That never is mentioned in song, And now, since their trade is advancing, They'll come out on top before long. They say that our sailors have danger, And likewise our warriors bold, But there's none know the life of a driver, What he suffers in hardship and cold. Refrain: With their pike-poles and peavies and bateaus and all, And they're sure to drive out in the spring, that's the time, With the caulks in their boots as they get on the logs, And it's hard to get over their time. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FJ084
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 303-306. "From the Gernsey manuscript." In Bainbridge town there dwelt of late A worthy youth who met his fate, Which filled many a heart with woe And caused many a tear to flow. Uriel Church it was the name Of this unfortunate young man, Who fell while in the bloom of life By her who was to be his wife. (28 additional stanzas)
File: GC3700
Partial text(s)
From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition),
p. 98. No source indicated.
To Chile's coast we are bound away,
[Chorus:] To my hero Bangidero
To Chile's coast we are bound away,
[Chorus:] We'll drink and dance fandango!
To Chile's coast we are bound away,
Where the Spanish girls are bright and gay!
[Chorus:] To my Hero Bangidero!
Singing hey for a gay Hash girl!
The girls of Chile are hard to beat,
From top to toe they are trim and neat,
From their black mantillas to their natty feet.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: Hug053
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #39, pp. 116-117. "Sung by Martin Hocko, Pinware, August 1960." One evening in a cottage sat maiden young and fair; Her mother dear was seated by her side; "Jack was here today to see me and he pleaded for my hand; I love him, but I'll never be his bride." "I mean to marry Banker Brown although he's old and gray; I do not love him; yet someday we'll wed." The mother laid her knitting down and turning with a sigh, She gently kissed her daughter and she said: (4 additional stanzas plus repeats)
File: LLab39
Complete text(s)
From Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 236-237. From the 1795 journal of the sloop Joseph Francis of Boston. Shepherds have you seen my love Have you seen my Anna Pride of every shady grove Upon the banks of Banna I for her my home forsook Near yon mighty mountain Left my flock my pipe my hook Greenwood shade and fountain Never shall I see them more Until her returning All the joys of life are o'er From gladness turned to mourning Whither is my charmer flown Shepherds tell who've seen her Ah woe's me perhaps she's gone Forever and forever
File: SWMS236
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Where Are You Going Alice? From the recording by G.B. Grayson and Henry Whitter (Victor V40135). Transcribed by Ben Schwartz. "Where are you going Alice, my own heart's delight? Where are you going Alice, this dark and rainy night?" "Down in yonder city my attention does remain Looking for a young man, Sweet William is his name." "Never mind young William, he will not meet you there, Never mind young William, he will not meet you there, Never mind young William, he will not meet you there, Just stay with me in green lands, no danger need you fear." When she heard this sad news she fell into despair, Wringing her hands and tangling her hair, "If Willie he is drownded, no other will I take, Through lonesome roads and valleys I'll wander for his sake." (Poor little Alice) When he heard this sad news he could no longer stand. He took her in his arms, "Little Alice I'm the man. Little Alice I'm the young man that's caused you all this pain. But now we've met in green lands we'll never part again."
File: LN40
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #4, pp. 54-58. From the singing of Perley Hare, Strathadam, 1948. My name is Sandy Grattan, Good grammar I am lacking But excuse mistakes and listen To these few lines I sing About our cam & camp's crew That I have lately come to For the firm of Edward Sinclair, On the banks of Mullen Stream. (20 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi004
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #3, pp. 52-53. From the singing of Jared MacLean, Strathadam, 1947. It's now I will take up my pen These verses for to write. Concerning of this river I mean for to recite. For all through nature's splendor There's none that I can see Like the rolling tide that flows 'longside The banks of the Murrymashee. (2 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi003
Partial text(s)
The Barefoot Boy From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #154, p. 578. From the singing of Ernie Sager. Oh, the night was dark and stormy, and the moon kept shining bright, And the stars cast burning rays down on the storm that raged that night; The lightning struck the cow-shed, and the cows all chewed their cuds, And the moonlight set the prairie afire in the middle of the woods. Oh, the barefoot boy with boots on came a-crawling down the street; His pants were filled with pockets, and his boots were filled with feet. He was born when he was a baby, his grandma's pride and joy; His only sister was a girl, and his brother was a boy. (four and a half additional stanzas)
File: FSC154
Complete text(s)
From the recording by Alec "Uncle Eck" Dunford of Galax, Virginia and Ernest Stoneman (Victor 20938B). Said to have been learned from a schoolmate of Dunford's. Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. "I am going far away, Nora darling, Going to leave such an angel far behind; It will break my heart in two, which I fondly give to you, For no other is so loving, kind, and true. "Yes, I'm going far away, Nora darling, Just as sure as there's a God that we adore; And remember what I say, that until the judgment day, You will never see your Barney anymore. "Then, it's come to my arms, Nora darling, Bid your friends and old Ireland far behind, And it's come and go with me to the dear land of the free, Living happy with your Barney McCoy. "I would go with you, Barney darling, But the reason why I told you oft before; It would break my mother's heart, if from her I was to part, And go roaming with you, Barney McCoy." "I am going far away, Nora darling, And the ship is now anchored in the bay; And before tomorrow's sun, you will hear the signal gun, So, be ready, it will carry us away. "Then, it's come to my arms, Nora darling, Leave your friends and old Ireland far behind, And it's happy we will be in the dear land of the free, Living happy with your Barney McCoy." "I would go with you, Barney darling, If my mother and the rest of them were there; For I'm sure we would be blessed, in that dear land of the west, Living happy with you, Barney McCoy."
File: R776
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #152, pp. 317-318.
From Mrs. L. A. Lind, Canton, Ohio.
1. Oh, Barney O'Lean, say what do you mean,
Don't you know I am waiting for you?
'Tis long after eight, still down by the gate
I am waiting, dear Barney, for you.
I am longing to hear your kind voice once again,
As you whisper to me sweet and low,
And your footsteps I'm waiting down here in the lane
For the clock as struck eight long ago.
Refrain:
Oh, Barney O'Lean, say what do you mean,
Don't you ever mean coming any more?
It's long after eight, still down by the gate
I'm waiting, dear Barney, for you.
2. You told me last night you had something to say,
When you kissed me goodby at the door,
And said you were coming to see me today,
And to meet me the same as before.
I know you will ask me to be your fond wife,
And my answer of course you can guess,
For, Barney, I love you far better than life,
And I'll certainly say to you yes.
3. Oh, Barney O'Lean, say what do you mean,
Don't you never mean coming at all?
I hope you're not wandering with some other maid,
Or gone to a party or a ball.
It is lonely I'm waiting down here in the lane,
And my heart grows sad in its fear;
I'm wondering, dear Barney, of why you're so late,
And longing your footsteps to hear.
File: E152
Partial text(s)
Barrossa From Lewis Winstock, The Music of the Redcoats 1642-1902, #31, pp. 126-127. Apparently from the Sgt. F. Newman manuscript. 'Twas on a Thursday morning that from Cadiz we set sail, As many a gallant Frenchman had good reason to bewails; Straight into Gibraltar Bay our gallant fleet did steer, And on the Saturday we went ashore at Algesir. For we are the lads of honour, boys, belonging to the Crown, And death to those who dare oppose the saucy "Prince's Own.". (9 additional stanzas)
File: Moyl177
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1862 by Root & Cady.
Title page inscribed
THE
Battle-Cry
of
Freedom
Words & Music by
GEO. F. ROOT
1. Yes we'll rally round the flag, boys, we'll rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom,
We will rally from the hillside we'll gather from the plain,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
CHORUS
The Union forever,
Hurrah boys, hurrah!
Down with the traitor,
Up with the star;
While we rally round the flag, boys,
Rally once again,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
2. We are springing to the call for Three Hundred Thousand more,*
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom,
And we'll fill the vacant ranks of our brothers gone before,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
3. We will welcome to our numbers the loyal true and brave,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom,
And altho' he may be poor he shall never be a slave,
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
4. So we're springing to the call from the East and from the West
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom,
And we'll hurl the rebel crew from the land we love the best
Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom.
* This line more typically sung (e.g. later in the war)
"We are springing to the call of our brothers gone before."
See the Australian text (Meredith/Anderson, p. 34) filed under "Marching Through Georgia."
File: MA034
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1862 by Oliver Ditson & Co.
Title page inscribed
BATTLE HYMN of the REPUBLIC
Adapted to the favorite Melody
OF
"Glory Hallelujah"
WRITTEN BY
Mrs.Dr.D.G.Howe
FOR THE
ATLANTIC MONTHLY
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord:
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightening of His terrible swift sword:
His truth is marching on.
Glory! Glory Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory Hallelujah!
His truth is marching on.
2. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
l can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps:
His day is marching on.
3. I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;
Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with his heel.
Since God is marching on.*
4. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat:
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.
5. ln the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me:
As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,
While God is marching on.
* The sheet music does not close the quote opened in line 2 of
this verse.
File: RJ19022
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 178-179. Note that this version gives the date as August 15, 1801, not August 2 as in the common version. On the fifteenth day of August, eighteen hundred and one, We sailed with Lord Nelson to the port of Boulogne; To cut out their shipping, which proved in vain, For, to our misfortune, they were all moored with chain. Exposed to the fire of the enemy we lay, Whilst ninety bright pieces of cannon did play; There many brace seamen did lay in their gore, And the shot from their batteries so smartly did pour. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 6)
File: StoR178
Partial text(s)
From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 58. Old Early's Camp at Fisher's Hill Resolved some Yankee's blood to spill, He chose the time when Phil was gone, The Yankee's Camp to fall upon; "Get out of the way," said General Early, "We've come to drive you from the valley." (4 additional stanzas)
File: ThBa058
Complete text(s)
The Battle of the Boyne From Edward Hayes, The Ballads of Ireland (Boston, 1859 (reprint of 1855 London edition)), Vol I, pp. 210-211, "The Battle of the Boyne" 1690. By Colonel Blacker It was upon a summer's morn, unclouded rose the sun, And lightly o'er the waving corn their way the breezes won; Sparkling beneath that orient beam, 'mid banks of verdure gay, Its eastward course a silver stream held smilingly away. A kingly host upon its side a monarch camp'd around, Its southern upland far and wide their white pavilions crowned; Not long that sky unclouded show'd, nor long beneath the ray That gentle stream in silver flowed, to meet the new-born day. Through yonder fairy-haunted glen, from out that dark ravine, Is heard the tread of marching men, the gleam of arms is seen; And plashing forth in bright array along yon verdant banks, All eager for the coming fray, are rang'd the martial ranks. Peals the loud gun--its thunders boom the echoing vales along, While curtain'd in its sulph'rous gloom moves on the gallant throng; And foot and horse in mingled mass, regardless all of life, With furious ardor onward pass to join the deadly strife. Nor strange that with such ardent flame each glowing heart beats high, Their battle word was William's name, and "Death or Liberty!" Then, Oldbridge, then thy peaceful bowers with sounds unwonted rang, And Tredagh, 'mid thy distant towers, was heard the mighty clang; The silver stream is crimson'd wide, and clogg'd with many a corse, As floating down its gentle tide come mingled man and horse. Now fiercer grows the battle's rage, the guarded stream is cross'd, And furious, hand to hand engage each bold contending host; He falls--the veteran hero falls, renowned along the Rhine-- And he, whose name, while Derry's walls endure, shall brightly shine. O! would to heav'n that churchman bold, his arms with triumph blest, The soldier spirit had controll'd that fir'd his pious breast. And he, the cheif of yonder brave persecuted band, Who foremost rush'd amid the wave, and gain'd the hostile strand; He bleeds, brave Caillemotte--he bleeds--'tis clos'd, his bright career, Yet still that band to glorious deeds his dying accents cheer. And now that well-contested strand successive columns gain, While backward James's yielding band are borne across the plain. In vain the sword green Erin draws, and life away doth fling-- O! worthy of a better cause and of a bolder king. In vain thy bearing bold is shown upon that blood-stain'd ground; Thy tow'ring hopes are overthrown, thy choicest fall around. Nor, shamed, abandon thou the fray, nor blush, though conquer'd there, A power against thee fights to-day no mortal arm may dare. Nay, look not to that distant height in hope of coming aid-- The dastard thence has ta'en his flight, and left thee all betray'd. Hurrah! hurrah! the victor shout is heard on high Donore; Down Platten's vale, in hurried routthy shatter'd masses pour. But many a gallant spirit there retreats across the plain, Who, change but kings, would gladly dare that battle field again. Enough! enough! the victor cries; your fierce pursuit forbear, Let grateful prayer to heaven arise, and vanquished freemen spare. Hurrah! hurrah! for liberty, for her the sword we drew, And dar'd the battle, while on high our Orange banners flew; Woe worth the hour--woe worth the state, when men shall cease to join With grateful hearts to celebrate the glories of the Boyne!
File: PGa014A
Partial text(s)
The Vicksburg Soldier From Arthur Palmer Hudson, Folksongs of Mississippi and Their Background, p. 261. From Mrs. Tobe Young, Bryant, Mississippi. On Vicksburg's bloody battlefield A wounded soldier lay, His thoughts around his happy home Some thousand miles away. (3 additional stanzas plus a fragment)
File: R225
Complete text(s)
B'y' Sara Burned Down From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 40-41. From the singing of Colin Robinson, once a Mississippi rouster but a resident of Ohio at the time the song was collected. Way down the rivuh an' I couldn't stay long, B'y' Sara burned down, She burnt down to the water's edge, B'y' Sara burned down. The people began to run an' squall, B'y' Sara burned down, When they begun to look they was about to fall, B'y' Sara burned down. Look away over yonder, what I see, B'y' Sara burned down, The captain an' the mate wuz comin' after me, B'y' Sara burned down. There's two bright angels by my side, B'y' Sara burned down, 'Cause I want to go to heaven when I die, B'y' Sara burned down.
File: DTBayous
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #15, pp. 62-63. "Sung by Stuart Letto, Lance au Clair, July 1960." A farmer's daughter, you may understand, She fell in love with a servant man. And when her father came this to hear, He separated her from her dear. We haven't been scarce three days at sea, When they fell into a bloody fray. It was this young man's lot to fall; He lost his life by a cannonball. Scarce three days after, this young man was seen; His deathly ghost to her father came With his deadly wounds by his bedside stood, WIth his arms and shoulders all covered with blood. (6 additional stanzas)
File: LLab015
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1863/4 (but probably typeset 1862)
by William A. Pond & Co. Title page inscribed
Beautiful Dreamer
"the last song ever written"
by
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
COMPOSED BUT A FEW DAYS PRIOR TO HIS DEATH
Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day
Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd away.
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life's busy throng,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea
Mermaids are chanting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart
E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
File: FSWB261
Partial text(s)
The Beggarman's Ramble From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond02: "Love Songs" FOLKTRAX-158). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS It was in Ballinderry the beggarman first gathered his meal [Pronounced mail] Says the mother to the daughter, "Did you see the beggarman's flail?" I'll go out on a Monday morning and I'll take a long staff in my hand And the world I'll parade so courageously I'll jog along. To Antrim I'll go where the jolly old farmer does dwell Beggars they won't serve for he knows that they know very well No beggars they'll serve and very few strangers they'll lodge I take off my caubeen [Irish = hat] and I show them where I carry the badge (A beggar's badge was a licence to practice within a particular parish) "O mistress, dear mistress, there stands a poor man in the hall Lie close in your chamber or by Jove he will ruin us all His long ragged britches are torn both behind and before Oh mistress dear mistress such a beggarman I've never saw before." [Mistress here is said 'Misterss'. In similar fashion 'tavern' is pronounced 'tavren' and 'brethren', 'brethern'] And the mistress came down and she did this poor man embrace Saying, "Ah where are you from, come tell me your own native place" I answered, "Dear madam I come from that sweet county called Down And when I'm at home my dwelling place is in sweet Killyleagh town." "O come down to the kitchen," this fair lady unto me did say "There's ale, wine and brandy to ?taste you as long as you stay You can eat at my table and lie in my soft bed of down That's if you stay with me Tom Targer from Killyleagh town." [You'll find an alternate text of this song about the reputed sexual attraction and prowes of beggars in Jackie Boyce, "Songs of County Down"]
File: RcTBegm
Partial text(s)
Court House From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #111, pp. 277-278. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1941. In New York City I first seen the light, Brought up by good parents in the pathway of right, I became an orphan at the age of seven years, On mother's grave I shed many tears. I had scarcely reached manhood when I left my old home, With a few of the fellows to the west we would roam, Seeking employment, we scarcely could find, The pay was so poor and the people unkind. In St. Louis city we first met our fate, We were arrested while walking the street. The charges were burglary, the theft it was small. They said, "We will place you behind a stone wall." (4 additional stanzas)
File: R165
Partial text(s)
From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), pp. 163-164. As sung by Joseph McGinnis, who learned it on the Great Lakes from a former navy sailor. When the wind swells the canvas and the anchor's a-trip, And the ensign's hauled down from the peak of the ship, When the land is receding, and fresh blows the breeze That bears us away o'er the crest of the seas, Hope swells my fond bosom, and this is my strain: Believe me, dearest Susan, I will come back again. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Colc163
Partial text(s)
From Walter de la Mare, Come Hither, pp. 197-198. With deep affection and recollection I often think of the Shandon ells, Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood, Fling round my cradle their magic spells. On this I ponder where'er I wander, And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee; With thy bells of Shandon, That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the River Lee. (3 additional stanzas)
File: OCon024
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 352-353. Sung by Phillip Foley, Tilting, July 1952. The sun's setting beams on the sea were reflecting As gracefully glided our ship with the breeze; On the deck stood a youth, silent, pale and dejected. Oh why was that young heart so thoughtful and grieved? As he stood there alone his lonely watch keeping The breeze on his broad brow the dark curls were sweeping, And ever through his own silent watch he was weeping Saying, "Farewell my beloved land; I'll see thee no more." (2 additional stanzas)
File: Pea352
Partial text(s)
From Frank Shay, American Sea Songs and Chanteys, pp. 98-101. Source not indicated. Ben Backstay was our boatswain, A very merry boy, For no one half so merrily Could pipe all hands ahoy. And when unto his summons We did not well attend, No lad than he more merrily, Could handle the rope's end. Singing chip chow, cherry chow, Fol de riddle ido. Singing chip chow, cherry chow, Fol de riddle ido. (3 additional stanzas)
File: ShSea098
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1843 by W. C. Peters
Title page inscribed
BEN BOLT
or
OH! DONT YOU REMEMBER
Ballad
Sung By
MISS CLARA BRUCE
COMPOSED BY
NELSON KNEASS
(The interior notes that it was also sung by J. H. McCann.
The name of Thomas Dunn English, who wrote the words, is
nowhere mentioned.)
Oh! don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt
Sweet Alice, with hair was so brown;
She wept with delight when you gave her a smile,
And trembled with fear at your frown.
In the old church yard, in the valley, Ben Bolt
In a corner obscure and alone,
They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,
And sweet Alice lies under the stone.
They have fitted a slab of granite so gray,
And sweet Alice lies under the stone.
2nd V.
Oh! don't you remember the wood, Ben Bolt,
Near the green sunny slope of the hill;
Where oft we have sung 'neath its wide spreading shade,
And kept time to the click of the mill:
The mill has gone to decay, Ben Bolt,
And a quiet now reigns all around,
See the old rustic porch with its roses so sweet,
Lies scatter'd and fallen to the ground,
See the old rustic porch, with its roses so sweet,
Lies scatter'd and fallen to the ground.
3rd V.
Oh! don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt,
And the Master so kind and so true,
And the little nook by the clear running brook,
Where we gahter's the flow'rs as they grew.
On the Master's grave grows the grass, Ben Bolt,
And the running little brook is now dry;
And of all the friends who were schoolmates then,
There remains Ben, but you and I.
And of all the friends who were schoolmates then,
There remains Ben, but you and I.
File: RJ19030
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 288-289. "[O]btained in 1916... from Mrs. Mary Ellen Kenyon Baker." Ben Fisher had finished his day's hard work, And he sat at his cottage door; And his good wife Kate sat by his side, And the moonlight danced on the floor. And the moonlight danced on the cottage floor, For its moonbeams were as pure and as bright, As when he and Kate twelve years before Talked love in a mellow light. (6 additional stanzas)
File: GC118
Complete text(s)
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #117, text B, pp. 424-425 (the A text is much shorter but almost identical as far as extant). From a manuscript copy in the keeping of Mabel E. Mueller, thought to have been in her family since around 1880. From noise and bustle far away Hard work my time employing, How happily I passed each day Content and health enjoying. The birds did sing and so did I As I trudged o'er each acre, Oh I never knew what it was to sigh Till I saw Betsy Baker. At church I met her dressed so neat One Sunday in hot weather, With love I found my heart did beat As we sang psalms together; So piously she hung her head, The while her voice did shake, sir, I thought if ever I did wed 'Twould be with Betsy Baker. From her side I could not budge, And sure I thought no harm on't, My elbow then she gave a nudge And bade me mind the sarmint. When church was over, out she walked But I did overtake her, Determined I would not be balked I spoke to Betsy Baker. Her manners were genteel and cool I found on conversation, She'd just been to a boarding school And finished her education. But love made me speak out quite free, Says I, I've many an acre, Will you give me your company? I sha'n't, says Betsy Baker. All my entreaties she did slight And I was forced to leave her, I got no sleep that live long night For love brought on a fever. The doctor came, he smelt his cane With long face like a Quaker, Says he, young man, pray where's the pain? Says I sir, Betsy Baker! Because I was not bad enough He poulticed and he pilled me, And if I'd taken all his stuff I think he must have killed me. I put an end to all their strife 'Twixt him and the undertaker, And what do you think 'twas saved my life? Why, thoughts of Betsy Baker. I then again to Betsy went, Once more with love attacked her, But meantime she had got acquainted With a ramping mad play-actor. If she would have him he did say, A lady he would make her, He gammoned her to run away And I lost Betsy Baker. I fretted very much to find My hopes of love so undone, My mother thought 'twould ease my mind If I came up to London. But though I strive another way, My thoughts will not forsake her, I dream all night and think all day Of cruel Betsy Baker.
From John Henry Johnson, ed. Bawdy Ballads and Lusty Lyrics, pp. 62-63. Said to be from Dixon's Songs of 1842. This text obviously is recensionally different from the above (and, since it has a happy/humorous form, I have to suspect that it is the rewritten version; see also the comment in the third line), but form and metre says the two at least derive from a common original. My sweetheart is a wonder quite, And lately I did take her, Her name you've heard before tonight, Or else I do mistake her. Others may be great and good, On land, on sea, or lake sir. Few names have ever fairer stood Than my sweet Betsy Baker. We started off from New Orleans, 'Cross Alleghany mountains The snow was deep as e'er was seen, The water poured in fountains; The coach it got upset quite flat, Of course the bad coachmaker! And knocked into a cock'd hat Was my sweet Betsy Baker. The ice ran down the Ohio, The steamboat it impeded, At last we got away from snow, Of which we so much needed; No accident did us befall, Tho' steamboat was a shaker, I was not then blown up at all, Except by Betsy Baker. At last arrived at Louisville, We thought ourselves quite lucky To get so far down our route, And lodge safe in Kentucky; My wife she wished to see the men; Half horse, half alligator, I fearful was that they might gouge My lovely Betsy Baker. Down Mississippi we did way, The moon in her first quarter, One night the boat ran on a snag And filled her full of water; The passengers both great and small, Enough to shock a Quaker, Had scarcely any clothes at all What a sight for Betsy Baker. At last arrived in New Orleans, The town was in our view, sirs, A Frenchman, smart as e'er was seen, Began to parlez-vous, sirs, Say he, Mister Permitey mois Mademoiselle to take, ah, Says I -- I will be damned if you Shall touch my Betsy Baker. I went into a masquerade To see the pretty souls, sirs, There saw ladies fine parade, I think they're called Creoles, sirs, They walked about and danced so fine, And waltzed and cut a caper, But I was fetched home in a trice, By my sweet Betsy Baker.
File: R117
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 204-205. "[C]hanted in 1935 by Mr. Duncan MacAlpine, Bad Axe." As I walked out one evening, I roamed for recreation, Quite happy in my station, no care nor trouble knew, To view the sweets of nature and every happy creature, Diffusing, gay, amusing unto the eye that viewed. bright shining came Aurora accompanied by Flora, A shining light from Phoebus began to paint the deep. The larks and linnets singing, each vale with music ringing As Boreas ceased to grumble when Aeolus went to sleep. (4 additional stanzas)
File: GC079
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 148. "From singing of Leila Bunch." Now, since he's gone, just let him go: I don't mean to cry; I'll let him know I can live without him if I try. Without him if I try, without him if I try, I'll let him know I can live without him if I try. Down there, that hateful Betty Brown, she lives almost in sight, And now it's almost eight o'clock, perhaps he's there tonight. Perhaps he's there tonight, perhaps he's there tonight. And now it's almost eight o'clock, perhaps he's there tonight. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 5)
File: Fus148
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 111. From the singing of Captain Henry E. Burke of Toronto, as influenced by a manuscript copy. In Liverpool there liv'd a man -- Jack Jennings was his name -- And in the days of square-rigged sail he played the shanghai game. His wife's name was Caroline, sailors knew from near and far; And when she played the shanghai game she used his big stone jar. Chorus In the old Virginia lowlands, lowlands low, In the old Virginia lowlands low! (portions of 3 additional stanzas)
File: Doe111
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #72, pp. 190-1911. "Sung by Albert Dumaresque, Lance au Clair, August 1960." If you listen to me I will sing you a song; It's about a young man and his name is Sammy; I guess you all know that he's not overgrown; He's got lots of gab and he lives in the cove. (8 additional stanzas)
File: LLab072
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 39-42. Primarily from Herbert Day of West Canaan, New Hampshire. 'Twas over in Cambridge county In a barroom filled with smoke, Where the nabobs gather in at night, Talk horse and crack a joke. 'Twas on a blustery winter's night With tongues all ready greased, And smoke rolled from his old clay pipe When Bill Hopkins spoke his piece. (21 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr039
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From "The Dime Song Book #2" (1860), p. 46. The final stanzas seem to be atypical in tradition. To-morrow morn I'm sweet sixteen, and Billy Grimes the rover as (sic.) popp'd th question to me mamma, and wants to be my lover; To-morrow morn, he says mamma, he's coming bright and early, To take a pleasant trip with me across the fields of barley. You must not go, my daughter dear, it is no use a talking, You can not go across the field with Billy Grime a walking; To think of his presumption now, the dirty ugly drover, I wonder where your pride has gone to think of such a rover. Old Grimes is dead, you know, mamma, and Billy is so lonely, Besides they say, too, Grimes has said, that Billy is the only. So I'll be heir to all he's left, and that they say is nearly A good ten thousand dollars' worth, and about six hundred yearly. I did not hear, my daughter dear, your last remark quite clearly; But Billy is a clever lad, and no doubt loves you dearly, Be ready, then, to-morrow morn, and be up bright and early, To take a pleasant walk with him across the fields of barley. And when we're married, dear mamma, we both shall look so neatly, I'll wear a thousand-dollar shawl -- 'twill make me look so sweetly; This common frock is geting old, and silks will soon be fashion, I'll turn his pockets inside-out, and meet with a short, I guess him. Not quite so fast, my pretty miss, don't try to win the drover Who's travelled this whole country through in search of a true lover; My money ne'er shall buy your shawl, nor build your castle higher, Please, madam, take your daughter home, I only did it to try her.
File: MN2033
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From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, pp. 269-270. Collected from Polly Morris of Yellow Branch, Pirkey, Virginia. Love is sweet and love is Pleasant, long as you keep it in your view. Now we air parted, broken-hearted, thought my heart would brake in two. Good morning, good morning, Missis Mary, Oh, why can't you favor me? My favor air on a brave young James and he's fair across the sea. (5 additional stanzas)
File: ScaSC270
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From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #145, p. 311. From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio. 1. I father'd me brogues and spit on me stick The latter end of May, sir, And up to Dublin I did go To sail upon the say, sir. I gave the captain six thirteens To carry me over to Pargate; And before we got the half the way The wind it blew at hard rate. Refrain With me kille-ma-khu, and rogger-a-dhu, And Billy O'Rourke the boy, sir. 2. Some were on their bended knees, And others they were cryin', But I stuck to the bread and cheese, I always minded the atin', The captain says, "To the bottom you'll go;" Says Billy, I don't care a farthing; You promised to carry me to the other side, And I'll make you stand to your bargain. 3. And when I landed on the other side And I set our for travelin', I met a gentleman on the road Who proved to be a rascal. He clapped pistol to me breast And told me to deliver, But the pan it flashed, And his brains I smashed With a shillalah that never missed fire.
File: E145
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From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 74. No source indicated. Oh, Billy Riley, Mister Billy Riley, Oh Billy Riley O! Oh, Billy Riley, Mister Billy Riley, Oh Billy Riley O! [similarly] Oh, Billy Riley was a boarding-master, Oh Billy Riley O! Oh, Missus Riley didn't like us sailors Oh Billy Riley O! Oh, Billy Riley had a pretty daughter, Oh Billy Riley O!
File: Hug452
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 110-111. From Greenleaf & Mansfield, Ballads and Sea Songs of Newfoundland; collected in 1929 from Annie Walters. 'Twas winter down the icy gulf, THe Gulf St. Lawrence wide, Where stands a lighthouse on a rock, The sailor's friend and guide. The keeper had his wife and son, A helper, too, had he; These four alone lived on that rock Surrounded by the sea. (11 additional stanzas)
File: GrMa144
Complete text(s)
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #43, p. 215 Supplied by Florence Crane; collected by 1916. Reportedly sung by Miss Crane's mother, who learned it circa 1875 is Sisterville, Tyrone County. 1 And then came black Phyllis, his charger astride, And took away Annie, his unwilling bride. It rained, it hailed, and I sat and cried, And wished that my Annie that day had then died. 2 I sat all alone, sad and forlorn, And waited the coming of that Sunday morn. It rained, it hailed, and I in the storm, Ten thousand around me had never been born. 3 And then came her true-love from over the oor, And left them a-cursing his cross on the door. It rained, it hailed, I waited no more; I knew that my Annie he soon would restore. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 4 He fell on Black Phyllis with wild lion's roar; They fought and they struggled for hour after hour. It rained, it hailed, though wounded and sore, He left Phyllis a-dead on the moor. 5 Then swift as a bird to his true-love he fled, Found the cabin in ashes, the ground all a-red. It rained, it hailed, though swift he had sped, He found he was too late; his Annie was dead.
File: JHCox043
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 452-453. No source indicated. Blind man lay beside the way, He could not see the light of day.... The Lord passed by and heard him say: "O Lord, won't you help-a me! O Lord, won't you help-a me!" 2 A man he died, was crucified, They hung a thief on either side; One lifted up his voice and cried: "O Lord, won't you help-a me! O Lord, won't you help-a me!" 3 A blind man lay by the way and cried, "O Lord, won't you help-a me!" And the thief cried out before he died, "O Lord, won't you help-a me! O Lord, won't you help-a me!"
File: San452
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From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #154, pp. 448-449
Supplied by Evelyn Mathews; collected by 1917. Reportedly
sung by Miss Mathews's father, who learned it from F. M. Bush.
1 Young people attention give
And hear what I do say;
I wish your souls with Christ to live
In everlasting day.
2 Remember you are hastening down
To death's dark, gloomy shade;
Your joys on earth will soon be done,
Your flesh in dust be laid.
3 When I was young and in my prime,
I used to go so gay;
For I did not think right of time,
But idled time away.
4 But when too late, I thought of time,
For time had passed and gone;
For now I'm old and am quite blind,
I cannot see my home.
5 Lost time is never found again,
What we call time enough;
For time and tide wait for no man,
It proves quite small enough.
6 'Twas in the year of eighty-four
My eyes became quite dim,
For it has been twelve years or more
Since I could see a hymn.
7 But now I'm getting old and gray,
My way I cannot see,
For I can scarcely see a day,
And that is hard for me.
8 The birds and beasts around me play,
Their sport I cannot see;
For they rejoice in their own way
Because of liberty.
9 The beauties of the earth are gone,
That I can see no more,
For soon I'll reach my long-sought home
Beyond the other shore.
10 And now, kind friends, one thing I ask:
Do not let time pass by;
Although it may be a hard task,
Please think when you are young.
11 And now, dear friends, farewell, farewell!
We soon shall meet above,
With saints and angels there to dwell
In joy and peace and love.
File: JHCox154
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 505-506. Sung by Joseph Bruce, Searston, July 1959. I am a little sailor lad that do go on the sea, I am a jolly fisherman, whatever I may be, Oh once I courted a pretty girl, I'll gain her if I can, And I dearly dote upon her, she's my blooming Mary Ann. (9 additional stanzas)
File: Peac505
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From Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 256-257. From the 1847 journal Williams Histed of the ship Cortes from New Bedford. Note the curious dropping of lines in the second and third stanzas. Blow high blow low let tempests tear The mainmast by the board My heart with thoughts of thee my dea And love well stored Shall brave all danger scorn all fear The roaring wind the raging sea In hopes on shore once more to be Safe moored with thee Aloft while mountains high we go The whistling winds that scud along And the surges roaring from down below Shall be my signal to think on thee Shall be my signal to think on thee And this shall be my song. And all that night while all the crew The memory of their former lives O'er flowing cans of flip renew And drink their sweethearts and their wives I'll heave a sigh and think of thee As the ship rolls through the sea.
File: SWMS256
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, p. 18. Blaw the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, Blaw the wind southerly, south or southwest. My lad's at the bar, at the bar, at the bar; My lad's at the bar, whom I love best. Then blaw the wind southerly, southerly, southerly, Blaw the wind southerly, south or southwest.
File: StoR018
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From Louise Pound, American Ballads and Songs, #56, p. 129. From a text in the manuscript book of L. C. Wimberly. A mother's gift to her country is a story yet untold, She had three sons, three only sons, each worth his weight in gold. She gave them up for the sake of war, while her heart was filled with pain. As each went away she was heard to day, "He will never return again." One lies down near Appomattox, many miles away, Another sleeps at Chickamauga, and they both wore suits of gray, 'Mid strains of "Down in Dixie" the third was laid away, In a trench in Santiago, the blue and the gray. She's alone tonight, while the stars shine bright, with a heart full of despair, On the last great day I can hear her say, "My three boys will be there. Perhaps they'll watch at the heavenly gates, on guard beside their guns, Then the mother, true to the gray and blue, may enter with her sons."
File: LPnd129
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Jim Crack Corn
From sheet music published by F. D. Benteen. The sheet music is on
two pages rather than the usual four, and has no title page, merely
a heading
THE VIRGINIA MINSTRELS
No. 5
"JIM CRACK CORN"
or the Blue Tail Fly
Composed for the
PIANO FORTE
When I was young I us'd to wait
On Massa and hand him de plate;
Pass down de bottle when he git dry,
And bresh away de blue tail fly.
CHORUS.
Jim crack corn I don't care,
Jim crack corn I don't care,
Jim crack corn I don't care,
Ole Massa gone away.
2.
Den arter dinner massa sleep,
He bid dis niggar vigil keep;
An' when he gwine to shut his eye,
He tell me watch de blue tail fly.
Jim crack corn &c.
3.
An' when he ride in de arternoon,
I follow wid a hickory broom;
De pony being berry shy,
When bitten by de blue tail fly.
Jim crack corn &c.
4.
One day he roade aroun' de farm,
De flies so numerous dey did swarm;
One chance to bite 'im on the thigh,
De debble take dat blu (sic) tail fly.
Jim crack corn &c.
5.
De poney run, he jump an' pitch,
An' tumble massa in de ditch;
He died, an' de jury wonder'd why
De verdic was de blue tail fly.
Jim crack corn &c.
6.
Dey laid 'im under a 'simmon tree,
He epitaph am dar to see:
'Beneath dis stone I'm forced to lie,
All be de means ob de blue tail fly.*
Jim crack corn &c.
7.
Ole massa gone, now let 'im rest,
Dey say all tings am for de best;
I nevver forget till de day I die,
Ole massa an' day blue tail fly.
Jim crack corn &c.
* There is no indication of where the quote closes.
File: LI19
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #6, pp. 64-65. From the singing of Bessie Crocker, Newcastle, 1947. O, the ice upon the Merrimashee Will melt before the sun, And Captain Moar's water-boat Will soon by on the run. For half a cent a gallon The ships he will supply, And the Captain says he'll run her Till the tank runs dry. Chorus Till the tank runs dry, Till the tank runs dry, And the Captain says he'll run her Till the tank runs dry. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi006
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #174, pp. 629-631. As sung by Harry Siemsen. In Eighteen Hundred and Forty One They put their long red flannels on, They put their long red flannels on To work in the bluestone quarries. Refrain: Tithery hoora, hoora hey, Tithery hoora, hoora hey, Tithery hoora, hoora hey, To work in the bluestone quarries. We left old Ireland far behind, To search for work of a different kind; To work was hard, but we didn't mind To work in the bluestone quarries. (8 additional stanzas)
File: FSC174
Complete text(s)
The Blithesome Bridal From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, pp. 58-59. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile, as are a few instances of f/s). Come, Fy! let us a' to the wedding For there'll be lilting there, For Jock'll be married to Maggie, The lass wi' the gowden hair. And there will be langkail and castocks, And bannocks of barley meal, And there will be good sawt-herring, To relish a cog of good ale. And there will be Saundy the sutor, And Will wi' the meikle mou, And there will be Tam the blutter, With Andrew the tinkler, I trow; And there will be bow'd legged Robie, With thumbless Katie's goodman, And there will be blew cjeeked Dobbie, And Lawrie the laird of the land. And there will be sow-libber Parie, And plucky fac'd Wat i' the mill, Capper-nos'd Francie, and Gibbie, That wins in the how of the hill; And there will be Alaster Sibby, Wha in with black Bessie did mool, With snivelling Lilly and Tibby, The lass that stands aft on the stool. And Madge that was buckled to Steenie, And coft him gray breeks to his a__, Wha after was hangit for stealing, Great mercy it happen'd nae warse; And there will be gleed Geordy Janners, And Kirsh with the lilly, white-leg, What gade to the south for manners, And plaid the fool in Mons-meg. And there will be Judan Maclawrie, And blinkin daft Barbara Maclet, Wi' flea-lugged sharny-fac'd Lawrie, And shangy-mou'd halucket Meg; And there will be happer a__ Nancie, And fairy-fac'd Flowrie by name, Muck Madie, and fat-hippet Girsy, The lass wi' the gowden wame. And there will be Girn-again Gibby With his glakit wife Jeany Bell, And misled-shinn'd Mugo Macapie, The lad that was skipper himself. There will be lads and lasses in pearlings, Will feast in the heard of the ha', On sybows and rifarts and carlings, That are baith sodden and raw. And there will be fadges and brachan, With fouth of good gabbocks of skate, Powsowdie, and drammock and crowdie, And caller nowt-feet in a plate; And there will be partans and buckies, And whitens and speldings enew, With figit sheep-heads and a haggies, And scadlips to sup till you spew. And there will be lapper'd milk kebbuck And sowens, and farles, and baps, WIth swats and well-scraped paunches, And brandy in stoups and in caps; And there will be meal kail and porrage, With skink to sup till ye rive, And roasts to roast on a brander, Of flewks that were taken alive. Scrapt haddocks, wilks, dufse and tangle, And a mill of good snighing to prie, When weary with eating and drinking, We'll rise up and dance till we die; Then fye let us a' to the bridal, For there will be lilting there, For Jock'll be married to Maggie, The lass wi' the gowden hair.
File: PBB082
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 88-89. Ho'way and aw'll sing thee a tune, mun, 'Bout huz seein' my lord at the toon, mun; Aw's sure aw was smart, now, Aw'll lay thee a quart, now, Nyen them aw cut a dash like Bob Cranky. (15 additional stanzas)
File: StoR088
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 91-93. Farewell, farewell, ma comely pet! Aw's forced three weeks to leave thee; Aw's doon for parm'nent duty set. O dinna let it grieve thee! Ma hinny! wipe them e'en, sae breet, That mine wi' love did dazzle; When thy heart's sad, can mine be leet? Come, ho'way, get a jill o' beer Thy heart to cheer; An' when thou sees me march away, Whiles in, whiles oot, O' step, nae doot; "Bob Cranky's gyen," thou'lt sobbin' say, "A-sougering to Newcassel!" (3 additional stanzas)
File: StoR091
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #67, p. 148. Collected from William Ireland, Elgin, N.B. Now old Bob Vail was a butcher boy And he sold all kinds of meat, He was a real old sport from the toes clean up And he'd rather fight than eat. (4 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB067
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Bohunkus From Sigmund Spaeth, Read 'Em and Weep, pp. 83-84 There was a farmer had two sons, And these two sons were brothers; Bohunkus was the name of one, Josephus was the other's. Now, these two boys had suits of clothes, And they were made for Sunday; Bohunkus wore his ev'ry day, Josephus his on Monday. Now, these two boys to the theatre went, Whenever they saw fit; Bohunkus in the gallery sat, Josephus in the pit. Now, these two boys are dead and gone, Long may their ashes rest! Bokunkus of the cholera died, Josephus by request. Now these two boys their story told, And they did tell it well; Bohunkus he to heaven went, Josephus went to ----.* * Spaeth notes various endings here, all designed to avoid the word you know is meant.
Old Grimes From Sigmund Spaeth, Weep Some More, My Lady, pp. 150-151. Old Grimes is dead, that good old man, We ne'er shall see him more, He wore a single-breasted coat That buttoned down before. His heart was open as the day, His feelings all were true; His hair it was inclined to gray, He wore it in a queue. Whene'er was heard the voice of pain, His breast with pity burned, The large, round head upon his cane From ivory was turned. Thus ever prompt at pity's call, He knew no base design; His eyes were dark, and rather small, His nose was aquiline. He lived at peace with all mankind In friendship he was true; His coat had pocket-holes behind, His pantaloons were blue. But poor old Grimes is now at rest, Nor fears misfortune's frown; He had a double-breasted vest, The stripes ran up and down. He modest merit sought to find, And pay it its desert; He had no malice in his mind, No ruffle on his shirt. His neighbours he did not abuse, Was sociable and gay; He wore not rights and lefts for shoes. But changed them every day.* His knowledge, hid from public gaze, He never brought to view; He made a noise town-meeting days, As many people do. Thus, undisturbed by anxious cares, His peaceful moments ran; And everybody said he was A fine old gentleman. * This may be a reference to the early days of shoe mass-production. Up to the time of the Civil War, shoes were manufactured without "handedness"; both halves of a pair were identical, and the wearer was supposed to grow into them.
Old Father Grimes From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, #428, pp. 177-178. Collected 1913 from W. E. Hale of Joplin, Missouri. Old Father Grimes, that good old man, We ne'er shall see him more, He used to wear a long black coat All buttoned up before. And this old man he had two sons, And these two boys were brothers, Tobias was the name of one, Biankus was the other's. These boys they had a suit of clothes All made by Mistress Grundy, Tobias wore them through the week, Biankus on a Sunday. And these two boys they had a horse, And this old mare was blind, Tobias he rode on before, Biankus on behind.
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #170, p. 490. Collected
some time before January 2, 1916 from a "Mrs. Boyd," probably of
Monongalia County, West Virginia.
1 Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear an old gray coat,
All buttoned up before, my boys,
All buttoned up before.
2 I wish I had a load of wood
To fence my garden round;
For the neighbors' pigs they do get in
And root up all my ground, my boys,
And root up all my ground.
3 Our old cat has got so fat
She'll neither sing nor pray;
She chased a mouse all around the house
And broke the Sabbath day, my boys,
And broke the Sabbath day.
4 Somebody stole my banty hen,
I wish they'd let her be;
For Saturday she laid two eggs,
And Sunday she laid three, my boys,
And Sunday she laid three.
From Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods, chapter 10. Reported to have been sung 1872, though this part of the book is fiction (the Ingalls family did not live in Wisconsin at the time). Old Grimes is dead, that good old man, We ne'er shall see him more, He used to wear an old grey coat, All buttoned down before. Old Grimeses' wife made skim milk cheese, Old Grimes, he drank the whey, There came an east wind from the west, And blew Old Grimes away.
File: R428
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 16-17. From Dr. Lucille Palmer, Kingston, Rhode Island. Collected 1945. 'Twas the (8th, 12th?) of October We set out to sea. (Two lines here, I think) WE'd not been sailing one day Or two days, or three, When the watch in the mizzen (?) A strange sail did see. "Great God," cried the first mate (?) "Whate'er shall we do? That is Bold Kidd, the pirate, And he'll (she'll) heave us to." (Stanzas 1, 3 of about 5)
File: FO016
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Bold M'Dermott From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #13, pp. 50-51. Source not indicated. Come all you wild young gentlemen so reckless and so bold, My hardships and my miseries I'm going to unfold. M'Dermott is my name, a gentleman of birth well known, And by my wicked follies to wicked curses I was prone. I headed the Defenders, became their captain it is truth, In the county of Roscommon I was called the undaunted youth. One thousand men at my command no rent or taxes should be paid, For to face an army I was brought, and of them I was not afraid. (5 additional stanzas)
File: OLoc028
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Tom Redman
From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains,
p. 7 (additional stanza on p. 100). Collected (indirectly) from Ambrose
Gibson "in the Ragged Mountains."
There we saw a farmer
Come out to plough his corn.
He said he seen Tom Redman
Get out behind the barn.
Chorus
Come a-whoop and a-holler
Round the merry plain.
Sing ring-ating-a-ting,
And tick-a-ting-ating,
And raise a high bum-bum,
And so for eidy-eidy-ah.
Through the woods the boys will go,
And through the woods they'll go.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: R076
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 355. No source
indicated.
1 There's a red light on the track for Bolsum Brown,
For Bolsum Brown, for Bolsum Brown.
There's a red light on the track,
And it'll be there when he comes back.
There's a red light on the track for Bolsum Brown.
2 Hop along, sister Mary, hop along,
Hop along, hop along,
There's a red light on the track,
And it'll be there when he comes back.
There's a red light on the track for Bolsum Brown.
File: San355
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From Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 209-211. From the 1834 journal of the L. C. Richmond of Salem. Huntington reports that the manuscript copy calls the song "Bonny Parte." Come all you natives far and near Com listen to my song and story Of these few lines you soon shall hear How soon a man is deprived of glory Ambition it will have its fling Fortune backwards it will twiddle Boni would not be content Until he was master of the whole world Fal de ral etc. He says my wife I will divorce My dignity is far above her She gives free scope to all the world And I will have another lover Pope and priest I will subdue They know I am a bold adventurer And like St. Ruth my name shall rue Since I became the royal emperor He says I will rise above the moon And climb the air through snow and thunder And rise up like an air balloon And cause all nations for to wonder There is no man can turn my head I can tear down the walls of China Not dreaming of a countermand For to embark for St. Helena Boni was a hero bold He was the terror of the whole dominion He would form a plan and raise a scheme That would bring thousands to their ruin For peace with Briton he would not make He says their wooden walls I will shiver Old England's Isle I'll over and take And immortalize my name forever To Waterloo his troops he drew He says my boys I will never surrender All nations we will rule and take Like the glorious Alexander But Wellington he took the field The British boys they thought to baffed them At last poor Boni was forced to yield And run on board the Baldorphan* Now mark the fate of this great man He thought all nations to subdue them He would form a plan and raise a scheme That would bring thousands to their ruin It is now my darling wife he cried Fairer than Eland or bright Dianah It is for you I lament for life Within my bounds on St. Helena * i.e. Bellerophon
File: SWMS209
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From sheet music published 1861 by A. E. Blackmar & Bro.
Title page inscribed
To ALBERT G. PIKE, Esq., the Poet-Lawyer of Arkansas
THE
BONNIE BLUE FLAG
A SOUTHERN PATRIOTIC SONG
Written, Arranged, and Sung at his "Personation Concerts,"
BY
HARRY MACARTHY,
THE ARKANSAS COMEDIAN
Author of "Origin of the Stars and Bars,"
"The Volunteer"
"Missouri"
We are a band of brothers, And native to the soil,
Fighting for our Liberty, With treasure, blood, and toil;*
And when our rights were threaten'd, The cry rose near and far,
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a Single Star!
CHORUS
Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star!
2d VERSE
As long as the Union was faithful to her trust,
Like friends and like bretheren (sic.) kind were we and just;
But now when Northern treachery attempts our rights to mar,
We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue flag that bears a Single Star.
CHORUS. Hurrah!&c.
3rd V.
First, gallant South Carolina nobly made the stand;
Then came Alabama, who took her by the hand;
Next, quickly, Mississippi, Georgia and Florida;
All rais'd on high the Bonnie Blue flag that bears a Single Star.
CHORUS. Hurrah!&c.
4th V.
Ye men of valor, gather round the Banner of the Right,
Texas and fair Louisiana, join us in the fight;
Davis, our loved President, and Stephens, Statesmen rare,
Now rally round the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
CHORUS. Hurrah!&c.
5th V.
And here's to brave Virginia! The Old Dominion State
With the young Confederacy at length has link'd her fate;
Impell'd by her example, now other States prepare
To hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
CHORUS. Hurrah!&c.
6th V.
Then cheer, boys, raise a joyous shout,
For Arkansas and North Carolina now have both gone out;
And let another rousing cheer for Tennessee be given
The Single Star of the Bonnie Blue Flag has grown to be Eleven.
CHORUS. Hurrah!&c.
7th V.
Then here's to our Confederacy, strong we are and brave,
Like patriots of old, we'll fight our heritage to save;
And rather than submit to shame, to die we would prefer,
So cheer for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a Single Star.
CHORUS.
Hurrah! Hurrah! for Southern rights, Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the Bonnie Blue Flag has gain'd th'Eleventh Star!
* This line often sung
"Fighting for the property we gained by honest toil."
File: R214
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From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number XX, pp. 69-70. No source listed. Quhilk o' ye lasses will go to Buchairn? Quhilk o' ye lasses will go to Buchairn? Quhilk o' ye lasses will go to Buchairn? And be the gudewife o' bonnie Buchairn? I'll no hae the lass wi' the gowden locks, Nor will I the lass wi' the bonnie breast-knots, But I'll hae the lass wi' the shaif o' bank notes, To plenish the toun o' bonnie Buchairn. Quhilk o' ye, &c. I'll get a thigging frae auld John Watt, And I'll get ane frae the Lady o' Glack, And I'll get anither frae honest John Gray, For keeping his sheep sae lang on the brae. Quhilk o' ye, &c. Lassie, I am gau to Lawren'-fair, "Laddie, what are ye gaun to do there?" To buy some ousen, some graith, and some bows, To plenish the toun o' Buchairn's knows. Then, some o' ye, lasses, maun go to Buchairn, Some o' ye, lasses, maun go to Buchairn, Now, some o' ye, lasses, maun go to Buchairn, And be the gudewife o' bonnie Buchairn.
File: KinBB20
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 37-38. Stanza 1. The breath of Spring is gratefu', As mild it sweeps alang; Awaukening bud an' blossom, The broomy braes amang; And wafting notes of gladness, Fra ilka bower and tree, Yet the bonnie Redesdale lassie Is sweeter still to me. (3 additional stanzas)
File: StoR037
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From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume II, #177, p.
185. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile). Variants in the text from Percy's
Reliques (Percy/Wheatley, II.iii.17, pp. 227-228) are given at the
end. It will be observed that these variants are entirely without
significance.
Ye Highland and ye Lowlands,
Oh! where have you been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And they laid him on the green!
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And they laid him on the green!
Now wae be to thee, Huntley!
And wherefore did you sae?
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay.
He was a bra' gallant,
And he rid at the ring,
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he might have been a king.
He was a bra' gallant,
And he play'd at the ba',
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a'.
He was a bra' gallant,
And he play'd at the glove,
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
Oh! he was the Queen's love.
Oh! lang will his lady
Look o'er the castle Down
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding through the town.
Variants from Percy (differences in capitalization and punctuation
are not noted):
1.1: Lowlands ] lawlands
1.2: where have you ] quhair hae ye
1.3: have slain ] hae slaine
1.4: have ] hae
1.5-6: Percy does not repeat these lines
2.2: wherefore ] quhairfore
3.1: bra' ] braw
3.4: have ] hae
4.1: bra' ] braw
4.2: play'd ] plays; glove ] gluve
4.4: Queen's love ] Queenes luve
5.2: o'er ] owre; Down ] downe
5.4: Come ] Cum; through ] throw
File: C181
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The Bootlegger From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 157. Source not clearly indicated; probably from manuscript. It is signed "Trammell" and dated November 22, 1915. Hee-haw, hee-haw, Blind Jack is my name, I romp, I paw, I snort, I snooze, For I am in the business of selling booze; But the courts are after me, they're on my track, I fear before long my business will slack. I'll change my name, take my booze on my back, So my name no longer will be Blind Jack, Oh, I look like a tramp, I look like a beggar, They call this type o' Jack a boozing bootlegger. (3 additional stanzas; stanzas 3 and 4 have three lines, stanza 5 has five)
File: Fus154
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, p. 354. Sung by Mrs. Wallace Kinslow, Isle aux Morts, June 1959. There's a bouncing girl in Fogo that I am going to see, No fellow in this regiment knows her but only me. She cried when I was leaving her, I thought she'd break her heart, And if I were to find her no more would we part. (1 additional stanza)
File: Pea354
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #17, pp. 88-89. From the singing of George Edwards. Friends and jolly citizens, I'll sing to you a song; I'll compose a ditty, it won't detain you long, It's all about a jumper, Old Donald was his name, He got captured at his last jump for doing of the same. Refrain: He jumped in Philadelphia, he jumped it in New York, He jumped it all in Harrisburg, you've heard the people talk; He jumped it, yes, he jumped it all around the Yankee shore, He got captured at his last jump in the city of Baltimore. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC017
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 167-169. From Edward Horton, Plymouth Union, Vermont. Collected before 1940. Come, all you young people far and near, A true relation you shall hear Of a young man as ere you see Was killed in Hartford by a tree. One Isaac Alcutt was his name, Who lately into Hartford came, Residing with his brother James, Last Thursday noon went, as it seems, (stanzas 1, 2 of 17, printed as 16)
File: FO167
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The Boyne Water From Charles Gavan Duffy, editor, The Ballad Poetry of Ireland (1845), pp. 248-249, "The Boyne Water" July the First, of a morning clear, one thousand six hundred and ninety, King William did his men prepare, of thousands he had thirty; To fight King James and all his foes, encamped near the Boyne Water, He little feared, though two to one, their multitudes to scatter. King William called his officers, saying, "Gentlemen, mind your station, And let your valour here be shown before this Irish nation; My brazen walls let no man break, and your subtle foes you'll scatter, Be sure you show them good English play as you go over the water." . . . . . . Both foot and horse they marched on, intending them to batter, But the brave Duke Schomberg he was shot, as he crossed over the water. When that King William he observed the brave Duke Schomberg falling, He rein'd his horse, with a heavy heart, on the Enniskilleners calling: "What will you do for me brave boys, see yonder men retreating, Our enemies encouraged are--and English drums are beating;" He says, "my boys, feel no dismay at the losing of one commander For God shall be our king this day, and I'll be general under." * . . . . . . Within four yards of our fore-front, before a shot was fired, A sudden snuff they got that day, which little they desired; For horse and man fell to the ground, and some hung in their saddles, Others turn'd up their forked ends, which we call coup de ladle. Prince Eugene's regiment was the next, on our right hand advanced, Into a field of standing wheat, where Irish horses pranced-- But the brandy ran so in their heads, their senses all did scatter, They little thought to leave their bones that day at the Boyne Water. Both men and horse lay on the ground and many there lay bleeding, I saw no sickles there that day--but sure, there was sharp shearing. . . . . . . Now, praise God, all true Protestants, and heaven's and earth's Creator, For the deliverance that he sent our enemies to scatter. The church's foes will pine away, like churlish-hearted Nabal, For our deliverer came this day like the great Zorobabel. So praise God, all true Protestants, and I will say no further, But had the Papists gain'd the day, there would have been open murder. Although King James and many more was ne'er that way inclined, It was not in their power to stop what the rabble they designed. (Stanzas 1,2,4,5,11,15,14(frag),19,20 of 20, based on OrangeLark 9) * OrangeLark 9 stanza 5: "What will you do for me brave boys! yonder's our men retreating, Our enemies encouraged are, our English drums are beating I'll go before and lead you on--boys, use your hands full nimble; With the help of God, we'll beat them all, and make their hearts to tremble."
File: PGa014
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An English Round From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, p. 187. Collected August 1930 from Nellie S. Richmond of Springfield, Vermont. Girls and boys come out to play. We must have a holiday. Heigh-o, heigh-o Have a holiday. If you want hay sweet and fine Rake it when the sun doth shine. Heigh-o, heigh-o When the sun doth shine.
File: FlBr187
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From John A. Lomax and Alan Lomax, American Ballads and Folk Songs, pp. 526-527. No information whatsoever is supplied as to their source. It was our hard general's false treachery, Which caused our destruction that great day. Oh, he is a traitor, his conduct does show; He was seen in the French fort, six hours ago. And to be marked by the French, I am sure, There round his hat, a white handkerchief he wore, And one of our bold soldiers he stood by a tree, And there he slew many till him he did see. "Would you be like an Indian, to stand by a tree?" And with his broadsword, cut him down instantly. His brother stood by him, and saw he was slain, His passion grew on him, he could not refrain. "Although you're a general, brave Braddock," said he, "Revenged for the death of my brother I'll be." When Washington saw that, he quickly drew nigh, Said, "Oh, my brave soldier, I'd have you forbear." "No, I will take his life, if it ruins us all." And Washington turned round to not see him fall. He up with his musket, and there shot him down. Then Braddock replied, "I received a wound. "If here is (sic.) this place, my life I should yield, Pray carry your general, boys, out of the field." * * * Then General Gatefore, he took the command, And fought like a hero for old Eng-i-land. He fled through the ranks, like a cat to her game, But alas, and alack, he was short-i-ly slain. Then General Gates, he took the command, And fought like a hero for old Eng-i-land. He wished that the river had never been crossed And so many Englishmen shamefully lost. We had for to cross, it was at the very last, And cross over the river, they killed us so fast. Men fell in the river till they stopped up the flood And the streams of that river ran red down with blood.
File: LxA526
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #99, pp. 250-251. "Sung by Ned Odell, Pinware, July 1960." My name is Michael Shaunessy; a story I will tell to ye; I live down by sction three; I'm a decent Irish man. One day the conductor said to me, "O'Shaunessy, wouldn't you like to be, O'Shaunessy, wouldn't you like to be a brakeman on the train?" (4 additional stanzas)
File: LLab099
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The Two Cruel Brothers From the singing of the Gant Family, Library of Congress Archive of American Folksong #648B. Collected by John and Alan Lomax, Austin, TX, 1936 . Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. One night a couple, they sat courting, Two brothers chanced to overhear; Saying, "This courtship, it must be ended, We'll force him headlong to his grave." Her brothers rose early the very next morning, A game of hunting for to go; And of this man they both insisted That along with them that he must go. They rambled over the hills and mountains And to many a place where they were unknown, Until they came to a lonesome valley And there they left him dead alone. And when her brothers had return-ed Their sister inquired for the chosen man; "We've lost him in our game of hunting, We lost him in a foreign land." The sister rose early the very next morning She dressed herself to go away; Her brothers asked her where she's going, Not a word to them that she would say. She rambled over the hills and mountains And to many a place where she were unknown, Until she came to the lonesome valley And there she found him dead alone. His red rosy cheeks, they were all faded; His lips were salt as any brine; She kissed him over and over, crying, Says, "my darling bosom friend of mine." And when the sister had return-ed Her brothers asked her where she'd been; "O, hush your tongues, you deceitful villians,* For the one you killed, you both shall hang." And so her brothers were arrested, And forced across the rousing sea; There come a storm and the wind did drown them, Their bloody grave lies in the deep. * pronounced "vill-yuns."
File: LM32
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The Long and Wishing Eye
From Peter Kennedy, Folksongs of Britain and Ireland, #134,
pp. 310-311. From George Spicer, Copthorne, Sussex, 1956.
1 As Johnny walk-ed out, one midsummer s morn
He soon became quite weary and sat down beneath a thorn
'Twas there he spied a pretty fair maid, as she was passing by
And young Johnny followed after with his long and wishing eye
With his long and wishing eye, brave boys
With his long and wishing eye
And young Johnny followed after
With his long and wishing eye.
2 Good morning, gentle shepherd, have you seen my flock of lambs
Strayed away from their fold, strayed away from their dams
O have you seen the ewe-lamb, as she was passing by
Has she strayed in yonder meadow where the grass grows very high?
Where the grass grows very high, brave boys
Where the grass grows very high
Has she strayed in yonder meadow
Where the grass grows very high
3 O yes, O yes, my pretty fair maid, I saw them passing by
They went down in yonder meadow and that is very high
Then turning round so careless-lie and smiling with a blush
And young Johnny followed after, and hid all in a bush
And hid all in a bush, brave boys (etc.)
4 She searched the meadow over, no lambs could she find
Oft'times did she cross that young man in her mind
Then turning round, she shouted: What's the meaning of your plan?
Not knowing that young Johnny was standing close at hand
Was standing close at hand, brave boys (etc.)
5 The passions of young Johnny's love began to overflow
He took her up all in his arms, his meaning for to show
They sat down in the long grass and there did sport and play
The lambs they were forgotten, they hopped and skipped away
They hopped and skipped away, brave boys (etc.)
6 'Twas the following morning this couple met again
They joined their flocks together to wander o'er the plain
And now this couple's married, they're joined in wedlock's bands
And no more they'll go a'roving in searching for young lambs
In searching for young lambs, brave boys (etc.)
Young Johnny From Bob Copper, Songs & Summer Breezes, pp. 252-253. Young Johnny walked out on a sunshiny morn, He sat himself down by the side of a thorn, And he had not been there long when his true love she passed by, And young Johnny followed after with a long and wishing eye. I have two little lambs stole away from the fold, And these two little lambs they came this way I've been told, O, shepherd, gentle shepherd, will you tell to me, I pray, Have you seen two little lambs come a-wandering this way? O, yes, replied the shepherd, I saw them pass by, They're down in yonder valley and that is very nigh, She returned herself with a curtsey and thanked him with a blush And young Johnny followed after and they lodged in a bush, Lodged in a bush.
Branded Lambs From Creighton/Senior, pp. 133-134 As Johnny rode out one fair summer's morn He being quite wearied he threw himself underneath a thorn, He had not been long there when a damsel did pass by And on this lovelie Johnny she cast a longing eye. "Good morning lovely Johnny, did you see a flock of branded lambs And those two little ones that strayed from their dams? I pray kind gentle shepherd come tell to me I pray That those two gentle young ones might never stray away." "Way down in yonder greenwood as I passed by, Way down in yonder meadow your lambs they do lie," She thanked him most courteously and turned with a blush And Johnny followed after her concealed in a bush. She searched the greenwood over but no lambs could she find. At length she began cursing young Johnny in her mind, Saying, "Here I am betrayed like some poor silly maid," Not knowing of the scheme Johnny had to her mislaid. He caught her in his arms and he gave her a kiss, Saying, "My dearest jewel what is the meaning of all this?" She thanked him most courteously all joys for to renew And the lambs they were sporting all in the morning dew. To church this loving couple went and joined in wedlock banns, "We'll join our flocks together, we'll feed them on yon land. We'll join our flocks together and we'll feed them on a plain And we'll search the greenwood over and over again."
File: LO09
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 358-359. Sung by Mary Ann Galpin, Codroy, September 1961. As I roved out on one fine summer's evening Down by some green meadow I chanced for to stray, There I heard a poor woman in sad lamentation, And I drew myself nearer to hear what she did say. "My Henry and me were onlye twelve months married When war it broke out and four volunteers they signed. My Henry he enlisted to fight for his country, And with hard-hearted strangers I am leaved here behind." (Stanzas 1, 3 of 8)
File: Pea432
Complete text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 120-122. "Copied from the written back pages of an old receipt book belonging to Mrs. Charles L. Olney, Springfield, Vermont." Known to have been in existence by 1939. Cheer up your hearts, young men, let nothing fright you, Let not your courage fail, till after trial, Nor let your fancy move, at the first denial. I went to see my love only to woo her, I went to gain her love, not to undo her, Whene'er I spoke a word, my tongue did quiver, I could not speak my mind, while I was with her. Love, here's a diamond ring, long time I've kept it, 'Tis for your sake alone, that I have kept it, When you the posy read, think on the giver, Madam, remember me, or I'm undone forever. Brave Wolfe then took his leave of his dear jewel Most surely did she grieve, saying don't be cruel; Said he, 'tis for a space that I must leave you, Yet love, where'er I go, I'll not forget you. So then this gallant lad did cross the ocean, To free America from her invasion, He landed at Quebec with all his party, The city to attack, both brave and hearty. Brave Wolfe drew up his men in form so pretty, On the plains of Abraham, before the city, There, just before the town, the French did meet them, With double numbers, they resolved to beat them. When drawn up in a line, for death prepared, While in each others' face their armies stare, So pleasantly brave Wolfe and Montcalm talked, So martially between their armies walked. Each man then took his post at their retire, So then these numerous hosts began to fire, The cannon on each side did roar like thunder, And youth in all their pride was torn asunder. The drums did loudly beat, colors were flying Brave Wolfe began to wake as he lay dying, He lifted up his head while guns did rattle And to his army said, how goes the battle? His aide-de-camp replied, "Tis in our favor, Quebec with all her pride, we soon shall have her, She'll fall into our hands with all her treasure;" "Oh then," brave Wolfe replies, "I die with pleasure."
The Battle of Montcalm and Wolfe From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #21, pp, 87-89. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York. Apparently collated from three recording sessions, 1940, 1941, and 1946. Bad news has come to town, bad news is carried, Some says my love is dead, others say she's married. As I was a-pond'ring on this, I took to weeping. They stole my love away whilst I was sleeping. Love, here's a ring of gold, long years I've kept it. Madame, it's for your sake, will you accept it? When you the posy read, pray think on the giver. Madame, remember me, for I'm undone forever. Then away went this brave youth, and embarked all on the ocean, To free Americay was his intention. He landed in Quebec with all his party, The city to attack, being brave and hardy. He drew his armies up in lines so pretty On the Plains of Abraham back of the city, At a distance from the town where the French would meet him, In double numbers, who resolved to beat him. Montcalm and this brave youth together walked, Between two armies they like brothers talked, Till each one took his post and did retire. It was then these numerous hosts commenced their fire. Little did he think death was so near him. [one line missing] When shot down from his horse was this our hero. We'll long regret his loss in tears of sorrow He raised up his head where the cannons did rattle, And to his aide he said, "How goes the battle?" His aide-de-camp replied, "It's ending in our favor." "Then," says this brave youth, "I quit this earth with pleasure." (Variant ending, from the 1946 session -- note that it is identical to the above except for the addition of line 4:) He raised up his head where the cannon did rattle, And to his aide he said, "How goes the battle?" His aide-de-camp replied, "It's ending in our favor, Quebec is in our hands, nothing can save her." "Then," says this brave youth, "I quit this earth with pleasure."
File: LA01
Complete text(s)
Brigantine Sinorca
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #106, pp. 228-229.
"Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, South-East Passage." A fragment; this is
probably the last verse or nearly.
Oh, now we're off of Shelburne
And there we lay aground,
The caulkers they go round her
And soon her leak was found.
They caulk her up with oakum
As tight as tight could be,
And squared away our yards
And we put her out to sea.
Chorus
Then it's watch her, trig her,
See her how she goes,
Her stuns'ls and her staysails set
The wind began to blow.
She's one of the fastest sailers
That ever sailed the sea,
She's the brigantine Sinorca,
She belongs to Port Medway.
File: SmHa015
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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 110-112. Immediate source not noted. Some talk of Alexander, And some of Hercules; Of Hector and Lysander, And such great men as these. But of all the world axknowledges True valour best appears,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers. These ancients of antiquity Ne'er saw a cannon ball, Nor knew the force of powder, To slay their foes withall; But our brave boys have known it, And banished all their fears,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers. When we receive the orders, To storm the pallisadoes, Our leaders march with fuzees And we with hand grenadoes. We toss them from the glacis, Amongst our enemies' ears,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers. Then Jove the god of thunder, And Mars the god of war, Rough Neptune with his trident, Apollo in his car; And all the gods celestial, Descending from their speres, Do behold with admiration Brave British Grenadiers. But be you Whig or Tory, Or any other thing, I'd have you to remember, To obey great George our king, For if you prove rebellious, We'll thunder in your ears,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers. And when the siege is over, We to the town repairs, The citizens cry, "Huzza, boys! Here comes the Grenadiers." Here come the Grenadiers, boys, Without e'er dread or fear,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers. Come fill us up a bumper, And let us drink to those, Who carry caps and pouches, And wear the laced clothes, May they and their commanders, Live happy many years,-- With a row-row-row, row-row-row, Brave British Grenadiers.
File: Log109
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By Will H. Fox From Douglas Gilbert, Lost Chords, pp. 270-271. The church bells they were ringing, The choir was sweetly singing, In a far New England village Just two short years ago. The flowers they were blooming, The birds in tree-tops tuning, Two hearts had been united -- Fair Lillian and Joe. The husband he toiled daily, And happy was their lot. He loved his wife and baby, His vows he ne'er forgot. One day a former sweeetheart Came and, finding him away, Through flattery and promises Joe's wife was led astray. Chorus: There's her picture on the table, There's a baby in the cradle, There's a husband crying bitterly alone. There's no wife's voice to cheer, In his sorrow to be near, What was paradise is now a broken home. His eyes are dim with weeping, Yet faithful watch he's keeping O'er his precious little treasure For whom his heart does moan. Forgetting all dishonor Which she had brought upon her; For baby's sake he'd gladly Forgive if she'd come home. Oh, why do people falter, And lose all self-respect For vows made at the altar And make their lives a wreck? These questions Joe has asked himself With heart as heavy as lead -- When baby's smile prevents him Being numbered with the dead.
File: R768
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From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, pp. 253-254. Collected in 1935 from O. F. Kirk of Oakland City, Indiana. O Brother Green, do come to me, For I am shot and bleeding; And I must die, no more to see My wife and my dear children. A Southern foe has laid me low, On this cold ground to suffer; Dear brother, stay and lay me away, And write my wife a letter. (10 additional stanzas)
File: R211
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As recorded by Uncle Dave Macon, Brunswick 292, July 25, 1928.
Transcribed by Robert B. Waltz
Way back in Tennessee they leased the convicts out,
They worked them in the mines against free labor stout.
Free labor rebelled against it, to win it took some time,
But while the lease was in effect, they made 'em rise and shine.
Chorus
Oh, Buddy, won't you roll down the line,
Buddy, won't you roll down the line,
Yonder comes my darling, coming down the line.
Buddy, won't you roll down the line,
Buddy, won't you roll down the line,
Yonder comes my darling, coming down the line.
Every Monday morning they've got 'em out on time,
March them down to Lone Rock so they look into that mine.
March you down to Lone Rock so you look into that hole.
Very last word the captain said, "You better get your pole."
The beans they are half done, the bread is not so well.
The meat it is burnt up and the coffee's black as heck.
But when you get your task done, you'll gladly come to call,
For anything you get to eat it tastes good done or raw.
The bank boss is a hard man, a man you all know well,
And if you don't get your task done, he's gonna give you hallelujah.
Carry you to the stockade as on the floor you'll fall,
Very next time they call on you, you'll bet you'll have your pole.
File: ADR98
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From Sigmund Spaeth, Weep Some More, My Lady, p. 108. No source
indicated, but he implies Negro or Minstrel origin.
As I was rambling down de street, down de street, down de street,
A beauty gal I chanc'd to meet, Lubly as morning dew.
Buffalo gals, can't you come out tonight?
can't you come out tonight?
can't you come out tonight?
Buffalo gals, can't you come out tonight
And dance by de light ob de moon.
Chorus:
Buffalo gals, can't you come out tonight?
can't you come out tonight?
can't you come out tonight?
Buffalo gals, can't you come out tonight
And dance by de light ob de moon.
I said, "My angel, will you talk?
And take wid me a little walk,
Wid those sweet feet I view?"
Buffalo gals, etc.
"And would you like to take a dance?
Quadrille, or Polka, fresh from France,
They're all alike to me."
Buffalo gals, etc.
"O! I will lub you all my life,
And you shall be my happy wife,
If you will marry me."
Buffalo gals, etc.
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, #535, p. 333. This is the "B" text (the most complete in Randolph's collection, though it had no tune), collected in 1931 from John F. Danks of Little Rock, Arkansas. As I was walkin' down the street, Down the street, down the street, A pretty fair maid I chanced to meet, Under the silvery moon. Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight, Come out tonight, come out tonight? Buffalo gals, won't you come out tonight An' dance by the light of the moon. I ask her if she'd stop and talk, Stop an' talk, stop an' talk, Her feet covered up the whole sidewalk, But she was fair to view. Dance all night till broad daylight, Broad daylight, broad daylight, Dance all night till broad daylight, Go home with the gals in the mornin'.* I ask her if she'd be my wife, Be my wife, be my wife, Then I'd be happy all my life, If she'd marry me. * This verse, seemingly from "The Boatman Dance," also occurs in Randolph's "A" text.
From Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods, Chapter 8. Reported to have been sung 1871/1872, though this part of the book is fiction (the Ingalls family did not live in Wisconsin at the time). Oh, you Buffalo gals, Aren't you coming out tonight, Aren't you coming out tonight, Aren't you coming out tonight, Oh, you Buffalo gals, Aren't you coming out tonight, To dance by the light of the moon?
File: R535
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From George Pullen Jackson, White Spirituals in the Southern Uplands, p. 240. I'm glad that I am born to die, And we'll all shout together in that morning, From grief and woe my soul shall fly, And we'll all shout together in that morning, In that morning, in that morning, And we'll all shout together in that morning.
File: LxA565
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From Olive Woolley Burt, American Murder Ballads And Their Stories, p. 194. Source not listed; probably from print. Under the sod of the prairie land We have laid him down to rest, With many a tear for the sad, rough throng, And the friends he loved the best. And many a heartfelt sigh was heard As over the sward we trod, And many an eye was filled with tears As we covered him with the sod.
File: RcTBoWB
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[Bruce's Log Camp] From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #7, pp. 66-67. From the recitation of Wilbert Munn of Hayesville. Trough alders and boulders and bushes I tramped 'Til I came to the place they call Bruce's log camp. I opened the door, what a sight met my eyes, Some cursing, some swearing, and some telling lies. A three-legged stool and a table to match, And a door in the corner without any latch, No lids on the stove and no oil in the lamps; That is the description of Bruce's log camp. (1 additional stanza)
File: Doe217
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(No title) From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number XXV, p. 79. No source listed. Johnie cam to our toun, To our toon, to our toun, Johnie cam to our toun, The body wi' thet ye; And O as he kittled me, Kittled me, kittled me, O as he kittled me, But I forgot to cry. He gaed thro' the fields wi' me, The fields wi' me, the fields wi' me, He gaed thro' the fields wi' me, And doun amang the rye. Then O as he kittled me, Kittled me, kittled me, Then O as he kittled me -- But I forgot to cry."
File: KinBB25
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #8, pp. 68-69. From the singing of John Holland, Glenwood, 1962. Aw, in Byrontown I do renown, The place I do belong, For to speak my mind on womenkind I have composed a song. Still you will agree and listen to me, Mind what I say is true, All the ladies gay I will betray, And five them all their due. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Doe261
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From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 58-59. Source not listed; widely known. M'en revenant de la jolie Rochelle, M'en revenant de la jolie Rochelle, J'ai rencontre trois jolies demoiselles. Refrain: C'est l'aviron qui nous mene, qui nous mene, C'est l'aviron qui nous mene en haut. (11 additional stanzas)
English translation as sung by Gene Bluestein -- though I suspect he had it from Fowke/Johnston; it's effectively identical. Riding along the road to Rochelle city, Riding along the road to Rochelle city, I met three girls, and all of them were pretty. Pull on the oars as we glide along together; Pull on the oars as we glide along. (6 additional stanzas)
File: FJ058
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), pp. 84-85. From the singing of Captain Patrick Tayluer, New York, NY. Introduction Oh, whenever I went away, the story I'd like to tell, About an 'andy little bark, the Campanero. Chorus Oh' it's between the cook and the pump, Well, they drive me off me chump On this 'andy little bark, the Campanero! If I ever go to sea, Well, it won't be up to me, To go in that handy little bark, the Campanero! 1. Oh, the skipper, he is a bulldozer, And you never did hear The words that come from a man's mouth so often. The mate he wants to fight, and the durin' every night, The boys around the hatch they all surround him. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Doe084
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The Campbells (sic.) are comin From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume III, #299, p. 309. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). The Campbells are comin Oho, Oho! The Campbells are comin Oho, Oho! The Campbells are comin to bonie Lochleven, The Campbells are comin Oho, Oho! Upon the Lomons I lay, I lay, Upon the Lomons I lay, I lay, I looked down to bonie Lochleven And saw three bonie perches play. Great Argyle he goes before, He maks his cannons and guns to raaoar, We' sound o' trumpet, pipe and drum The Campbells are comin Oho, Oho! The Campbells they are a' in arms Their loyal faith and truth to show, Wi' banners rattling in the wind, The Campbells are comin Oho, Oho! Note: The Scots Musical Museum prints the chorus as the first verse and then again as the chorus, but the tune is the same; this is just a printing quirk.
File: FSWB281B
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Gwine to Run All Night
From sheet music published 1850 by F. D. Benteen
The title of the song is given only on the interior
page:
"GWINE TO RUN ALL NIGHT."
or
DE CAMPTOWN RACES
Title page inscribed
FOSTER's
Plantation Melodies
AS SUNG BY THE
CHRISTY MINSTRELS
No. 1. OH LEMUEL No. 2. DOLLY DAY
" 3. GWINE TO RUN ALL NIGHT 4. ANGELINA BAKER
Written, Composed & Arranged
BY
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
De Camptown ladies sing dis song,
CHORUS. Doo-dah! doo-dah!
De Camptown racetrack five miles long
CHORUS. Oh! doo-dah day!
I come down dah wid my hat caved in
CHORUS. Doo-dah! doo-dah!
I go back home wid a pocket full of tin
CHORUS. Oh! doo-dah day!
CHORUS.
Gwine to run all night!
Gwine to run all day!
I'll bet my money on de bob-tailed nag
Somebody bet on de bay.
2
De long tail filly and de big black horse Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Dey fly de track and dey both cut across Oh! doo-dah day!
De blind hoss sticken in a big mud hole Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Can't touch bottom wid a ten foot pole Oh! doo-dah day!
CHO: Gwine to run all night! &c.
3
Old muley cow come on de track Doo-dah! doo-dah!
De bob-tail fling her over his back Oh! doo-dah day!
Den fly along like a rail-road car Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Runnin' a race wid a shootin' star Oh! doo-dah day!
CHO: Gwine to run all night! &c.
4
See dem flyin' on a ten mile heat Doo-dah! doo-dah!
Round de race track, den repeat Oh! doo-dah day!
I win my money on de bob-tail nag Doo-dah! doo-dah!
I keep my money in an old tow-bag Oh! doo-dah day!
CHO: Gwine to run all night! &c.
File: RJ19039
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 60-61. No source listed; probably from a printed source and not traditional. Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting hymn. Refrain (1): Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, The rapids are near and the daylight's past, The rapids are near and the daylight's past. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FJ060
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 43-45.
'Bout Lunnon aw'd heard sec wonderful spokes,
That the streets were a' covered wi' guineas;
The houses se fine, sec grandees the folks,
Te them huz i' the North were but ninnies.
But aw fund my-sel blonk'd when to Lunnun aw gat,
The folks they a' luck'd wishy-washy;
For gould ye may howk till ye're blind as a bat,
For their streets are like wors -- brave and blashy.
'Bout Lunnon, then, divn't ye mak' sic a rout,
There's nowse there ma winkers to dazzle!
For a' the fine things ye are gobbin about
We can marra' iv canny Newcassel.
(8 additional stanzas)
File: StoR043
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 241-242. From Charles L. Cook of Kennebunk, Maine. Collected 1941. 'Twas in the month of September In the month of September we hear Brig Mariner sailed over the bar From Kennebunk away she went To the West Indies she was sent. (21 additional lines, arranged mostly in 4-line stanzas, but the division into stanzas appears defective.)
File: FO241
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 32. From the first (1927) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. Terry is a fine young man, But he has lots of "chaw," He thought to do the devil an all, When he got the Esquimaux. The Mary Joyce is stuck in the ice, And so is the Osprey too. Captain Bill Rya left Terry behind, To paddle his own canoe. (3 additional stanzas)
File: RySm032
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #108, pp. 232-234.
"Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island."
Come, all you young fellows that follow the sea,
Bring your ship to an anchor and listen to me.
Three weeks in the hollows I lay drunk on shore,
Like a frolicksome youth I have wasted my store.
Chorus
And sing fall diddle diddle, I diddle I day.
(12 additional stanzas)
File: SmHa014
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Captain Glen's Unhappy Voyage to New Barbary As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 47-50. Collated from two printings, one from 1794 and the other c. 1815. There was a ship, and a ship of fame, Launched off the stocks, bound to the main, With a hundred and fifty brisk young men, Well picked and chosen every one. William Glen was our captain's name; He was a brisk and a tall young man, As bold a sailor as e'er went to sea, And he was bound for New Barbary. The first of April we did set sail, Blest with a sweet and pleasant gale, For we were bound for New Barbary, With all our whole ship's company. One night the captain he did dream, There came a voice which said to him: "Prepare you and your company, Tomorrow night you'll lodge with me." This waked the captain in a fright, Being the third watch of the night, Then for his boatswain he did call, And told to him his secrets all. "When I in England did remain, The Holy Sabbath I did profane; In drunkenness I took delight, Which doth my trembling soul affright. "There's one more thing I've to rehearse, Which I shall mention in this verse: A squire I slew in Staffordshire, All for the sake of a lady dear. "Now, 'tis his ghost, I am afraid, That hath to me such terror made; Although the king hath pardoned me, He's daily in my company." "O worthy captain, since 'tis so, No mortal of it e'er shall know; So keep your secret in your breast, And pray to God to give you rest." They had not gone a league but three, Till raging grew the roaring sea; There rose a tempest in the skies, Which filled our hearts with great surprise. Our main-mast sprung by break of day, Which made our rigging all give way; This did our seamen sore affright. The terrors of that fatal night! Up then spoke our fore-mast man, As he did by the fore-mast stand, -- He cried, "Have mercy on my soul!" Then to the bottom he did fall. The sea did wash both fore and aft, Till scarce one sail on board was left; Our yards were split, and our rigging tore: The like was never seen before. The boatswain then he did declare The captain was a murderer, Which did enrage the whole ship's crew: Our captain overboard we threw. Our treacherous captain being gon, Immediately there was a calm; The winds did cease, and the raging sea, As we went to New Barbary. Now when we came to the Spanish shore, Our goodly ship for to repair, The people were amazed to see Our dismal case and misery. But when our ship we did repair, To fair England our course did steer; And when we came to London town, Our dismal case we then made known. Now many wives their husbands lost, Which they lamented to their cost, And caused them to weep bitterly, These tiding from New Barbary. A hundred and fifty brisk young men, Did to our goodly ship belong; Of all our whole ship's company, Our number was but sevenry-three. Now seamen all, where'er you be, I pray a warning take by me; As you love your life, still have a care That you never sail with a murderer. 'Tis never more I do intend For to cross o'er the raging main; But I'll live in peace in my own country, -- And so I end my tragedy.
File: LK22
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #88, p. 185. Collected from William Ireland, Elgin, N. B. Come all you bold and chief commanders O'er the foaming billows cruise, By my sad fate pray take a warning, All poor seamen don't abuse. Richard Perry was my servant, A tall and handsome man was he, His mother did him a prentice bind With me to cross the raging sea. (2 additional stanzas)
File: SWMS054
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From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, p. 12. Said to have been collected "from the singing of an old colored watchman and two younger Negroes employed on the levee." Captain Jim Rees said when the Katie wuz made, Arkansas City gwine be her trade. I lef' my woman in the do', Says, "Work down the rivuh, an' honey, don't you go." Captain will you be so good an' kind, Take all the cotton, an' leave the seed behind. Heep seed[1] an' a few knows, Heap starts an'a few goes. I ain't gwine tell nobody What they done to me. But ef I evuh git to the long plank walk,[2] I won't come no mo'. [1] Wheeler glosses this as "sees" [2] Wheeler explains this as the stage plank.
File: MWhee010
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From correspondence forwarded by David Wahl. It's not absolutely clear who was the original informant. "Tis not long since I've learned, by the laws of our land, Our law-abiding citizens have taken in hand, By a well known desperado and horse-trader too, He is known on the trails as our Captain, Old Blue. Now Blue, he is an outlaw, and the sheriff he stands With a pair of cocked pistols gripped tight in each hand. Go take a walk, Tommy, I'm telling you true, Take a walk for your health and bother Old Blue. There is Homar, the ranger, he sails on the trails, Equipments are graceful, he uses horsehide for sails, He is fond of wild life and a bold buckaroo, By life or by death, he will stay with Old Blue. (Stanzas 1, 3, 5 of 9)
File: PrivCOBl
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #83, pp. 214-215. "Sung by Henry Belber, Lance au Loup, August 1960." Ye daring sons of Newfoundland with me will sympathize Converning Captain Shepherd and his two brave hero boys. Who toiled around their native home to maintain der families dere, Until at last dey made a tripe to the little Isle of St. Pierre. (8 additional stanzas)
File: LLab083
Complete text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 7-10. Based on a broadside "printed and sold by J. Pitts, 14 Great St. Andrew Street, Seven Dials, circa 1821. It has been collated with two other copies" with their variant readings reproduced in Logan's margin. Strike up, ye lust gallants, With music beat of drum, For we have got a rover, Upon the sea is come. His name is Captain Ward, Right well it now appears, There hath not been such a rover Found out these thousand years. For he hath sent unto the king, The sixth of January, Desiring that he might come in With all his company. And if the king will let me come Till I my tale have told; I will bestow, for my ransom, Full thirty ton of gold. "O nay, O nay," then said the king, "O nay, this must not be, To yield to such a rover Myself will not agree. "He hath deceived the Frenchman, Likewise the King of Spain; Then how can he be true to me, Who has been false to twain?" With that our king provided A ship of worthy fame; The Rainbow she is called, If you would know her name. And now the gallant Rainbow She rolls, upon the sea, Five hundred gallant seamen To keep her company. The Dutchman and the Spaniard She made them for to flee, Also the bonny Frenchman An she met them on the sea. When as the gallant Rainbow Did come where he did lye; "Where is the captain of that ship?" The Rainbow she did cry. "O! that I am," said Captain Ward, "There's no man bids me lie, And if thou art the king's fair ship, Thou art welcome unto me." "I'll tell you what," said the Rainbow, "Our king is in great grief, That thou shouldst lie upon the seas, And play the arrant thief. "You will not let our merchantmen Pass as they did before; Such tidings to our king is come Which grieves his heart full sore." With that the gallant Rainbow She shot, out of her pride, Full fifty gallant brass pieces, Charged on every side. And yet these gallant shooters Prevailed not a pin; Though they were brass on the outside, Brave Ward was steel within. "Shoot on, shoot on," said Captain Ward, "Your sport well pleaseth me, And he that first gives over Shall yield unto the sea. "I never wronged an English ship, But Turk and King of Spain, Likewise the blackguard Dutchman, Which I met on the main. "If I had known your king But two or three days before, I would have saved Lord Essex' life, Whose death doth grieve me sore. "Go tell the King of England, Go tell him this from me, If he reigns king of all the land, I will reign king at sea." With that the gallant Rainbow shot, And shot and shot in vain, Then left the rover's company, And home returned again. "Oh! Royal King of England, Your ship's returned again; For Captain Ward he is so strong, He never will be ta'en." "Oh, everlasting," said the king, "I have lost jewels three, Which would have gone unto the seas, And brought proud Ward to me. "The first was Lord de Clifford, Great Earl of Cumberland, The second was the Lord Mountjoy, As you may understand. "The third was brave Lord Essex, From foe would never flee, Who would have gone unto the seas, And brought proud Ward to me."
File: C287
Partial text(s)
A Newfoundland Hero As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 29-31. From James Murphy, Songs of Our Land: Old Home Week Souvenir. The fierce wind moaned among the cliffs of rugged Labrador, The wild waves dashed with thund'rous sound against the rock-bound shore; The snow that dimm'd the noon-day sun fell on the muffled form Of one who, blest with manhood's strength, defied the raging storm. Some hundred fathoms from the shore, upon a reef of rock, A bark had struck, while spars and keel were shivered by the shock. The jagged point on which she lay had pierced from keel to deck, And pale with fear the trembling crew were clinging to the wreck. E'er and anon the crested waves upon her rushed amain, As if they in their mad career would wrench her planks in twain. A moment JACKMAN gazed upon this scene of dreadful woe, Then flung his boots and coat apace upon the drifting snow. (Stanzas 1, 6, 7 of 21)
File: GrMa145
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 76-77. From Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports; collected in 1951 from Jim Rice. To Harvey's I'll start and to Bowring's I'll go, I'll name all the ships and the captains also, Where the North King is raging and strong blows the gale In search of the white-coast a day they will sail. In the Ad, Captain Doyle; in the Belle, Joby Knee; In the Bon, Captain Parsons, a stout man is he. And jolly gay Kean in the spring will command Harvey's port steamer the old Newfoundland. (7 additional stanzas)
File: Doyl3019
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #69, pp. 182-183. "Sung by Martin Hocko, Pinware, August 1960." In the year of nineteen hundred sixteen in mid-winter time, What happened here I think it fair should go into rime, COncerning a bold old man whose age was seventy-three, Who left his home one winter night his traps for to go see. (3 additional stanzas)
File: LLab069
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From sheet music published 1878 by Oliver Ditson Company (copyright, however, belonged to J. F. Perry & Co.) Title page inscribed TWO PLANTATION MELODIES! STANDARD AND POPULAR! CARRY ME BACK TO OLD VIRGINNY SONG AND CHORUS WORDS AND MUSIC BY JAMES A. BLAND 40 THERE'S A LITTLE HAPPY HOME SONG AND CHORUS WORDS AND MUSIC BY HARRY WOODSON 40 1. Carry me back to old Virginny, There's where the cotton and the corn and tatoes grow, There's where the birds warble sweet in the springtime, There's where the old darke'ys heart am long'd to go. There's where I labored so hard for old massa, Day after day in the field of yellow corn, No place on earth do I love more sincerely Than old Virginny, the state where I was born. CHORUS. Carry me back to old Virginny, There's where the cotton and the corn and tatoes grow, There's where the birds warble sweet in the springtime, There's where the old darkey's heart am long;d to go. 2. Carry me back to old Virginny, There let me live 'till I wither and decay, Long by the old Dismal Swamp have I wandered, There's where this old darke'ys life will pass away. Massa and missus have long gone before me, Soon we will meet on that bright and golden shore, There we'll be happy and free from all sorrow, There's where we'll meet and we'll never part no more.
File: RJ19043
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #73, pp. 150-151.
"Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island."
Me and Patrick Casey went out for a spree,
He got a bottle for himself and another one for me,
We trudged along together till our hands and feet were sore
And every drop that we did drink it made us wish for more.
Chorus.
Bad luck to Casey's whiskey, it made us feel so frisky,
We drank the bottles empty till of course we couldn't stand,
Then the streets we rambled, we staggered and we scrambled,
And sang a song the whole night long of gay old Paddy's land.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS073
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #108, pp. 270-271. "Sung by Ned Odell, Pinware, June 1960." The verse length is irregular, with the first two lines of the tune repeated as needed: the first verse is five lines long, the second four, the remaining three are of eight lines. I was going up the hill, I met a girl on a bicycle, Run her into a garden wall, Smashed her tire and broke her fall, With a ha-ha-ha and a he-he-he, Jim's a cat's eye, now you'll see. When young Liz first saw the sea, "We'll get some sea water," said she; So a bottle he fetch from the old Brown Bull, And he went and put it three parts full, With a ha-ha-ha and a he-he-he, "Why not fill 'em up?" said she. "For if I do," said Harry to Liz, "The bottle will burst and the tide run out." (stanzas 1, 3 of 5)
File: LLab108
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From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #168,
pp. 839-840. Source not listed.
I
In Cawsand Bay lying, with the Blue Peter flying,
And all hands on deck for the anchor to weigh,
When off came a lady, as fresh as a daisy,
And modestly hailing, the damsel did say:
II
'Ship ahoy! bear a hand there! I wants a young man there,
So heave us a man-rope, or send him to me;
His name's Henry Grady, and I am a lady,
Arrived to prevent him from going to sea.
(7 additional stanzas)
File: OBB168
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From Jean Ritchie, Folk Songs of the Southern Appalachians (second edition), p. 76. Apparently from family tradition. Way low down in the cedar swamp, Waters deep and muddy, There I met a pretty little miss, There I kissed my honey. (Chorus) Swing a lady up and down, Swing a lady home, Swing a lady up and down, Swing a lady home. Build my love a big fine house, Build it in the garden, Put her in and she jumped out, Fare you well, my darlin'. (2 additional stanzas)
File: RiSo076
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In Smiling June the Roses Bloom From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #75, pp. 250-251. From the singing of John Holland, Glenwood, 1961. In smiling June where roses bloom And daisies they do grow, Down by a brook my way I took, I carelessly did go For to view those fields that nature yields Along the smiling rills, Where I met quite my heart's delight, The champion of Court Hill. (4 additional stanzas)
File: LeBe018
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #14, pp. 61-64. Collected from O. J. Abbott, Hull, Quebec, August 1957. I'm a jolly good fellow, Pat Gregg is my name. I come from the Chapeau, that village of fame. For singing and dancing and all other fun The boys from the Chapeau cannot be outdone. (10 additional stanzas)
File: FowL14
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As recorded by Kelly Harrell, Victor 20797, March 23, 1927 Come all you tender Christians Wherever you may be And likewise pay attention To these few lines from me. I was down at the depot To make my getaway And Providence being against me, It proved to be too late. I tried to play off insane But found it would not do; The people all against me, It proved to make no show. Judge Cox he passed the sentence, The clerk he wrote it down, On the thirtieth day of June To die I was condemned. Chorus: My name is Charles Guiteau, My name I'll never deny, To leave my aged parents To sorrow and to die. But little did I think While in my youthful bloom I'd be carried to the scaffold To meet my fatal doom. My sister came in prison To bid her last farewell. She threw her arms around me; She wept most bitterly. She said, "My loving brother, Today you must die For the murder of James A. Garfield Upon the scaffold high." And now I mount the scaffold To bid you all adieu, The hangman now is waiting, It's a quarter after two. The black cap is o'er my face, No longer can I see, But when I'm dead and buried, Dear Lord, remember me.
File: LE11
Complete text(s)
From B. A. Botkin, A Treasury of American Folklore, pp. 805-906. Derived from Allen, Ware, and Garrison, Slave Songs of the United States, 1867, p. 88. As I walked down the new-cut road, I met the tap and then the toad, The toad commenced to whistle and sing, And the possum cut the pigeon's wing. Along came an old man riding by: "Old man, if you don't mind, your horse will die"; "If he dies, I'll tan his skin, And if he lives I'll ride him again." Hi, ho, for Charleston gals! Charleston gals are the gals for me. As I was a-walking down the street, Up steps Charleston gals to take a walk with me. I kep' a-walking and they kep' a-talking, I danced with a gal with a hole in her stocking.
File: ScaNF162
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #10, pp. 73-74. From the singing of George C. Alexander of Doakstown around 1950. (Come all you jolly?) lumbermen, Wherever that you be, And if you pay attention, Come listen unto me. If ever you go to lumbering woods, Please take my advice, For if you go with Charley Bell, He'll eat him alive with lice. Chorus Look out for number one, Come listen to me, For the man who works for Charley Bell 'S no better than he ought to be. (5 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi010
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Chesapeake and Shannon
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 71-72. Immediate source not listed.
The Chesapeake so bold,
Out of Boston, I've been told,
Came to take a British frigate
Neat and handy, O!
While the people all in port
Came out to see the sport,
With their music playing
Yankee doodle dandy, O!
Now the British frigate's name,
Which for the purpose came
Of cooling Yankee's courage
Neat and handy, O!
Was the Shannon -- Captain Broke --
Whose crew were hearts of oak,
And for fighting were allowed to be
The dandies, O!
The engagement scarce begun,
Ere they flinched from their guns.
Which at first they thought of working
Neat and handy, O!
Then brave Broke he drew his sword,
Crying, "Now, my lads, we'll board,
And we'll stop their playing
Yankee doodle dandy, O!"
They no sooner heard the word,
Ere they quickly jumped on board,
And haul'd down the Yankee ensign
Neat and handy, O!
Notwithstanding all their brag,
Now the glorious British flag
At the Yankee's mizen peak
Was quite the dandy, O!
Here's a health, "Brave Broke," to you,
To your officers and crew,
Who on board the Shannon frigate
Fought so handy, O!
And may it ever prove
That for fighting, as in love,
The true British tars
Are the dandies, O!
File: LJ20
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #170, pp. 616-617. As recited by Mike Casey. Old Eli Chichester, he built the town; He gathered all the boys from all the way around; They lived in Chichester, they owned a little town, They employed all the boys from all the way around. (fragments of 4 additional stanzas)
File: FSC170
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From Guy Logsdon, "The Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing" And Other Songs Cowboys Sing, #8, pp. 58-59. From the singing of Riley Neal. Not dated but collected before 1976. Way out in western Texas not so many years ago, Where the ranchers hated settlers worse than rattlesnakes, you know, When one would come in the country you'd hear a rancher say, "Go over there, boys, tell them to get away; Tell them we'll steam their cattle, burn their cabin into coals, If they act a little contrary, fill them full of bullet holes." (3 additional stanzas)
File: Logs008
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 203. "From Mrs. Jessie Ainsworth Sullivan, Ypsilanti." I will tell you the way I have heard some say To choose you a lovely young creature, To choose you a wife you would love as your life With a fair and comely feature. Let her stature be tall, but middling small, Her waist both trim and slender; Her instep thin, her ankle slim, O then, young man, you may venture. (Stanzas 1, 5 of 5)
File: GC078
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 210-211. From Mrs. Edwin C. White, Naugatuck, Connecticut. Collected in 1949. All nature was sinking in silence to rest. The sun in its glory sank low in the west. I walked in the garden and there on the ground Was the loneliest creature that ever was found. (5 additional stanzas plus a half stanza)
File: FO210
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Christ Made a Trance From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, p. 192. Apparently from the singing of Angelina Whatton, collected 1908 near Dilwyn. Christ made a trance one Sunday at noon, He made it with His hand, And made the sun clear all off the moon Like the water on dry land. Like the water off the the land, man Christ, What died upon the Cross; What shall we do for our Savior, As He has done for us? Come, teach your children well, dear man, And teach them when they're young, The better it'll be for your own dear soul, When you are dead and gone. (Stanzas 1, 3, 7 of 7)
File: Leath192
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 411-412. "Sung in 1931 by Mrs. John Lambertson, Belding." Clarence McFaden he wanted to waltz, But his feet was not gaited that way; So he saw a professor and stated his case And said he was willing to pay; Professor looked down in alarm at his feet, And he viewed their enormous expanse, So he tucked on a five to his regular price For learning McFaden to dance. Chorus One, two, three, just balance likeme. Though you're a fairy, you still have your faults. Your right foot is lazy, our left foot is crazy; Now don't be unaisy, and I'll teach you to waltz. (3 additional stanzas)
File: GC170
Complete text(s)
Oh My Darling Clementine
From sheet music published 1884 by Oliver Ditson & Co.
Title page inscribed
OH MY DARLING
CLEMENTINE
WORDS & MUSIC
BY
PERCY MONTROSE
1. In a cabin, In a canyon, an excavation for a mine;
Dwelt a miner, A Forty-niner,
And his daughter Clementine.
CHORUS.
Oh my darling, Oh my darling, Oh my darling Clementine,
You are lost and gone forever,
Drefful sorry, Clementine.
2. She drove her ducklets, To the river, Ev'ry morning just at nine;
She stubb'd her toe, against a sliver,
And fell into the foaming brine.
3. I saw her lips above the water, Blowing bubbles soft and fine;
Alas for me, I was no swimmer,
And so I lost my Clementine.
File: RJ19148
Partial text(s)
From W. K. McNeil, Southern Folk Ballads, Volume II, pp. 92-93. Collected in April 1935 from Nora Johnson of Ebenezer, North Carolina. In the month of July and the year of sixteen, The worst tropical storm that ever was seen Made its way from the ocean wide And struck with force on the mountain-side. At the head of Jack Branch there was children five, A mother and father and all alive; They stood in the door and the rain it came down; They saw how quickly it covered the ground. (8 additional stanzas, one of them of six lines)
File: MN2092
Complete text(s)
Cluck old hen, Cluck and squall, You ain't laid an egg Since away last fall. Chorus Cluck old hen, Cluck and sing, You an't laid an egg Since away last spring. I have got A good old hen. She lays eggs For railroad men. Chorus My old hen, She wont do. She lays eggs And 'taters too. Chorus The old hen cackled, Cackled in the lot. Next time she cackled, She cackled in the pot. Chorus.
Loosely and incompletely remembered from a local old-time band, perhaps Bob Bovee and Gail Heil (now of Spring Grove, Minnesota). - RBW My old hen's a good old hen, She lays eggs for the railroad men. Sometimes one, sometimes ten, That's enough for the railroad men. Chorus: Cluck old hen, cluck and sing, Ain't laid an egg since way last spring. Cluck old hen, cluck and squall, Ain't laid an egg since way last fall. The old hen cackled, she cackled in the lot; Next time she cackled, she cackled in the pot. The old hen cackled, she cackled down the well; The next time she cackled, she cackled [...].* * I can probably guess this line as well as you can, but I don't explicitly remember it.
File: Wa120
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #78, pp. 166-168. Collected from Scott Stuart, St. Andrews, N.B. I asked a sweet robin one evening in May That sang in the apple trees over the way What he was a-singing so sweetly about, I tried a long time but I could not find out. "Don't you know," she replied, "that you cannot guess wrong? I am only a-singing the cold water song." (2 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB082
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 17. From the first (1927) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. Come all you jolly ice-hunters and listen to my song. I hope it won't offend you, I don't mean to keep you long; 'Tis concerning an ice-hunter from Tilton Harbour sailed away, On the fourteenth day of March, eighteen hundred and thirty-three. (6 additional stanzas)
File: GrMa122
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Come All You Fair and Handsome Girls From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, pp. 322-323. Supplied by Ethel Owen, Dog Pen Branch, Council, Virginia, from a text in her mother's collection. The lineation is Scarborough's. Come all you fair and handsome girls take warning by a friend. If you want the ways of this wide world upon my word depend. The mind of women they are weak, But the mind of men are strong. oh, never listen to what they say, are (sic.) they will tell you something wrong. When I was in my sixteenth year Little Willie said to me, if I would run away with him, his loving wife I would be. (5 additional stanzas plus a half-stanza)
File: WB2080
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 201-202. "From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses." Come ye that fear the Lord, Come ye that fear the Lord; I have something for to say about the narrow way, For Christ the other day saved my soul, For Christ the other day saved my soul. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Fus201
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 113. From Greenleaf & Mansfield, Ballads and Sea Songs of Newfoundland; collected in 1929 from James Day. Come all ye young fellows wherever ye be, I'll sing ye a verse on the cooks of Torbay, And if ye'll pay attention and listen a while, You'll hear a tall song that will cause you to smile. We signed on at the office a-sealing to go, Up in the Gulf, in the Ellen, you know; Our cook he looked drowsy, these words did he say: "O, you'll find me smart enough to sea." (4 additional stanzas plus part of a fifth)
File: GrMa148
Complete text(s)
From Maxwell S. Luria and Richard L. Hoffman, Middle English Lyrics, #230, p. 221. From Balliol College (Oxford) Ms. 354 (the Richard Hill MS.), folio 165b. I have at least three editions of the text in the Hill Manusript (Davies, Medieval English Lyrics, #164 p. 272; Luria/Hoffman; Stevick, One Hundred Middle English Lyrics, #99, p. 171). No two agree precisely, though the differences are essentially a matter of modernized orthography. This appears to have the text closest to the original, though the punctuation is very suspect. [refrain:] Lully, lulley, lully, lulley; The faucon hath born my mak away. He bare him up, he bare him down; He bare him into an orchard brown. In that orchard ther was an hall, That was hanged with purpil and pall. And in that hall ther was a bede; It was hanged with gold so rede. And in that hall ther lithe a knight, His woundes bleding day and night. By that bedes side ther kneleth a may, And she wepeth both night and day. And by that beddes side ther stondeth a ston, Corpus Christi wreten thereon.
File: L691
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From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 135. Originally from The Book of Navy Songs. What said John Paul Jones on the brave Bon Homme Richard; What said that good fighting man, lashed foe to foe? You bid me surrender! I ve not yet begun to fight! And that was the Navy of long, long ago! What said Captain Lawrence on board the doomed Chesapeake; What said he when, wounded, they bore him down below? "Don't give up the ship!" though the Shannon had beaten him! And that was the Navy of long, long ago! (2 additional stanzas)
File: Col135
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 357. "Obtained in the Detention Home, Detroit... from a sixteen-year-old boy of Mohammedan faith." As I was standing on a corner, Not doing any harm, Along came a policeman And took me by the arm. I woke up in the morning And looked up on the wall. The bedbugs and the cockroaches Were playing a game of ball. I went downstairs to breakfast; The bread was hard and stale; The coffee tastes like tobacco juice In the damned old county jail. (Stanzas 1, 3, 5 of 5)
File: GC147
Complete text(s)
Derived from a medieval Mystery (Miracle) play. This song comes
from the Coventry cycle, and specifically from the Coventry Pageant
of the Shearmen and Tailors. This cycle is first mentioned in 1392.
The cycle, possibly of ten plays (a typical Mystery cycle would
contain about 24, but with the average play much shorter than the
Coventry plays), was copied by Robert Croo in 1534, but the songs
were added in the late sixteenth century (1581 according to the
Penguin edition; 1591 in the Oxford Book of Carols). There are
actually three such songs; this is the second (though the third
in fact appears to be a second stanza of the first).
Of the ten Coventry plays, only this and the Pageant of the Weavers
survived into modern times. The manuscript, however, was burned
in the Birmingham Free Library Fire of 1879, and had not been
properly transcribed. All that is known of it is derived from the
editions published by Thomas Sharp in 1817 and 1828; neither is
very good, and it is not unreasonable to emend the text.
The version below is as printed in the Penguin Classics volume
_English Mystery Plays_ (p. 379), with the spelling of the
original retained. Glosses (usually consisting simply of
modernized spelling) occur in the right margin.
Textual variants involving more than spelling are listed at the
bottom of the text.
Lully lulla, thow littell tine child, Thou little tiny child
By, by, lully lullay, thow littell tyne child,*
By, by, lully lullay!
O sisters too,
How may we do
For to preserve this day
This pore yongling, This poor youngling
For whom we do singe For whom we do sing
By, by, lully, lullay?
Herod, the king,
In his raging,
Chargid he hath this day Charged he has this day
His men of might
In his owne sight In his own sight
All yonge children to slay -- All young children to slay
That wo is me, That woe is me
Pore child, for thee, Poor child, for thee,
And ever morne and [may]* And ever morn/mourn and [may]
For thi parting For thy parting
Neither say nor singe, Neither say nor sing
By, by, lully, lullay.
Variant readings:
Chorus, line 2: Entire line omitted in modern settings, but in the
original melody
Verse 3, line 3: OBC emends "may" (meaning perhaps "season") to
"day." The square brackets indicate an uncertain reading in the Penguin
text. Some emend the line to read "And ever mourne and pray."
File: OBC022
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 436-437. Sung by Edward Taylor, Joe Batt's Arm, July 1952. Why fair maid in every feature Are such signs so fair expressed? Can a wandering wretched creature With such terror fill thy breast? Then I will sing my lovelorn ditty, Still I'll lonely pace the plain, And each passerby in pity cries: "God help poor Crazy Jane!" (stanzas 1, 8 of 8)
File: Pea436
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The Crookit Bawbee From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #25, pp. 59-60. Collected from Jeannie Leslie, Sackville, N.B. Oh wat wa gat yet that old worsted plaidie? A mantle o' satin were fitter for thee, I would clad you in satin and mak' you a lady, Gin ye will come wi' me to bonny Glenshee." (5 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB025
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), #24, pp. 99-100. From Ed Springstad, Bemidji, Minnesota. Says White Pine Tom to Arkansaw, "There's one more drive that I'd like to strike." Says Arkansaw, "What can it be?" "It's the Crow Wing River for the old Pine Tree." (3 additional stanzas)
File: Rick099
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 211.
"From singing of C. M. Moses."
I had a pious father, that I once loved dear,
He's been gone for many a year,
He has lain in his grave for many a day,
Till the power of God shall call him away.
Chorus
There's a crown for you, and a crown for me,
Glory be to God; there's a crown for us all.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: Fus211
Complete text(s)
Imaginary Trouble From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #62, pp, 162-163. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1940. There lived, as I've heard say, Down by a running water, An old man and his wife Who had a charming daughter. One night said Kate to John, "I've had a troubled fancy, I heard the waters roar And thought upon our Nancy." "If Tom and Nance should wed, And such a thing there may be, Their marriage might bring about A prattling little baby." "When that dear babe could walk, And just begin to waddle, Perchance he might come here And in the water paddle." "I know he will be drowned, I hear those waters calling, 'O pretty sweet baby.'" And both began a-bawling. No doubt but it was fate That brought those lovers walking To where old John and Kate Were a-sighing and a-talking. They all sat on the green, While Katie told her fancy, How they did weep and wail, Tom, old man, Kate, and Nancy. They all went crying home, Tom, old man, wife, and daughter Each night the ghost doth come And cries upon the water.
File: Wa062
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 160. No source given.
The letters in the text of the second stanza (which, for some
reason, Sandburg numbers "1," placing "2" in the middle of the
stanza!) refers to the playparty instructions.
Three times round the cuckoo waltz,
Three times round the cuckoo waltz,
Three times round the cuckoo waltz,
Lovely Susie Brown.
Fare thee well, my charming girl,
Fare thee well I'm gone,
Fare the well, my charming girl,
With golden slippers on.
1 (a) Choose your pard as we go round,
Choose your pard as we go round,
Choose your pard as we go round,
(b) We'll all take Susie Brown...."
2 (c) Fare thee well, my charming girl,
(d) Fare thee well I'm gone,
Fare the well, my charming girl,
With golden slippers on.
File: San160
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 176-178. No source indicated. The first white man in Cumberland Gap, The first white man in Cumberland Gap, The first white man in Cumberland Gap, Was Doctor Walker, an English chap, Lay down boys and take a little nap, They're raising hell in Cumberland Gap. Daniel Boone on the Pinnacle Rock, Daniel Boone on the Pinnacle Rock, Daniel Boone on the Pinnacle Rock, He killed Indians with an old flint lock, Lay down boys and take a little nap, They're raising hell in Cumberland Gap. (8 additional stanzas)
File: R498
Partial text(s)
The White-Headed Boy From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 180-181. Apparently from the notebook of Catherine Amelia P. Hall (died 1869). In the dead of the night When labours was at rest All mortals snjoyed The sweet blefsingsf (sic.) of rest A boy rapt at my door And I woke with the nois (sic.) Who is there My rest to distroy (sic.) (6 additional stanzas, one of which is probably a double stanza)
File: FO180
Complete text(s)
The Bonny Bird Fragmentary text, from pp. 149-150 of W. Chappell/H. E. Wooldridge, Old English Popular Music. The diverse spellings of "bonny/bonnie" are in the Chappell text. Once did I love a bonny brace bird, And thought he had been all my own, But he lov'd another far better than me, And has taken his flight and is flown, Brave Boys, And has taken his flight and is flown. Up the green forest, and down the green forest, Like one distressed in mind, I hoopt and I hoopt, and I flung up my hood, But my bonnie bird I could not find, Brave Boys, But my bonnie bird I could not find.
File: ChWII149
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #39, p. 122. From the singing of Steve Wadsworth of New York State. Collected 1969. You asked me for to sing a song, I'll see what I can do. I don't care what I sing about, If it only pleases you. And now I sing to you my song, Please don't on me stare, For there's nothing half so handsome As a curly head of hair. (3 additional stanzas, though the lengths differ.)
File: Wa039
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #172, p. 624. As sung by Harry Siemsen. Around and 'round the Wurtsboro bend The big boat chased the squeezer. Pat Flax's boat had passed them both Slicker than the weasel, Slicker than the weasel. In Eighteen Seventy-Eight, the Canal Was hit by a freshet; The embankment broke and flooded The Vly, The damage was terrific, The damage was terrific. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC172
Partial text(s)
From W. K. McNeil, Southern Folk Ballads, Volume II, pp. 162-163. Apparently transcribed from the original sheet music. 'Twas down in the meadows, the violets were blowing, And the springtime grass was fresh and green; ANd the birds by the brooklet their sweet songs were singing When I first met my darling Daisy Deane. CHORUS: None knew thee but to love thee, thou dear one of my heart, O they mem'ry is ever fresh and green, Tho' the sweet buds may wither and fond hearts bebroken, Still I'll love thee my darling Daisy Deane. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MN2162
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs
& Ballads, pp. 97-98. A fragment, with explanatory interludes,
from Josepha Cobb. Collected September 3, 1930.
Boy's mother wishes to put girl away, takes walk with girl
She changed the scene and showed a hateful spleen.
She says, "Mother, what do you mean?"
"What I mean you soon shall find.
This sorry knife is designed
To pierce your heart. You have ensnared my son
Whose heart was quickly won, I'll undo all that's done,
Here in this place." So stabbed her straight.
(15 additional lines plus two interludes)
File: FlBr097
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #64, pp. 228-229. From the singing of Billy Price, Priceville, in 1960. One morning in May as I roamed for to 'spectation On the banks of the Effie I chanced for to stray, And the fields and the meadows and the flowers were blooming, And the small birds sang sweetly as the lambs sport and play. "Kind Sir," she answered, the truth I will tell you, My bosom is wrecked and my heart is full sore. For Felix Parks murdered by husband, Dan Curry; Suffered here on this earth and I'll see him no more. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 7)
File: MaWi064
Partial text(s)
As recorded by Kendall Morse on "Lights Along the Shore," Folk-Legacy FSI-57, copyright 1976. A revival version, but it's one of the rare full texts. One evening of late as I happened to stray, To the County Tipperary I straight took me way To pick the potatoes and work by the day For a farmer called Darby O'Leary. I asked him how far we were bound for to go, The night being dark and a cold wind did blow. I was hungry and tired and me spirits were low, For I got me no whiskey nor water. (4 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB110
Complete text(s)
From J. H. Johnson (ed.), Bawdy Ballads and Lusty Lyrics, pp. 47-49. Variatons from Spaeth, Read 'em and Weep, pp. 76-78, are noted at the end. 'Twas on a Friday morning, The first day of August; When of that day I ever think, My heart feels ready to bust! I jumped into a Broadway stage The Central Park going to, On a seat by the right-hand side of the door, Sat a dark girl dressed in blue. Now we hadn't gone very far, When the lady looked so strange; The driver knocked down for his fare, Says she, "I have no change; I've only a ten-dollar bill, O dear, what shall I do?" Said I, "Allow me to pay," "O, thank you, sir," Says the dark girl dressed in blue. We chatted and talked as we onward walked, About one thing or the other; She asked me, too (O wasn't it kind?) If I had a father or a mother. Says I, "Yes, and a grandmother, too; But pray, miss, what are you?" "O, I'm chief engineer in a milliner's shop," Says the dark girl dressed in blue. We walked about for an hour or two, Through the park, both near and far; Then to a large hotel we went -- I stepped up to the bar; She slipped in my hand a ten-dollar bill, I said, "What are you going to do?" "O, don't think it strange, I must have change." Said the dark girl dressed in blue. We had some slight refreshments, And I handed out the bill; The bar-keeper counted out the change, And the bill dropped in the till: 'Twas in currency and silver change; There was a three-cent piece or two; So I rolled it up, and gave it to The dark girl dressed in blue. She thanked me, and said, "I must away; Farewell, till next we meet; For on urgent business I must go To the store in Hudson street," She quickly glided from my sight, And soon was lost to view; I turned to leave -- when by my side Stood a tall man dressed in blue! This tall man said, "Excuse me, sir, I'm on the 'special force'; That bill was bad -- please come with me" -- I had to go, of course. Said I, "For a lady I obtained the change," Says he, "Are you telling me true? What's her name?" Says I, "I don't know, She was a dark girl dressed in blue." My story they believed -- though I was deceived, But said I must hand back the cash; I thought it was a sin, as I gave her the tin -- Away went ten dollars smash! So, all young men, take my advice, Be careful what you do, When you make the acquaintance of ladies strange, Especially a dark girl dressed in blue. Variations in Spaeth: (punctuation variants not noted) Add first verse: From a village up the Hudson, To New York here I came, To see the park call'd Central, And all places of great fame. But what I suffer'd since I came I now will tell to you, How I lost my heart and senses too, Thro' a dark girl dress'd in blue. Chorus: She was a fine girl, fol de riddle I do, A charmer fol de riddle oh. 8.1 -- "though": Spaeth "thought"
File: R388
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #59, pp. 218-220.
Source not recorded.
1 There was a lass all neat and fair --
Oh runny ba ho
With middle small and golden hair
Oh runny bunny ba ho
2 She's married a knight all dark and tall
And she has left her father's hall.
3 Her mother gret full woeful sair,
'Oh, I'll not see my daughter mair.'
4 He's placed her on his milk-white steed,
And they have gone full many a mile.
5 They had not gone but forty mile,
And they came on a golden stille.
6 'Light down, fair Alice, for you have come home;
For I am sick and will no more roam.'
[stanza or stanzas missing]
7 Ten years they lived in the castle fine,
And she has born him children nine.
8 . . . . . .
They will not live another dawn
9 He's killed the sons all tall and good;
He's taken the daughters to the wood.
10 And there he's hanged his daughters three:
'And oh, your sorrows you must dree.'
11 The lady saw her bairns were gone.
She did not live another dawn.
12 He's mounted on his milk-white steed
And he's gone out across the sea
12 To seek another maiden fair
Who'll never see her mother mair.
File: BrII059
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1856 by Oliver Ditson Company
Title page inscribed
To MISS A. C. WALKER
DARLING
NELLY GRAY
SONG and CHORUS
Words & Music by
B.R.HANBY
There's a low green valley by the old Kentucky shore,
There I've whiled many happy hours away,
A sitting and a singing by the little cottage door
Where lived my darling Nelly Gray.
CHORUS.
Oh! my poor Nelly Gray, they have taken you away
And I'll never see my darling any more,
I'm sitting by the river and I'm weeping all the day,
For you've gone from the old Kentucky shore.
2d Verse
When the moon had climbed the mountain and the stars were shining too,
Then I'd take my darling Nelly Gray,
And we'd float down the river in my little red canoe,
Whily my banjo sweetly I would play.
3.
One night I went to see her but "she's gone!" the neighbors say,
The white man bound her with his chain,
They have taken her to Georgia for to wear her life away,
As she toils in the cotton and the cane.
Chorus.
4.
My canoe is under water and my banjo is unstrung,
I'm tired of living any more,
My eyes shall look downward and my songs shall be unsung
While I stay on the old Kentucky shore.
Chorus.
5.
My eyes are getting blinded and I cannot see my way,
Hark! there's somebody knocking at the door --
Oh! I hear the angels calling and I see my Nelly Gray
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.
Chorus, to the last verse.
Oh! my darling Nelly Gray, up in heaven there they say,
That they'll never take you from me any more,
I'm a-coming -- coming -- coming, as the angels clear the way
Farewell to the old Kentucky shore.
H. M. Wharton, War Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy,
offers a version with the following variants (note the clear
attempts to reduce the song's anti-slavery tone):
1.1 by the old ] on the old
1.3 A sitting and a singing by the ] Sitting and singing in my
1.4 Nelly ] Nellie (and so throughout)
Cho.3 weeping ] watching
Cho.3 the old ] my old
2.3 in my little ] in our little
OMIT verse 3
4.3 my songs ] my song
4.4 While I stay on the ] If she's gone from my
5.2 somebody ] someone
OMIT final chorus
File: RJ19053
Partial text(s)
(No title) From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II, pp. 231-232. Source not listed. Drums were beating, troops were marching, 'Mid grim war's tempestuous scenes, Outposts coming to headquarters, Met a youth still in his teens. Captured by the Federal minions As a hated Rebel spy, He was brought before the General, To be heard -- mayhap to die. "Tell me, boy, whom these notes come from, And you gain a prompt release; Give the name of your informant, Then you go your way in peace." (6 additional stanzas)
File: FORA231
Complete text(s)
From the recording by the Weems String Band, Columbia 15300-D, as transcribed by George Lineberry, related by marriage to the Weems family. Davy, Davy. Where is Davy? Down in the (2 syllables, can't determine) eatin' up the gravy. Davy, Davy. Where is Davy? Down in the (2 syllables, can't determine) eatin' up the gravy. Davy, Davy. Po'r ol' Davy. He got choked on chicken and gravy. Davy, Davy. Po'r ol' Davy. He got choked on chicken and gravy. Hoe cake, a hoe cake, a Johnny cake, a flitter (fritter). Why cain't a white man dance like a N-----? Hoe cake, a hoe cake, a Johnny cake, a flitter (fritter). Why cain't a white man dance like a N-----? He ain't got the big foot, he ain't got the figure. That's why he cain't dance like a N-----. He ain't got the big foot, he ain't got the figure. That's why he cain't dance like a N-----.
File: CSW068
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 178-179. From Come A-Singing, apparently adapted from a version found by Dr. Douglas Leechman in British Columbia. I never shall forget the day Columbus landed here. Myself and forty Indians Were there right on the pier. He asked me why the Indians Wore feathers in their hair. Oh, that's to keep their trousers up, And this I do declare: REFRAIN: 'Twas I who built the Rockies up And placed them where they are, Sold whisky to the Indians Behind my little bar. 'Twas I that built Niagara Falls And first discovered beer, And that was many years before Columbus landed here. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FJ178
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 116-117. Our wife she keeps baith beef and yell, And tea to treat the Minister; There's nowt for me but sup the kale, The beef's for the Minister. Besides, a bottle keeps in by To warm his breast, when he's no dry, While I the water-stand maun try, May the Deil stick the Minister. (6 additional stanzas)
File: StoR116
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #115, pp. 260-262.
From a manuscript copied by Adam Swinehart (died 1873) and supplied
by his granddaughter C. C. Waltenbaugh of Canton, Ohio.
1. Come, all you good people, wherever you be,
Pray, draw near a while, and give ear unto me;
A story I'll tell you that happened of late
Concerning brave Crafford's most cruel defeat.
2. A bold-hearted company, as we do hear,
Equipped themselves, being all volunteers;
In number four hundred eighty nine,
To take Sandusky town was their design.
3. In seventeen hundred eighty two,
In May the twenty sixth, as I tell unto you,
They crossed the Ohio, as we do understand,
Where brave Colonel Crafford he gave the command.
4. With spirits undaunted away they did steer
Through the Indian country without dread or fear,
Where Nicholas Slover and Jonathan Deans
Conducted them over the Sandusky plains.
5. Our brave Colonel Crafford and officer bold,
On the fourth of June did the Indians behold;
On the plains of Sandusky at three the same day,
Both armies approached in battle array.
6. The Indians on horseback, Girtee gave the command;
In the side of the plain they boldly did stand;
Our men, like brave heroes, upon them did fire,
Till backwards the Indians were forced to retire.
7. Our rifles did rattle, and bullets did fly,
Till some of our men on the ground they did lie,
And some being wounded, to others they said,
"Fight on, brother soldiers, and don't be dismayed."
8. Brave Colonel Williamson, as we do understand,
He prayed for three hundred men at his command;
And, had it been granted, we make no great doubt,
We'd put the vile savages all to the rout.
9. Like a hero of old there was brave Major Light
Who encouraged his men for to stand and to fight;
And with courage and conduct his men did command;
Like a Grecian that hero in battle did stand.
10. There was brave Major Briston, the fourth in command,
In the front of the battle most boldly did stand,
And with heroic courage his post did maintain,
While bullets like hail in great showers did rain.
11. There was brave Bibbs and Ogle received a ball;
On the plains of Sandusky they nobly did fall;
And not them alone, but some more of their train
Had the honor of death on the Sandusky plain.
12. Our officers all so most nobly did fight,
And likewise our men, from two days until night,
Till a reinforcement of Indians there came,
Which made us retreat from the Sandusky plain.
13. "Now," says our commander, "since we have lost ground,
And with greater numbers they do us surround,
We'll gather the wounded men, and let us save
All that's able to walk, and the rest we must leave."
14. Our brave Colonel Crafford, upon his retreat,
Likewise Major Harrison and Doctor Knight
With Slover, their pilot, and several men,
Were made prisoners of war on the Sandusky plain.
15. And now they have taken these men of renown,
And dragged them away to the Sandusky town;
In their cruel council condemned to be
Burnt alive at the stake by cruel Girtee.
16. They, like diabolians, this act did pursue,
And Girtee the head of the infernal crew;
This insidiator was a-standing by
While they in the fire their bodies did fry.
17. The scalps of their heads while alive they did tear,
Their bodies with irons red hot they did sear;
They bravely expired without ever a groan
That might have melted a heart was harder than a stone.
18. And when our brave heroes was burnt at the stake,
Brave Knight and brave Slover they made their escape;
With kind heaven's assistance they brought us the news,
So none need the truth of these tidings refuse.
19. From east unto west, let it be understood,
Let everyone arise to revenge Crafford's blood,
And likewise the blood of those men of renown
That was taken and burnt at Sandusky town.
File: E115
Partial text(s)
From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', pp. 12-13. On her death bed lay Fan McCoy, Her child was standing near; She knew that she was dying fast But her black eyes held no fear. She said, "My boy, you're most a man, Pay heed to what I say. For you must take the clansman's oath Before I pass away. (4 additional stanzas)
File: ThBdM012
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #89, "B" text, pp. 228-229. "Sung by William Riley, Lance au Loup, June 1960." Come all ye Newfoundland young friends and listen unto me, A story I will relate to you; it happened out at sea. It's a sad heart-breaking story, which I am going to tell you; It's about young Edgar Spence and his age was scarce nineteen. (25 additional very improbable stanzas)
File: LLab089
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #169(A), pp. 614-615. As sung by Elwyn Davis. As I was a-going down the road With a tired feeling and a heavy load, Down come the sheriff, and he hollered out, "Bail!" And he marched me up to the Delhi Jail. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FSC169
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 128-129. Oh! Derwentwater's a bonny lord, And golden is his hair, And glintin' is his hawkin' e'e Wi' kind love dwelling there. Yestreen he cam' to our lord's yett, And loud, loud, did he ca', "Rise up, rise up, for good King James, And buckle and come awa'." (Stanzas 1, 2 of 10)
File: StoR128
Complete text(s)
The Deserter From Richard Aldington, The Viking Book of Poetry of the English-Speaking World, volume 1, pp. 604-605. If sadly thinking With spirits sinking, Could more than drinking My cares compose, A curse for sorrow From sights I'd borrow, And hope to-morrow Would end my woes. But as in wailing There's nought availing, And Death unfailing Will strike the blow, Then for that reason, And for a season, Let us be merry Before we go. To joy a stranger, A way-worn ranger, In every danger My course I've run; Now hope all ending, And Death befriending, His last aid lending, My cares are done: No more a rover, Or hapless lover, My griefs are over, My glass runs low; Then for that reason, And for a season, Let us be merry Before we go.
File: OLcM087A
Complete text(s)
Devil
From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 105-109. From the singing
of Uncle Joe Robinson.
Devil lef' Nine Hundud, wringin' wet with sweat,
"Goin' to hunt fo' Vinie, ef I don't I'm goin' to fall dead."
Chorus
Devil, oh Devil, what's that in yo' grip?
"Piece uv Vinie's shoulder, an' I'm goin' to take a trip."
Devil lef' Nine Hundud, wringin' wet with sweat,
An' Devil killed po' Vinie, about a Duke cigarette.
Devil lef' Nine Hundud, the boys heered him say,
"I'm goin' to Biederman's Alley, to kill Vinie dead."
"Devil, oh Devil, see what you have done,
You have killed Vinie an' now you got to be hung."
When Devil walked on the gallus, he nevah said a word,
"Now you've killed Vinie, you got to leave this worl'."
File: LI07
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 515-516. Sung by Jim Smurridge, Burnt Islands, June 1960. It's of a rich merchant in London did dwell, He had one only daughter, a beautiful girl, Diana was her name, scarce fourteen years old, She had for her self a fortune in both silver and gold. She had not been on board scarce a short space of time When on a bright young sailor she soon fixed her mind, She was put into a boat and was rowed unto the shore, She was ill with a pain that she'd never had before. 'Twas in her father's garden this young couple walked, 'Twas in her father's garden this young couple talked, 'Twas in her father's garden they walked hand in hand, He said, "Lovely Diana, take my heart in command." (stanzas 1, 3, 6 of 6)
File: Pea515
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #64, pp. 172-173. "Sung by Alex Letto, Lance au Clair, July 1960." Dicky Dash it is my name; I'm up to everything that gains. My occupation, bless the mark, I'm what you call a barber's clerk. Come all you young men where ever you be, A warning now just take by me, To keep your feelings from getting hurt. Don't never go courtin' without a shirt. (Stanzas 1, 12 of 12)
File: LLab064
Partial text(s)
The Wanderer From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II, p. 201. From the singing of Davis Littus. I remember very well One dark and stormy day, When I was taking my leave To a country far away. Mother said, "My dear boy, I expect to see you next year again Fare-you-well, fare-you-well, If we meet no more on earth. Meet me in that happy realm." My mother kissed me then Her eyes o'er flowed with tears, So I left my old home In a distant land to roam. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FORA201
Complete text(s)
Dixie's Land
From sheet music published 1860 by Firth, Pond & Co. The interior
page gives the title as "Dixie's Land." Title page inscribed
I WISH I WAS IN
DIXIE'S LAND
Written & Composed expressly for
Bryant's Minstrels
by
DAN.D.EMMETT
ARRANGED FOR THE
PIANO FORTE
by
W.L.Hobbs
I wish I was in de land ob cotton,
Old times dar am not forgotten;
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
In Dixie Land whar I was born in,
Early on one frosty mornin,
Look away! Look away! Look away! Dixie Land.
CHORUS.
Den I wish I was in Dixie, Hooray! Hooray!
In Dixie Land I'll took my stand,
To lib and die in Dixie,
Away, Away, Away down south in Dixie,
Away, Away, Away down south in Dixie.
2.
Old Missus marry "will-de-weaber,"
Willium was a gay deceaber;
Look away! &c.
But when he put his arm around 'er,
He smilled as fierce as a 'forty-pound'er.
Look away! &c.
Chorus_ Den I wish I was in Dixie &c.
3.
His face was sharp as a butchers cleaber
But dat did not seem to greab 'er;
Look away! &c.
Old Missus acted de foolish part,
And died for a man dat broke her heart.
Look away! &c.
Chorus_ Den I wish I was in Dixie &c.
4.
Now here's a health to the next old Missus,
An all de galls dat want to kiss us;
Look away! &c.
But if you want to drive 'way sorrow,
Come an hear dis song to-morrow.
Look away! &c.
Chorus_ Den I wish I was in Dixie &c.
5.
Dar's buck-wheat cakes an 'Ingen' batter,
Makes you fat or a little fatter,
Look away! &c.
Den hoe it down an scratch your grabble,
To Dixie land I'm bound to trabble.
Look away! &c.
Chorus_ Den I wish I was in Dixie &c.
Variants in "The Original 'Dixie,'' found in [H. M. Wharton,] War Songs
and Poems of the Southern Confederacy, pp. 59-60, are as follows (ignoring
punctuation and orthographic differences).
1.1 ob ] of
2.1-2 Wharton reads:
Old missus marry "Will de weaber?"
William was a gay deceaber
3.1 was wharp ] was as sharp
3.4 de foolish ] the foolish
3.5 a man ] the man
4.2 de galls ] the gals
4.4 'way sorrow ] away sorroe
4.5 dis song ] dis nig
5.5 Dar's ] Der
File: LxA531
Complete text(s)
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #24, p. 87. From Louisiana. Reproduced on p. 805 of B. A. Botkin, American Folklore. Do, do pity my case, In some lady's garden, My clothes to wash when I get home, In some lady's garden. Do, do pity my case, In some lady's garden, My clothes to iron when I get home, In some lady's garden. "And so on, the performers lamenting the duty which lies upon them of scrubbing their floors, baking their bread, etc."
File: BAF805
Partial text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 133-134. As recalled from the singing of Alabama Blacks
by John Trotwood Moore.
Dog in the wood
Barking at the squirrel;
My true love
Is as good as the worl'.
Chorus
Mr. Banks, he loves sugar and tea,
Mr. Banks, he loves candy.
Mr. Banks he can whirl around
And kiss the girls so handy.
Dog in the wood,
Barking at the squirrel.
Roses are red and violet blue,
Sugar is sweet and so are you.
(1 additional stanza)
File: ScNF133A
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #69, pp. 151-152. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N.B. In the county of Kerry so blythe and merry, In a vice covered cottage not far from the bog, Lived one Michael Doherty with never a worry, A rollicking boy with a taste for the grog. It happened to be on a bright summer's morning Michael Doherty fell in with a most disorderly mob, When a sprig of shillelagh without any warning Paid its respects to poor Doherty's nob. (9 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB069
Complete text(s)
Don't Get Weary Children As recorded by Uncle Dave Macon, August 15, 1934. Transcribed, with some difficulty and probable inaccuracies, by Robert B. Waltz. Nashville's was a big hotel, Chattanooga's was a loon, [??] Knoxville's full of Republicans, And Memphis loves the tune. [??] Chorus Don't get weary, Don't get weary, children. Don't get weary, I'm coming from the ball. Wish I had a sugar rum, Sugar by the pound, Great big hole to stir it in, Pretty girl hand it 'round. Big bee sucks the blossom, Little bee makes the honey; Poor man makes the cotton and corn, Rich man makes the money. Massa had a yellow gal, He brought her from the south, Hair's so curly on her head She could not shut her mouth. People on the corner, Watching us go by, Could not see us very long, So far we could fly.
(No title) Reprinted in Darling, The New American Songster, p. 355; originally from p. 382 of White, Negro Folk Songs. The old bee makes the honey-comb, The young bee makes the honey; Colored folks plant the cotton and corn, And the white folks get the money.
Massa Had a Yaller Gal From B. A. Botkin, A Treasury of American Folklore, pp. 903-904. From p. 68 of Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs Massa had a yaller gal, He brought her from de South; Her hair it curled so very tight She couldn't shut her mouth. Chorus: Oh, I ain't got time to tarry, Oh, I ain't got time to tarry, Oh, I ain't got time to tarry, boys, For I'se gwine away. He took her to de tailor, To have her mouth made small. She swallowed up the tailor, Tailorshop and all. Massa had no hooks nor nails Nor anything like that; So on this darky's nose he used To hang his coat and hat.
File: BAF904
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(no title) From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 9. Based on Scarborough's own memories of songs sung by Black servants. When I'm dead an' buried, Don't you grieve after me; When I'm dead an' buried, Don't you grieve after me; When I'm dead an' buried, Don't you grieve after me; When I'm dead an' buried, Don't you grieve after me; For I don't want you to grieve after me.
File: R262
Complete text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #192 p. 435. From Roy Walworth, apparently of New York, 1940. Doodle, doodle, doodle dandy, Corn-stalks, rum, and home-made brandy, Indian pudding and pumpkin gravy, And that'll make the Yankees fly! Ev'ry Yankee shall have on his back A great big pumpkin in a sack, A little molasses and a piece of pork, And away we'll march straight for New York!
File: Wa192
Complete text(s)
The Black and Tan Gun From an anonymous recording (but one clearly made by a non-traditional source) on a recording called "World Music: Ireland" on Passport Audio. It was down in the town of old Bantry Where most of the fighting was done, It was there that a young Irish soldier Was shot by a Black and Tan gun. As he raised himself up on his shoulder, While the blood from his wounds it ran red, Then he turned to his comrade beside him, And to him these words he did say. "Won't you bury me out on the mountain, So I can see where the fighting was done. Won't you bury me out on the mountain, With my face turned to God's rising sun." So they buried him out on the mountain, With his ace turned to God's rising sun. And they wrote, "Here lies a young soldier Who was shot by a Black and Tan gun." And now that we're back in old Dublin With our victories over and won, Won't you think of the young Irish soldier Who was shot by a Black and Tan Gun.
File: RcBlTaGu
Complete text(s)
Drive the Cold Winter Away
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 293. "Reprinted from a Black Letter Copy in the Pepysian
Collection; 'Printed at London by H. G.' -- [Henry Gosson.]"
All hail to the days that merit more praise
Than all the rest of the year,
And welcome the nights that double delights,
As well for the poor as the peer!
Good fortune attend each merry man's friend,
That doth but the best that he may;
Forgetting old wrongs, with carols and songs,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
Let misery pack, with a whip at his back,
To the deep Tantalian flood;
In Lethe profound, let Envy be drown'd,
That pines at another man's good;
Let sorrow's expense be banded from hence,
All payments have greater delay,
We'll spend the long nights in cheerful delights,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
'Tis ill for a mind to anger inclined,
To think of small injuries now;
If wrath be to seek, do not lend her thy cheek,
Nor let her inherit thy brow.
Cross out of thy books malevolent looks,
Both beauty and youth's decay,
And wholly consort, with mirth and with sport,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
The Court in her state, now opens her gate,
And gives a free welcome to most;
The city likewise, though somewhat precise,
Doth willingly part with her roast;
But yet by report, from city and court,
The country will e'er gain the day;
More liquor is spent, and with better content,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
Our good gentry there, for cost do not spare,
The Yeomanry fast not till Lent;
The farmers and such, think nothing too much,
If they keep but to pay for their rent.
The poorest of all now do merrily call,
When at a fit place they can stay,
For a song or a tale or a cup of good ale,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
Then none will allow of solitude now,
But merrily greets the time,
To make it appear, of all the whole year,
That this is accounted the prime;
December is seen, apparel'd in green,
And January fresh as May
Comes dancing along, with a cup and a song,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
THE SECOND PART
This time of the year is spent in good cheer,
And neighbours together do meet,
To sit by the fire, with friendly desire,
Each other in love to greet;
Old grudges forgot, are put in the pot,
All sorrows aside they lay,
The old and the young do carol this song,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
Sisley and Nanny, more jocund than any,
As blithe as the month of June,
Do carol and sing, like birds in the spring,
No Nightingale sweeter in tune,
To bring in content, when summer is spent,
In pleasant delight and play,
With mirth and good cheer, to end the whole year,
And drive the cold winter away.
And drive, &c.
The shepherd, the swain, do highly disdain
To waste out their time in care,
And Clim of the Clough hath plenty enough,
If he but a penny can spare
To spend at the night in joy and delight,
Now after his labours all day,
For better than lands is the help of his hands,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
To mask and to mum kind neighbours will come,
With wassels of nut-brown ale,
To drink and carouse, to all in the house,
As merry as bucks in the dale;
Where cake, bread and cheese, is brought for your fees,
To make you the longer stay
At the fire to warm, will do you no harm,
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
When Christmas's tide comes in like a bride,
With holly and ivy clad,
Twelve days in the year, much mirth and good cheer,
In every household is had;
The country guise is then to devise
Some gambols of Christmas play,
Whereat the young men do the best that they can
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
When white bearded frost has threatened the worst
And fallen from branch to briar,
Then time away calls from husbandry halls,
And from the good countryman's fire,
Together to go to plow and to sow,
To get us both food and array,
And thus with content the time we have spent
To drive the cold winter away.
To drive, &c.
File: Log293
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #70, pp. 184-185. "Sung by Blanche Roberts, Forteau, July 1960." Upon that fatal morning went one so young and gay, To seek some fruits of labor upon St. Patrick's Day. He left his home that morning in vigorous youth and bloom, But little did he ever think he was slipping to his doom. (7 additional stanzas)
File: LLab070
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 104-105. At dawn of day I saw a man Stand by a grog saloon: His eyes were sunk, his lips were parched, O that's the drunkard's doom. His little son stood by his side, And to his father said, "Father, mother lies sick at home And sister cries for bread." (Stanzas 1-2 of 7)
File: R306
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The Drunkard's Ragged Wee Ane From John Harrington Cox, Folk-Songs Mainly From West Virginia (published as the second part of George Herzog, Herbert Halpert, George Boswell, editors, Traditional Ballads and Folk-Songs Mainly from West Virginia), #32, pp. 207-208. From Miss E. E. McGregor of Los Angeles, 1927; from a Scottish tradition. A wee bit ragged laddie, Gaes wandering thru the street, Wading mong the snaw, Wi' his wee bit hacket feet. He's shivering wi' the cauld blast, He's greeting wi' the pain, O, wha's the puir callan? He's the drunkard's ragged we ane. (2 additional stanzas)
File: CoxIIB32
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 137. "From singing of Mrs. Eliza Davis." Don't go out tonight, my darling, Do not leave me here alone; Stay at home with me, my darling, For I'm lonely while you're gone. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Fus137
Complete text(s)
The Four Drunken Maidens As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 241-242. From a broadside of uncertain date; Logan guesses it came from the early nineteenth century. It was printed by "C. Crashaw, Printer, Coppergate, York." Four drunken Maidens came from the Isle of Wight, Drunk from Monday morning till Saturday night; When Saturday night came they would not go out, And the four drunken Maidens they pushed the jug about. In came Bouncing Sally and her cheeks like any bloom, "Sit about dear sister and give me some room, I will be worthy of my room before I do go out!" And the four drunken Maidens they pushed the jug about. There was woodcock and pheasant, partridges and hare, And all sorts of dainties; no scarcity was there; There was forty quarts of Malaga, they fairly drunk it out, And the four drunken Maidens they pushed the jug about, Down came the landlady to see what was to pay, This is a forty pound bill to be drawn here this day; That is ten pounds apiece and they would not go out, And the four drunken Maidens they pushed the jug about. Sally was a walking along the highway, And she meet with her mother and unto her did say; "Where is the head dress you had the other day? And where is your mantle so gallant and so gay," "So gallant and so gay we had no more to do, We left them in the alehouse; we had a randan row." * * Every other version I've encountered gives this last line as "We left them in the alehouse; we drank them clean away."
File: Log240
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #12, pp. 76-77. From the singing of Crystal Young, Boiestown, 1960. If you're longing for fun and enjorment Or inclined to go out on a spree, Come along with me over to Boiestown On the banks of the Miramichi. You'll meet with a royal reception; My 'ventures to you I'll relate On the eighteenth of May I arrived here, From Fred'ricton -- came on the freight. I'm employed with a man, Edmund Kenney, A gentleman who you know well; J. P. for the parish of Stanley, And he put up at Duffy's Hotel. (Stanzas 1, 2 of 6; all stanzas except #2 are 8 lines)
File: Doe268
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(The Bardy Train) From Louis W. Chappell, _Folk-Songs of Roanoke and the Albemarle_, #102B, pp. 177-178. Collected in 1924 from Columbus Hooker of East Lake, NC. Monday morning I heard the huntsman say: Come along, boys, And let's go hunting. I have hounds of my own Just as good as ever was known, And I don't think his dogs Must have heard him. Shrewd fox has done and crossed the water, All by running fast He beat poor Rattler at last. There was one old cunning hound, He run the poor fox down, By roasting him bright and early In the morning. (Stanzas 1, 2, 6, 8 of 10 irregular verses)
File: Br3218
Complete text(s)
From Furnivall, Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript [Volume 4], Loose
and Humorous Songs, pp. 32-34. Text from page 178 of the Percy Folio.
Due to the difficult and complex spelling of the original, I have
placed a modernized version in the margin.
As att no one Dulc[i]na rested As at noon Dulcina rested
in her sweete & shade bower, In her sweet and shady bower
there came a shepeard, & requested There came a shepherd, and requested
in her lapp to sleepe and houre; In her lap to sleep an hour,
but from her looke a wound he tooke But from her look a wound he took
soe deepe, that for a further boone So deep that for a further boon
the Nimph he prayes: whereto shee says The nymph he prays, whereto she says
"forgoe me now, come to me soon." "Go from me now, come to me soon."
But in vayne she did coniure him But in vain she did conjure him
To depart her presense so, To depart her presence so,
hauing thousand tounges to allure him Having thousand tongues to allure him
& but one to say him noe And but one to tell him no.
where lipps invite, & eyes delyght Where lips invite and eyes delight
& cheekes as red as rose in Iune And cheeks as red as rose in June
perswade delay, what boots shee say Persuade delay, no use to say
"forgoe me &c." "Go from me now...."
Words whose hopes might have enioyned Words whose hopes might have enjoyned
him to lett DULCINA sleepe. Him to let Dulcina sleep,
Can a mans loue be confined, Can a man's love be confined
or a mayd her promise keepe? Or a maid her promise keep?
But hee her wast still held as ffast But he her waist still held as fast
As shee was constant to her tune, As she was constant to her tune,
Though neere soe fayre her speechers were
Though never so fair, her speeches were
"forgoe me &c." "Go from me now...."
He demands, "what time or pleasure He demands, "What time for pleasure
can there be more soone then now? Can there be more fitting than now?
shee sayes, "night giues loue that leysure
She says, "Night gives love that leisure
that the day cannott allow." Which the day cannot allow."
"the said kind sight forgiues delight"
"The said kind sight forgives delight,"
quoth hee, "more esilye then the moon" said he, "More easily than the moon."
"In Venus playes be bold," shee sayes, "In Venus's games be bold," she says;
"forgoe me &c." "Go from me now...."
But who knowes how agreed these loues? But who knows how agreed these loves?
Shee was fayre, & he was younge; She was fair and he was young.
Tongue may tell what eyes discouer; Tongues may tell what eyes discover;
Ioyes vnseene are neuer songe. Joys unseen are never sung [about].
did shee consent or he relent? Did she consent or he relent?
Accepts he night, ar grants she none? Accepts he night, or grants she noon?
left hee her Mayd or not? shee sayd Left he her [a] maid or not? She said
"forgoe me now, come to me soon." "Go from me now, come to me soon."
File: Perc3153
Complete text(s)
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume II, #161, p. 169. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). Dumbarton's drums beat bonny O, When they mind me of my dear Johny O. How happy am I When my soldier is by, While he kisses and blesses his Annie O. 'Tis a soldier alone can delight me O, For his graceful look do invite me O: While guarded in his arms, I'll fear no war alarms, Neither danger nor death shall e'er fright me O. My love is a handsome laddie O: Genteel, but ne'er foppish nor gaudy O: Tho' commissions are dear, Yet I'll buy him one this year; For he shall serve no longer a cadie O, A soldier has honour and bravery O, Unacquainted with rogues & their knavery O: He minds no other thing But the ladies or the king: For every other care is but slavery O. Then I'll be the captain's lady O: Farewell all my friends and my daddy O: I'll wait no more at home, But I'll follow with the drum, And whene'er that beats I'll be ready O. Dumbarton's drums sound bonny O, They are sprightly like my dear Johny O: How happy I shall be, When on my soldier's knee, And he kisses and blesses his Annie O!
As sung by Fiddler Bob Beers and his family. Transcribed by
Robert Waltz. Two recordings were consulted: Bob and Evelyn
Beers, "The Golden Skein" (Biograph 12045, 1972; hereafter "G")
and (The Beers Family and others), "The Seasons of Peace"
(Biograph 12033, 1971; hereafter S; sung by Janet Boyer, sister
of Bob Beers).
Dumbarton's drums, they sound so bonnie
When they remind me of my Johnny.
What fond delight can steal upon me
When Johnny kneels and kisses me.
Across the fields of bounding heather
Dumbarton tolls the hour of pleasure --
A song of love that has no measure
When Johnny kneels and sings to me.
'Tis he alone that can delight me,
His graceful eye, it doth invite me,
And when his tender arms enfold me,
The blackest night doth turn and dee.
My love he is a handsome laddie,
And though he is Dumbarton's caddie,
Someday I'll be a captain's lady
When Johnny tends his vow to me.
Variants:
1.3: A song ] An hour
2.4: The recordings don't reflect this, but I believe I've
heard "dee" sung as "flee" -- a "post-Beers" instance of
the folk process
G omits verse 3.
File: FSWB281A
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #13, pp. 78-80. From the singing of Jared MacLean of Strathadam, 1947. Far within the forest scene, Where the forest forever green, Form a contrast to the beech and birches grey, Where the snow lies white and deep, And the song birds seem to sleep, And cease their sweetest singing all the day. Where the mighty monstrous moose, Of limbs both large and loose, Through the forest sweeps with strides both swift and strong, Where the caribou and deer Swim the brooks so crystal clear, And the mighty deep Dungarvon rolls along. (8 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi013
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #14, pp. 82-84. From the singing of Billy Price of Priceville, in 1960. Oh, the fishermen are comin' To Charles Green's and so it's said, They are goin' to Dungarvon (You must go one day ahead); And Bruce will go along with you With his wagon and his team For to haul the boat and luggage Through to the Dungarvon stream. (10 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi014
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #44, p. 126. "Sung by Leo O'Brien, Lance au Loup, June 1960" (though no tune is indicated). In the din and strife of battle when the sullen cannon roar Where storm and strife were raging in that far-off Cub-yan shore. An Irish youth lay dying who fell gravely in the dray, While Victoria shall reign on Santiago Bay. (7 additional stanzas)
File: LLab044
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 108-109. "Copy furnished by Prof. Leon Denny Moses." On the field of battle, mother, All the night alone I lay, Angels watching o'er me, mother, Till the breaking of the day. I lay thinking of you, mother, And the loving ones at home, Till to our dear cottage, mother, Once again I seemed to come. (4 additional stanzas)
File: BrII228
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 154-155. Good people, give ear to my story, I've called in to see you by chance; Five lads I have brought blythe and merry, Intending to give you a dance. Earsdon is our habitation, The place we were all born and bred; There are not finer lads in the nation, And none shall be gallanter led. Now this is the son of brave Elliott, The first youth that enters the ring; So proudly I rejoice for to tell it, He fought for his country and king. When the Spaniards besieged Gibraltar, Bold Elliot defended the place; Soon caused them their plans for to alter, Some fell -- others fell in disgrace. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 8)
File: StoR154
Complete text(s)
Edward, Edward
From Percy/Wheatley, I.i.v, pp. 83-84
"This curious song was transmitted to the editor by Sir
David Dalyrymple, Bart., late Lord Hailes."
Quhy dois your brand saw drop wi', bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Quhy dois your brand saw drop wi', bluid,
And quhy sae sad gang yee, O?
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guide,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my hauke sae guide,
And I had nae mair bot he, O.
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward.
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee, O.
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was saw fair and free, O.
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward.
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Sume other dule ye drie, O
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
O, I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is me, O!
And quhatten penance wil ye drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
And quhatten penance wil ye drie for that,
My deir son, now tell me, O.
Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
Mither, mither:
Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
And Ile fare ovir the sea, O.
And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha',
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ye doe wi' your towirs and your ha',
That were sae fair to see, O?
Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
Mither, mither:
Ile let thame stand til they doun fa',
For here nevir mair maun I bee, O.
And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Quhan ye gang ovir the sea, O?
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,
Mither, mither:
The warldis room, let thame beg throw life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see, O.
And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?
And quhat wul ye leive to your ain mither dear,
My deir son, now tell me, O.
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me, O.
File: C013
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #15, pp. 86-88. From the singing of Nicholas Underhill of Nor'West Bridge, 1959. When first I saw Edward Sinclair He was a grown up boy, Down working for Peter's, With them he found employ, His cheeks were as red as roses And his hair it was hard dark brown, And just as handsome a young man As walked Newcastle town. (6 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi015
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From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 262. Come hearken good friends to this story so true Of a lord of high degree; Concerning the love of this bonny young prince. The King of his own countree. His true love so far from a far distant shore, No lands and no gold had she; But he swore by the seal of the ring on his hand That faithful he'd ever be. (3 additional stanzas)
File: ThBa262a
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #16, pp. 89-90. From the singing of George F. Campbell of Newcastle, 1947. Last night I got a net, Put it in the water wet, Walked around the hole till I was lame, I pulled it up with care, But there was nothing there, Except a cake of ice six inches thick. Then I murmured, "Can it be? Is there ne'er a bass for me?" So I walked around the hole till I was lame, From hours before twilight Till twelve o'clock at night, But that eight-pound bass I longed for never came. (6 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi016
Complete text(s)
Ella Ree
From [H. M. Wharton], War Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy,
pp. 213-214.
And Ella Ree so kind and true,
In the little church yard lies,
Her grave is bright with drops of dew,
But brighter were her eyes.
Chorus:
Then carry me back to Tennessee,
There let me live and die,
Among the fields of yellow corn,
In the land where Ella lies.
The summer moon may rise and set
And night birds thrill their lay,
And the possum and the coon will softly step
Around the grave of Ella Ree. Chorus --
Ella Rhee From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, volume 4, #860, p. 387. A single chorus, from the singing of Janet Shreve of Farmington, Arkansas. Collected 1941. Carry me back to Tennessee, Back where I long to be, Back to the fields of yellow corn, To my darling Ella Rhee.
File: R860
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 360-361. Sung by Andrew Nash, Branch, October 1962. Dear Newfoundland have I got to leave you To seek employment in a foreign land? Forced from our nation by cruel taxation I now must leave you dear Newfoundland. Dear Newfoundland with your fisheries failing Your sons and daughters must leave you each fall, Forced by poverty and cruel taxation To the shores of Boston, a home for all. (Stanzas 1, 6 of 8)
File: Pea360
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From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #27, pp. 73-74. Source not indicated. 'He dies to-day," said the heartless judge, Whilst he sat down to the feast, And a smile was upon his ashy lip, As he uttered a ribald jest; For a demon dwelt where his heart should be, That lived upon blood and sin And as oft as that vile judge gave him food, The demon throbbed within. (20 additional lines, not properly divided into stanzas)
File: OCon069
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #11, pp. 34-35. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. O sad is my fate as I sit here and ponder To watch the blue waves swelling round, For to think that my footsteps will never more wander Upon my beloved Irish ground. For to think that I must my dear parents forsake And myself to some far land of strangers betake, But where shall be no distance my constancy shake Though I'm far from sweet Erin a'green. (5 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB011
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #17, pp. 92-93. From the singing of 13-year-old Bernadette Keating of Chatham (the composer of the song) in 1959. It was the nineteenth day of June that it happened, Nineteen and fifty-nine was the year, In and around Escuminac A sudden storm did appear. Oh, wicked waves! Oh, wailing wind! They in boats which had not capsized Feared the dangers around, Yet stayed to help their neighbours and friends, Knowing some already drowned. Oh, wicked waves! Oh, wailing wind! (Stanzas 1, 7 of 9)
File: MaWi017o
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #17a, pp. 95-96. From the singing of Alex Milson of Chatham (the composer of the song) in 1960. Won't you listen as I tell my sad story Of the disaster Escuminac Bay, Where the fishermen were fishing for salmon, For that's how they earn their pay. (8 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi017a
Partial text(s)
Mail Day From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #173, p. 391. From the singing of J. B Sutton of North Carolina, 1941. Every mail day, Every main day, I gets a letter. Oh, every mail day, ail day, I gets a letter O Son, come home! Lord, Lord, Son come home. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa173
Partial text(s)
The Face Upon the Floor From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 149-151. Presumably from some other printed collection. 'Twas a balmy summer evening, and a goodly crowd was there. Which well-nigh filled Joe's barroom on the corner of the square, And as songs and witty stories came through the open door A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. "Where did it come from?" someone said: "The wind has blown it in." "What does it want?" another cried. "Some whisky, rum or gin?" "Here, Toby, seek him, if your stomach's equal to the work -- I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's as filthy as a Turk." (15 additional stanzas)
File: JHJ021
Complete text(s)
From the singing of the Carter Family (1934). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren.
My brave boy sleeps in his faded coat of blue,
In a lonely grave unknown lies the heart that beat so true;
He sank faint and hungry among the Spanish brave,
And they laid him sad and lonely within his nameless grave.
CHORUS:
No more the bugle calls the weary one,
Rest, noble spirits, in their graves unknown;
For we'll find you and know you among the good and true,
Where a robe of white is given for a faded coat of blue.
He cried, "Give me water and just a little crumb,
And my mother, she will bless you through all the years to come;
And tell my sweet sister, so gentle, good and true,
That I'll meet her up in heaven in my faded coat of blue."
No dear one was nigh him, to close his mild blue eyes,
No gentle voice was by him, to give him sweet replies;
No stone marks the lonely sod o'er the lad so brave and true,
In a lonely grave he's sleeping in his faded coat of blue.
File: HCW227
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Fair Eleanor From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 608-609. Sung by Charlotte Decker, Parson's Pond, August 1958. Young Johnny arose in the middle of the night, And went to his true love and this he did say, Saying, "Arise you pretty fair maid and come along with me, I will take you to some clergy and married we will be." And when that he got her all in the greenwoods, He says, "Now you fair maid, come strip off your clothes, Come strip off your clothes, the fine garments that you wear, And I will be your butcher this good night I'll declare." (Stanzas 1, 3 of 6)
File: Pea608
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The Falling of the Pine From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), #17, pp. 82-84. From M. C. Dean of Virginia, Minnesota Come all young men a-wanting of courage bold undaunted, Repair unto the shanties before your youth's decline. The spectators they will ponder and gaze on you with wonder, For your noise exceeds the thunder in the falling of the pine. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Be010
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The False Young Man From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 166-168. From Come A-Singing, where it is called "A Rose in the Garden." "Oh, come, sit down close to me, my dear, While I sing you a merry song. 'Tis now for us well over a year Since together you and I have been; Since together you and I have been, my dear, Since together you and I have been. 'Tis now for us well over a year Since together you and I have been." (3 additional stanzas)
Come Along, My Own True Love From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 41. Apparently collected by "Grandma Ball." Come along, my own true love, And set you down by me. Hit's been three-quarters of a year or more Sence I spoke ary word with thee, Sence I spoke ary word with thee. I won't set down and I shan't set down, For I have not a moment of time, Sence I've heard you're engaged with another fair maid Nor your heart's no longer mine, Nor your heart's no longer mine. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FJ166
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 443-444. Sung by Clara Stevens, Bellburns, August 1959. Come all yo good people, I pray you'll attend To a sad lamentation that has happened to me Concerning a fair maiden I thought would be my wife, And I loved her so dearly as the threads of my life. Long time we had courted in the sweet bonds of love, Till at length we went roving in her father's green grove. I said, "Handsome Maggie, I am going to sea, And I hope, Maggie darling, you will prove true to me." (6 additional stanzas)
File: Pea443
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 201. "Obtained in 1916 from Mr. John Laidlaw, Ypsilanti." Yae night as I lay on my bed, The thought of love came into my head, So then I rose and went away To see the bonnie lassie lived in Galaway. I had na lang in my love's chamber set, Til her father he spacke up, And with an angry voice did say, "What's brought you here to bonny Galaway?" (3 additional stanzas)
File: GC076
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #99, pp. 244-245. From the singing of Lee Monroe Presnell of Beech Mountain, North Carolina. Collected 1951. Farewell to old Bedford, I'm bound for to leave you. Likewise those pretty girls I nevermore shall see. My portion is small, But I truly confess it, What little I have It is all my own. Well I might have enjoyed it, All in pleasure, If my cruel parents Had left me alone. I will drown away sorrow In a full-flowing bumper. I will drown all my sorrow In a bottle of wine. Eight drams a bottle is, And I don't care for folly. Now never let trouble Come into your mind. I will drown her away In a full-flowing bumper. I will drown her away In a bottle of wine. Eight drams a bottle is, And I don't care for folly. I play on my fiddle And dance all the time. My fingers are frozen, My bow it needs rosin, My soundpost is down, And my bridge it won't stand.
File: Wa099
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 75-76. "From singing of Mary Carr." My dearest love, now fare you well, You slighted me, but I wish you well; You turned me away, you broke my heart, But how can I from you depart? My own true-love, my turtle dove, I hope we will meet in the world above; And if on earth you never more I see, I would not treat you as you have me. So after death I will go home, And think of me when you are alone; And as you pass my lonesome grave, Look at the tombstone where I am laid. (Stanzas 1, 2, 6 of 8.)
File: R756
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The Yarn of the Nancy Bell From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, #105, pp. 322-325. As published in Bab Ballads. 'Twas on the shores that round our coast From Deal to Ramsgate span, That I found alone on a piece of stone An elderly naval man. His hair was weedy, his beard was long, And weedy and long was he, And I heard this wight on the shore recite, In a singular minor key: 'Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, And the crew of the captain's gig.' (20 additional stanzas)
File: Harl194
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From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), pp. 66-67. Source not indicated. Father Murphy (2) Come, all you warriors and renowned nobles, Give ear unto my warlike theme, And I will sing how Father Murphy Lately aroused from his sleepy dream. Surely Julius Caesar nor Alexander, Nor brave King Arthur ever equalled him, For armies formidable he did conquer, Tho' with two gunsmen he did begin. Carnolin cavalry he did unhorse them, Their first lieutenant he cut him down, With shattered ranks, and with broken columns, They retreated hom to Carnolin town. (6 additional 8-line stanzas)
File: OLoc027
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy
(1926), #23, pp. 95-98. From Ed Springstad, Bemidji,
Minnesota.
I've been around the world a bit, an' seen beasts both great an' small.
The one I mean to tell about for darin' beats 'em all.
He leaves the woods with his bristles raised the full length of his back.
He's known by men of science as the festive lumberjack.
Chorus
He's a wild rip-snortin' devil ever' time he comes to town.
He's a porky, he's a moose-cat, too busy to set down.
But when his silver's registered and his drinks is comin' few,
He's then as tame as other jacks that's met their Waterloo.
(5 additional stanzas)
File: Rick095
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 405-406. "Sung in 1935 by Mr. Thomas Nichol, Filion." When I was a big boy, wi' the thoughts o' the joy, O' courting, my heart it was etnner; But I dinna ken how for to open my mow, For fear that I'd fall in a blunner. Ode day at the fair, bonnie Maggie was there, A lassie I'd long had me eye on; "Noo hang it," says I, "for once I will try An' I'll see how I come on at wooing." (4 additional stanzas)
File: GC168
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #66, pp. 177-178.
From a manuscript copied by Franklin Eddy, dated Ashtabula, Ohio, 1852.
1. It was down in the country a poor girl was weeping,
It was down in the country poor Mary Ann did mourn;
She belongs to this nation, "I've lost each dear relation,"
Cries a poor little fisherman's girl,
"My friends are dead and gone."
2. "Oh, once I'd enjoyment, my friends they reared me tender,
I passed with my brother each happy night and morn,
But death has made a slaughter, poor father's in the water,"
Cried a poor little fisherman's girl,
"My friends are dead and gone."
3. "So fast falls the snow, I cannot find a shelter,
So fast falls the snow, I must hasten to the thorn,
For my covering is the bushes, my bed it is the rushes,"
Cried the poor little fisherman's girl,
"My friends are dead and gone."
4. It happened as she passed by a very noble cottage,
A gentleman he heard her, his heart for her did burn,
Crying, "Come in, poor lonely creature," he viewed each drooping feature
Of a poor little fisherman's girl,
Whose friends are dead and gone.
5. He took her to the fire, and when he'd warmed and fed her,
The tears began to fall, he fell on her breast forlorn,
Crying, "Live with me forever, we part again, no, never,
You are my dearest sister,
Our friends are dead and gone."
6. So now she's got a home, she's living with her brother,
Now she's got a home, and the needy ne'er does scorn,
For God was her protector, likewise her kind conductor
The poor little fisherman's girl,
When her friends were dead and gone.
File: E066
Partial text(s)
From Frank Shay, American Sea Songs and Chanteys, pp. 178-180. Source not indicated. I sing of a frigate, a frigate of fame, And in the West Indies she bore a great name, For cruel, hard treatment of every degree, Like slaves in the galleys we ploughed the salt sea. Now, all you hold seamen who plough the sallt sea, Beware this frigate wherever she be, For they'll beat you and bang you till you ain't worth a damn, And send you an invalid to your own native land. (stanzas 1, 9 of 9)
File: ShaSS178
Complete text(s)
Collected by Todd and Sonkin from Henry King in a migrant farm worker camp in Visalia, California, in 1941. Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. As I went down to the mowin' field, Too-rye-too-rye-fod-a-link-ee-dye-doe; As I went down to the mowin' field, Fod! As I went down to the mowin' field, A big black snake grabbed me by the heel, Too-oo-rod-dee-day. Similarly: I fell down upon the ground, I Shut both eyes and looked all around. I set upon a stump to take my rest, I Looked like a woodchuck on his nest. The woodchuck blammed a banjo song, When up stepped a skunk with his britches on. The woodchuck and skunk got into a fight, The fumes was so strong that they put out the light. They danced and they played till the tune began to rust, It's hard to tell which smelled the worst.
File: LoF213
Partial text(s)
The Foggy Dew From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #76, p. 289. From the singing of George Edwards. Over the hills I went one morn, A loveli maid I spied With her coal-black hair and her mantle so green, An image to proceive. Says I, "Dear girl, will you be my bride?" And she lifter her eyes of blue, She smiled and said, "My boy, I'm to wed, I'm to meet him in the foggy dew." (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC76
Complete text(s)
From an anonymous photocopy reported to be from a modern collection of songs for Celtic harp. Included because it is the fullest text of this song to which I have access. Fortune, my foe, why dost thou frown on me? And will thy favours never greater be? Wilt thou, I say, forever breed me pain? And wilt thou ne'er restore my joys again? Fortune hath wrought me grief and great annoy, Fortune hath falsely stol'n my love away, My love, and joy, whose sight did make me glad; Such great misfortunes never young man had. In vain I sigh, in vain I wail and weep; In vain mine eyes refrain from quiet sleep; In vain I shed my tears both night and day, In vain my love my sorrows do bewray. No man alive can Fortunes spight withstand, With wisdom, skill, or mighty strength of hand; In midst of mirth she bringeth bitter moan, And woe to me that hath her hatred known. If wisdoms eyes blind Fortune had but seen, Then had my love, my love for ever been; Then, love farewell, though Fortune favour thee, No Fortune frail shall ever conquer me.
File: ChWI076
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Four Seasons of the Year From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 207-208. From the singing of John Morgan, collected at Dilwyn, October 1905. The spring is the quarter, the first that I'll mention, The fields and the meadows are covered with green, And the trees throw out their buds with their fruitful intention, Which every year is so plain to be seen. (10 additional stanzas)
File: Leath207
Complete text(s)
The Tottenham Toad From Cecil J. Sharp and Maud Karpeles, English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, Volume 2, #239, p. 347. Collected from Mrs. Frances Richards of Callaway, Virginia, 1918. The Tottenham toad came trotting up the road With his feet all swimming in the sea Pretty little squirrel with her tail in curl They've all got a wife but me. I married me a wife to join my life She soon wished I were dead In about six weeks we had a little quarrel And she pulled all the hair out of my head.
File: FlBr121
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, p. 247. Sent in by Ida B. Morgan of Jeffersonville, Vermont. Received March 15, 1931. A hungry fox one day did spy Some rich ripe grapes that hung so high And to him they seemed to say, "If you can get us down, you may." He licked his chops for near an hour Till he found the grapes beyond his power; Then he went away, and he swore the grapes were sour, Fol de deedle lol, de deedle lol de day.
File: GC479a
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(no title) From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 70. From Charley Danne, who claimed to have it at several removes from a song sung by slaves. The fox and the lawyer was different in kind. The fox and the lawyer was different in mind. The lawyer loved done meat because it was easy to chaw. The fox was not choice but would take his blood raw. Oh, how can you call such a fight as this fair When there is buy my one self and all these dogs hair [here]? I'll take a fair race with the best dog you've got, And if he will catch me I'll die on the spot. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 5)
File: ScaNF070
Complete text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 292-293. Immediate source is not noted.
The fox he went out on a cold winter night,
And he pray'd to the moon to give him some light,
For he had a long way to travel that night
Before he could reach the town, O!
Town, O! town, O!
For he had a long way, &c.
At length he arrived at the farmer's yard,
For the ducks and the geese he was not afeard,
He swore that the best of them would grease his beard
Before he would leave the town, O!
Town, O! &c.
He seized the grey goose by the neck,
He threw him astride across his back,
Which made the grey goose cry quack! quack!
And the blood it came trickling down, O!
Down, O! &c.
Old mother Slipperslopper jumped out of bed,
She opened the casement and popp'd out her head;
"Get up, John, get up! for the grey goose is dead,
And the fox has been in the town, O!
Town, O!" &c.
So John he got up to the top of the hill,
He sounded his bugle-horn both loud and shrill;
"Blow on!" cried the fox, "that is better music still,
For I'm glad I've got clear out of town, O!
Town, O!" &c.
When Reynard he had arrived on the plain,
He threw down his burden to ease a load of pain;
He quickly took it up, and he travell'd on again,
For he thought he heard the sound of the hounds, O!
Hounds, O! &c.
When Reynard he had arrived at his den, --
Of young ones he had nine or ten, --
"You're welcome, father fox, you must travel back again,
For we think it's a lucky town, O!
Town, O!" &c.
The fox and his wife, they had some strife,
They tore up the grey goose without fork or knife;
They tore up the grey goose without fork or knife,
And the young ones picked the bones, O!
Bones, O! &c.
(No title indicated) As found in British Museum MS. Royal 19.B.iv and printed in Maxwell S. Luria and Richard L. Hoffman, _Middle English Lyrics_, a Norton critical edition, 1974, item #135, pp. 125-126. The spelling and punctuation appear to have been standardized. [Chorus:] "Pax vobis," quod the fox, "For I am comen to towne." It fell ageins the next night Tje fox yede to with all his mighte, Withouten cole or candlelight, Whan that he cam unto the towne. Whan he cam all in the yarde, Sore the ges were ill aferde, "I shall make some of youre berde, Or that I go from the towne!" Whan he cam all in the crofte, There he stalked wunderfull softe; "For here have I been frayed full ofte Whan that I have come to towne." He hente a giise all be the eye, Faste the goos began to creye! Oute yede men as they might hete And seide, "Fals fox, ley it downe!" "Nay," he saide, "so mot I thee -- Sche shall go unto the wode with me, Sche and I unther a tree, Emange the beryes browne. ["]I have a wyf, and sche lieth seke, Many smale whelpes she have to eke -- Many bones they muste pike Will they ley adowne."
File: R103
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy
(1926), #21, pp. 92-93. From Emmet Horen, Eau Claire,
Wisconsin.
In eighteen hundred and seventy-one
To swamp for a go-devil I begun.
'Twas on the banks of the Eau Claire.
We landed when the ground was bare.
Chorus
Tra-la-la-la, tra-la-la-la,
Tra-la-la-la-la-la, lay-lie-lee.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: Rick092
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #63, pp. 170-171. "Sung by Stanley Trimm, English Point, August 1960." Come all ye free masons who dwell around the globe, And wear a badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe, Where Noah he did dwell, it was in the Ark he stood, When the world was destroyed by a deluge flood. (7 additional stanzas)
File: LLab063
Partial text(s)
The Resurrection From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #79, pp. 302-303. From the singing of George Edwards. Man had his first creation in Heevin's guarded place, A public Head and Father of all the human race. But Nature cried against them, "Come pay, you sinners, do, This debt you have undertaken, you therefore must go through." (5 additional stanzas)
File: FSC079
Partial text(s)
Friends and Neighbors From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #35, pp. 149-150. From the singing of George Edwards. Friends and neighbors, I'm going for to leave you, It makes no doubt but you think it is strange. But God be pleased, I never have robbed, Neither have I done any wrong. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FSC035
Partial text(s)
A Funeral Hymn From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 207. "Copy furnished by Prof. Leon Denny Moses." Oh, carry me away to the graveyard, After a long time suffering, Where every day will be Sunday, by and by, By and by, by and by, Where every day will be Sunday, by and by. So fare you well, dear father, I am going home to glory., Where every day will be Sunday, by and by, By and by, by and by, Where every day will be Sunday, by and by. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Fus207
Partial text(s)
De Fust Banjo From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 520-521. Presumably from some other printed collection. Go 'way, fiddle! folks is tired o' hearin' you a-squawkin'. Keep silence fur yo' betters! don't you heah de banjo talkin'? About de 'possum's tail she'sgwine to lecter -- ladies, listen! About de ha'r what isn't dar, an' why de ha'r is missin': "Dar's gwine to be a' oberflow," said Noah, lookin' solemn -- Fur Noah tuk de Herald, an' he read de ribber column-- an' so he sot his hans to wuk a-clarin' timber patches, An' lowed he's gwine to build a boat to beat de steamah Natchez. (9 additional stanzas)
File: R253
Complete text(s)
A Damsel Possessed of Great Beauty
The basic text is that of Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio,
#147, p. 313. From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio. This text
is only two double stanzas long. To fill it out, I have in the notes
several verses from the Sam Henry collection (H243a, Young Edward
the Gallant Hussar, in Henry/Huntington/Herrmann, pp. 473-474).
1. A damsel possessed of great beauty,
She stood by her own father's gate;
The gallant hussars are on duty,
To view them this maiden did wait.
Their horses were capering and prancing,
Their accoutrements shone like a star;
From the plains they were nearer advancing,
When she spied her gallant hussar.
2. "Twelve months upon bread and cold water
My parents confined me for you;
They were hard-hearted friends to their daughter,
Whose heart it was loyal and true.
But unless they confine me forever
Or banish me from you afar,
I'll follow my laddie so clever,
And wed with me gallant hussar."
---
Additional lyrics from the Henry text:
Between verses 1 and 2, add:
Their pellices were slung o'er their shoulders,
So careless they seemed for to ride,
So warlike appeared those young soldiers,
With glittering swords by their sides.
To barrack next morning so early,
This damsel she went in her car,
Because she loved him sincerely,
Young Edward, the gallant hussar.
'Twas there she conversed with her soldier,
These words they were heard for to say:
Said Jane, 'I've a heart, none has bolder,
To follow my laddie away.'
'O fie,' said young Edward, 'be steady,
And think of the dangers of war:
When the trumpet sounds, I must be ready,
So wed not your gallant hussar.'
At the end, add:
Said Edward, 'Your friends, you must mind them,
Or else you're forever undone,
They will leave you no portion behind them,
So pray do my company shun.'
She said, 'If you will be true-hearted,
I have gold of my uncle's in store,
From this time we'll be no more parted,
I'll wed with my gallant hussar.'
As he gazed on each beautiful feature,
The tears they did fall from each eye;
I will wed with this beautiful creature,
To forsake cruel war,' he did cry.
So now they are united together,
Friends think of them, now they're afar,
Crying, 'Heaven bless them, now and forever
Young Jane and her gallant hussar.'
File: E147
Partial text(s)
The Shenandoah From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 175. Apparently sung by Johnny Clark. It s of a famous American ship, for New York we are bound; Our captain being an Irishman belonging to Dublin town, And when he gaze on that land and that city of high renown, It s break away that green burgee and the Harp without a Crown. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Hugi140
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #82, pp. 210-213. "Sung by James Noseworthy, Green Island Brook, June 1960." Come all you good people who lives in our settlement, I pray pay attention and listen to me. It's about a game warden, And what a fine trick he played on me. We steamed to the Bear Point and hove down our anchor; We saw a few salmon, for the water was clear. And Stan, he looked up and said, "It's not late yet; I think we'd better have a haul here." (Stanzas 1, 3 of 19.) (The tune is for verse 3; there is no indication of how verse 1 is to be sung.)
File: LLab082
Complete text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 138-139.
Gan to the kye wi' me, my love,
Gan to the kye wi' me;
Over the moor and thro' the grove,
I'll sing ditties to thee:
Cushie, thy pet, is lowing
Around her poor firstling's shed,
Tears in her eyes are flowing,
Because little Colly lies dead.
Gan to the kye, etc.
All the fine herd of cattle
Thy vigilant sire possesst,
After his fall in battle
By rebel chieftains were prest:
Kine now is all our property,
Left by thy father's will;
Yet if we nurse it watchfully,
We may win geer enow still.
Gan to the kye, etc.
File: StoR138
Partial text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #78, p. 195. From a notebook in the hand of Rev. Franklin Eddy. The day was spend, the moon shone bright, The village clock struck eight, Young Mary hastened with delight Unto the garden gate. No one was there, that made her sad, The gate was there but not the lad, Which made young Mary say and sigh, "Was e'er a poor girl as sad as I!" (3 additional stanzas)
File: E078
Complete text(s)
The Maid Gathering Mushrooms From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond02: "Love Songs" FOLKTRAX-158). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS Rising early out of bed, Across the fields I steered O When drawing nigh a -mower- passed by And a pretty fair maid she appeared O For her head was bare I do declare, She'd neither hat nor feather on And she stooped so low gave me to know It was mushrooms she was gathering O Chorus Oh the gathering O, And she stooped so low gave me to know It was mushrooms she was gathering O Where are you going, says I my dear. Why are you up so early O I seen you on the dewy ground Before the -sun- -rose- fairly O Pray modestly she answered me And she gave her head one fetch up And she says I'm gathering mushrooms For to make my mammy ketchup. Chorus (O ketchup O) Her panting breast on mine she pressed Her heart was like a feather O And her lips on mine did gently join And we both sat down together O Words indicated by -word- are provisional readings The line I give as "I seen you on the dewy ground before the sun rose fairly" is to be heard as 'before the sower fairly,' which makes no sense, so I reconstructed a plausible sonic equivalent. [I might offer "before the sower CAME BY" or the like as another possibility, but I grant "sun rose fairly" is more likely. - RBW]
File: RcTGMus
Partial text(s)
General Munroe (2) From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #19, pp. 60-61. Source not indicated. My name is George Campbell -- at the age of 16 I fought for old Erin, her rights to maintain, And many a battle I did undergo, Commanded by that hero called General Munroe. But Munroe being weary, he lay down to sleep, He gave a woman ten guineas the secret to keep, When she got the money the devil tempted her so She sent for the cavalry, and surrounded was Munroe. (Stanzas 1, 6 of 10)
File: Pea998
Complete text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #13, pp, 69-71. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1941. An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came. He saw the chief who led him through many's the field of pain, The chief who shouted "Forward!" wher'er our banner rose, And held the Stars and Stripes aloft behind the flying foes. "I'm ready, General, so you'll let a post to me be given, Where Washington can see me as he looks from highest heaven, And say to Putnam at his side, or maybe General Wayne, There goes old Billy Johnson who fought at Lundy's Lane. "If he should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command Put me upon the rampart with a flagstaff in my hand. No odds so hot the cannon smoke or how the bullets may fly, I will hold them Stars and Stripes aloft and hold 'em till I die." "I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've got a good old gun. Put me in range of traitors' hearts, and I'll pick 'em one by one! Your mini rifles and such arms I ain't worthwhile to try, I couldn't get the hang of them nor keep my powder dry." "But when the fire is hottest, just before the traitors fly, When shells and balls are screeching and bursting in the sky, If any stray shot should hit me and lay me on my face, My soul should go to Washington, and not to Arnold's place. "God bless you, Comrade," said the chief, "God bless your loyal heart. There are younger me in the field would claim to have their part. We will plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town, And woe henceforth to any hand that dares to pull it down."
File: Wa013
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1856 by Firth, Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
FOSTER'S MELODIES
No. 31
GENTLE ANNIE
Ballad
WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
Thou wilt come no more, gentle Annie,
Like a flower thy spirit did depart;
Thou art gone, alas! like the many
That have bloomed in the summer of my heart.
Shall we never more behold thee;
Never hear thy winning voice again
When the Springtime comes, gentle Annie,
When the wild flowers are scattered o'er the plain?
We have roamed and loved mid the bowers
When thy downy cheeks were in their bloom;
Now I stand alone mid the flowers
While they mingle their perfumes o'er thy tomb.
Ah! the hours grow sad while I ponder
Near the silent spot where thou art laid,
And my heart bows down when I wander
By the streams and meadows where we strayed.
File: R701
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 110-111. Of aw the lads I see or ken, There's yen I like abuin the rest; He's neycer in his warday duds Than others donn'd in aw their best. A body's heart a body's awn, And they may gie't to whea they will; Had I got ten where I hae nean, Id gie them aw to Geordie Gill. (4 additional stanzas)
File: StoR110
Complete text(s)
Story of George Mann
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #122, pp. 276-277.
From the inscription on the back of a photograph, said to be of
Mann, in the possession of Mrs. Lydia Lormer of Dalton, Ohio.
1. My name is George Mann, --
This name I shall never deny;
Which leaves my aged father
In sorrow for to cry.
It's little did he ever think
While in my youthful bloom,
He brought me to Kansas
To meet my fatal doom.
2. It was Gustave Ohr and that old man
While laying in a mossy bed,
When Ohr quickly jumped upon him
And struck him in the head.
He struck him with a coupling-pin,
Which killed him dead at heart,
Which caused his dear and loving wife
From her husband to depart.
3. It is the only one
For he has murdered him.
John Whatmaugh is the last one
That he shall ever murder.
He murdered him with a coupling-pin,
Then he quickly turned around
And tore the clothing from him,
And dragged him to the ground.
4. He said, "Now, I have murdered him,
Now let us fly away,
For if they find it out
It will be an unlucky day for me."
Then to Beloit we quickly fled,
Thinking to escape;
But the hand of God was against us --
Indeed we were too late.
5. The day of my execution
It will be heart rending to see
My father, come from Kansas,
To take a last farewell of me.
He flew into my arms
And most bitterly did he cry
Saying, "My dear, beloved son,
This day you are doomed to die."
6. Now my life is ended,
I from this world must part,
For of my bad misfortune
I am sorry to my heart.
Let each young wild and vicious youth
A warning take by me:
Be led by your parents
And shun bad company.
File: E122
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #58, pp. 216-218. Collected from "Mrs. Graybeal" around 1920. 1 Oh Mary dear, lay down your grief And do not sorrow so; Your lover dear he met his death More than a year ago. 2 His brother John to court he came; He kneeled upon his knee: 'I've loved you true for many a year; Oh, won't you marry me?' 3 Her gown of black she laid aside, Put on a gown of green; She promised for to be his bride. She outshone the country's queen. 4 The wedding day came clear and bright, And to the church they went. The young folk danced, the children laughed, All was on pleasure bent. 5 He mounted her on a milk-white steed Himself on a prancin' roan. Away they rode across the fields Toward his brother's home. 6 Your brother's bride, your brother's home, Your brother's prancin' horse, You stole them all, John Gordon bold; You'll surely feel remorse. 7 As she rode up between the trees, A-goin' to his home, The wind blew cold and the wind blew hard; She thought she heard a groan. 8 'What is that sound, O husband dear? It moans like a heart dismayed.' 'It is the wind,' John Gordon said, 'So do not be afraid.' 9 That night she lay beside him there Upon a feather bed. The wind blew cold and the wind blew hard. She saw his hand was red. 10 The wind blew cold and the wind blew hard, It made a fearsome sound. She heard the hoof of a prancin' steed Galloping o'er the ground. 11 She heard the sound of the dead man's voice: My brother stole my bride, He stole my house and he stole my land, He stole my blood's red tide. 12 My bones lie bleaching on the rocks At the foot of a dark, dark dale. He pushed me off the tall rock cliff All in the moonlight pale. 13 The wind blew cold and the wind blew hard, 'I'm comin' fur my own. My bride I'll take, you keep the rest,' She heard the dead man moan. 14 She saw him stand beside her bed All in the moon's pale light. 'Oh, come with me, my promised bride; My love you shall not slight.' 15 The morning came; John Gordon woke, Woke up to find her gone. He searched the house, he searched the grounds; For days the search went on. 16 Her bones they found in the dark, dark dale Beside those of her lover. 'She was his bride," the searchers said; 'She never loved his brother.'
File: BrII058
Partial text(s)
From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 45. From the singing of William Laurie, Sailor's Snug Harbor. Apparently conflated from two different renditions by this singer. Solo: Oh, dis is de day we pick on de banjo, Chorus: Dance, gal, gimme de banjo! Solo: Oh, dat banjo, dat tal-la-tal-la-wan-go, Chorus: Dance, gal, gimme de banjo! (6 additional stanzas)
File: Doe045
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #297, pp. 687-688. Collected from Effie Tucker; date and place not known. 1. Come all of you good people And listen if you will Of the fate of Gladys Kincaid, Who worked in the hosiery mill. 2. Returning from her labor, Spent with the toil of day, All unaware of danger That stalked along the way. 3. In ambush lay the negro; His lust began to swell. He did this awful deed, Too horrible to tell. 4. He was declared an outlaw. Him men began to seek; But evaded his pursuers For something over a week. 5. He finally was discovered In a lonely hidden spot, And when he tried to flee away He was brought down with a shot. 6. They brought him to the courthouse And placed where all could see, The body of Broadus Miller, For an arch friend was he. 7. Go tell it in the country, To both the black and white, That old Burke County Shall e'er defend the right.
File: BrII297
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1860 by Firth, Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
Foster's Melodies
No. 48
The
Glendy Burk
A
Plantation Melody
Written and Composed by
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
De Glendy Burk is a mighty fast boat,
Wid a mighty fast captain too;
He sits up dah on de hurricane roof
And he keeps his eye on de crew.
I cant (sic.) stay here, for dey work too hard;
I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back
When de Glendy Burk comes down.
Ho! for Lou'siana!
I'm bound to leave dis town;
I'll take my duds and tote 'em on my back
When de Glendy Burk comes down.
De Glendy Burk has a funny old crew
And dey sing de boatman's song,
Dey burn de pitch and de pine knot too,
For to shove de boat along.
De smoke goes up and de engine roars
And de wheel goes round and round,
So fare you well! for I'll take a little ride
When de Glendy Burk comes down.
I'll work all night in de wind and storm,
I'll work all day in de rain,
Till I find myself on de levy dock
In New Orleans again.
Dey make me mow in de hay field here
And knock my head wid de flail,
I'll go where dey work wid de sugar and de cane
And roll de cotton bale.
My lady love is as pretty as a pink,
I'll meet her on de way
I'll take her back to de sunny old south
And dah I'll make her stay
So dont (sic.) you fret my honey dear,
Oh! dont (sic.) you fret Miss Brown
I'll take you back 'fore de middle of de week
When de Glendy Burk comes down.
File: MA109
Complete text(s)
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #182, p. 510 Supplied by Miss Eleanor Keim; no collection date specified. I will sing you a song of a comical style, If it don't make you laugh, it will surely make you smile; It's all about a wedding, a glorious affair; As I was the bridegroom, I happened to be there. Chorus: Up on the mountains, underneath the ground, Where the sweet tobacco never can be found; As long as I remember I never shall forget The night that I was married to the cross-eyed pet. All about the place I will tell you, if I can; I'll start at the commencement, and stop where I began: Cider and beer on the table were put, As much as you could see with both eyes shut. Old John McGill got as full as an egg; He fell in the corner and broke his wooden leg; He shouted for a doctor: "Shut up," said Johnny Green, "You don't want a doctor; it's a joiner that you need." One fellow there, called Bottle-nosed Dick, Said he would show them a conjuring trick, By picking up a glass of another man's beer, Before you could wink your eye, he'd made it disappear. The owner of the beer was so pleased with the joke That he hoped Dick would die with a paralytic stroke; They habbered and they jabbered and from words came to blows; They kicked one another till the nails fell off their toes.
File: JHCox182
Complete text(s)
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #63, pp. 128-129. From New York. Go round and round the valley, Go round and round the valley, Go round and round the valley, As we are all so gay. Go in and out the windows, As we are all so gay. Go back, and face your lover, As we are all so gay. Such love have I to show you, As we are all so gay.
'Cause Love Has Gained the Day As recorded by Kelly Harrell on Victor 23649 [1929]. The record company, unable to understand the lyrics, issued it as "Cave Love Has Gained the Day." (!) Transcribed by Robert Waltz Go find your lover like I did, Go find your lover like I did, Go find your lover like I did, 'Caze love has gained the day. I'd give ten cents to kiss her, (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. I'd walk fifty miles to see her, (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. I've got some candy to give her, (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. I'll try [to] take it over Saturday, (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. I've got her a whole dime s worth, (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. That's the way I beat the other fellow (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day. We'll fly to get married at Christmas (x3) 'Caze love has gained the day.
File: R538
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #149, p. 315. From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio. "Go to Saint Pether, or send him a letther, And tell him if iver he loved me to run Or if he can't come, to send good Saint Dorsan to beat out the head of the Protestant drum. Wather, wather, more hourly wather, We'll sprinkle the Papishes ivery one. We'll send them more crosses to make up their losses, And relics to mast the Protestant drum. When news came to the Pope that his legions were bate, Just as he sat him down to his tay, He let fall cup and saucer, which caused a piaster, And said, "My dear Cardinal, what shall I do?" When Mary of Hungary heard of the news That her legions were bate and dare not be seen, He girdle gave way before she could say, "Give me some liquor to temper me pain."
File: E149
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #121, pp. 293-294. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1959. Goin' 'cross the mountain, Oh, fare thee well, Goin' cross the mountain, Hear my banjo tell. Got my rations on my back, My powder it is dry. Goin' 'cross the mountain, Chrissy, don't you cry. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Wa121
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 121-122.
"Copy furnished by Sallie Little Hatton."
I'm goin' from the cotton fields,
I'm goin' from the cane,
I'm goin' from the old log hut
That stands in the lane.
Chorus [follows Stanza 4!]
I'm goin' from the cotton fields,
And oh, it makes me sigh,
And when the sun goes down tonight,
I'm bound to say good-bye.
But Dinah, she don't want to do,
She says she's gettin' old,
Away out there in Kansas
The country am so cold.
The flowers that bloom where master sleeps
Will miss my tender care;
No hand like mine will ever come
To keep them blooming there.
I've got to help the children some
'Fore I come to die,
So when the sun goes down to-night
I'm bound to say good-bye.
(Stanzas 1, 5, 10, 12 of 12)
File: Fus121
Partial text(s)
The Three Kings
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #107,
pp. 448-450. Source not listed; probably ultimately from
the Bodleian ms.
I
Now is Christemas y-come,
Father and Son together in one,
Holy Ghost us be on
In fere-a;
God send us a good New Year-a!
II
I would you sing, for and I might,
Of a Child is fair in sight;
His mother him bare this endris night
So still-a
And as it was his will-a.
(12 additional stanzas)
File: OBB107
Complete text(s)
Oh, dem Golden Slippers!
The above is the title on the interior page; for the cover page, see
below. From sheet music published 1879 by John F. Perry & Co.
Title page inscribed
1. Carry Me Back to Old Virginny. (Song & Chorus.) 4
2. In the Morning by the Bright Light. (End Song.) 4
3. Oh dem Golden Slippers. (Song & Chorus.) 4
Words and Music by JAMES BLAND, of Sprague's Georgia Minstrels.
1. Oh, my golden slippers am laid away,
Kase I don't 'spect to wear 'em till my weddin' day,
And my long-tail'd coat, dat I loved so well,
I will wear up in de chariot in de morn;
And my long, white robe dat I bought last June,
I'm gwine to git changed Kase it fits too soon,
And de ole grey hoss dat I used to drive,
I will hitch him to de chariot in de morn.
CHORUS.
Oh, dem golden slippers! Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers I'm gwine to wear, becase dey look so neat;
Oh, dem golden slippers! Oh, dem golden slippers!
Golden slippers Ise gwine to wear,
To walk de golden street.
2. Oh, my ole banjo hangs on de wall,
Kase it aint been tuned since way last fall,
But de darks all say we will hab a good time,
When we ride up in de chariot in de morn;
Dar's ole Brudder Ben and Sister Luce,
Dey will telegraph de news to Uncle Bacco Juice,
What a great camp-meetin' der will be dat day,
When we ride up in de chariot in de morn.
3. So, it's good bye, children, I will have to go,
Whar de rain don't fall or de wind don't blow,
And yer ulster coats, why, you will not need,
When you ride up in de chariot in de morn;
But yer golden slippers must be nice and clean,
And yer age must be Just sweet sixteen,
And yer white kid gloves yer will have to wear,
When yer ride up in de chariot in de morn.
File: RJ19144
Complete text(s)
The Goulden Vanitie
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 43-45. Immediate source not clearly stated.
There was a gallant ship,
And a gallant ship was she,
Eck iddle dee, and the Lowlands low.
And she was called "The Goulden Vanitie,"
As she sailed to the lowlands low.
She had not sailed a league,
A league but only three
Eck, &c.,
When she came up with a French Gallee,
As she sailed, &c.
Out spoke the little cabin-boy,
Out spoke he,
Eck, &c.,
"What will you give me if I sink that French Gallee?
As ye sail," &c.
Out spoke the Captain,
Out spoke he,
Eck, &c.,
"We'll gi'e ye an estate in the north countrie,"
As we sail, &c.
"Then row me up ticht
In a black bull's skin,
Eck, &c.,
And throw me o'er deck-buird, sink I or swim,
As ye sail," &c.
So they've rowed him up ticht
In a black bull's skin:
Eck, &c.,
And have thrown him o'er deck-buird, sink he or soom, (sic.)
As they sail," &c.
About and about,
And about went he,
Eck, &c.,
Until he came up with the French Gallee,
As they sailed," &c.
Oh! some were playing cards,
And some were playing dice:
Eck, &c.,
When he took out an instrument*, bored thirty holes at twice!
As they sailed," &c.
Then some they ran with cloaks,
And some they ran with caps,
Eck, &c.,
To try if they could stap the saut-water draps,
As they sailed," &c.
About and about,
And about went he,
Eck, &c.,
Until he cam back to the Goulden Vanitie,
As they sailed," &c.
"Now throw me o'er a rope,
And pu' mu up on buird;
Eck, &c.,
And prove unto me as guid as your word;
As ye sail," &c.
"We'll no throw you o'er a rope,
Nor pu' you up on buird:
Eck, &c.,
Nor prove unto you as guid as our word."
As we sail," &c.
Out spoke the little cabin-boy,
Out spoke he,
Eck, &c.,
"Then hang me, I'll sink ye as I sunk the French Gallee,
As ye sail," &c.
But they've thrown him o'er a rope,
And have pu'd him up on buiord,
Eck, &c.,
And have proved unto him far better than their word:
As they sailed," &c.
* The words "an instrument" are in a different typeface (a
blackletter) from the rest of the song; it appears as if they
are a modification of the original plates.
File: C286
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1866 by A. E. Blackmar.
Title page inscribed
GOOBER
PEAS
WORDS | MUSIC
BY | BY
A. PINDAR, ESQ. | P. NUTT, ESQ.
1. Sitting by the roadside on a summer day,
Chatting with my messmates passing time away,
Lying in the shadow underneath the trees,
Goodness how delicious, eating goober peas!
Chorus.
Peas! Peas! Peas! Peas! eating goober peas!
Goodness how delicious, eating goober peas!
2. When a horseman passes, the soldiers have a rule,
To cry out at their loudest, "Mister here's your mule,"
But another pleasure enchantinger than these,
Is wearing out your Grinders, eating goober peas!
3. Just before the battle the General hears a row,
He says "the Yanks are coming, I hear their rifles now,*
He turns around in wonder, and what do you think he sees
The Georgia Militia, eating goober peas!
4. I think my song has lasted almost long enough,
The subject's interesting, but rhymes are mighty rough,
I wish this war was over when free from rags and fleas
We'd kiss our wives and sweethearts and gobble goober peas.
* The printed music does not indicate a closing quotation mark.
File: RJ19073
Partial text(s)
The Good Old State of Mains (Henry's Concern) From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #18, pp. 99-101. From the singing of James Brown of South Branch. Apparently collected in pieces at folk festivals. Come bushmen all, give ear recall Until I will relate Of my experience in the lumbering woods Within the grandest* State. Its snow-clad hills and winding rills, Its mountains, rocks and plain, You will find it very different from The Good Old State of Maine. * Listed in the notes as an error for "granite"; New Hampshire is "the Granite State." (10 additional stanzas)
File: IvNB111
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 51. "[F]rom the recollection of C. W. Loutzenhiser of Chicago." 1 Our horse fell down the well around behind the stable, Our horse fell down the well around behind the stable, Well he didn't fall clear down but he fell, fell, fell, fell, fell, fell, As far as he was able. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane. 2 Our goose swallowed a snail, and his eyes stuck out with wonder, Our goose swallowed a snail, and his eyes stuck out with wonder, For the horns grew through his tail, tail, tail, tail, tail, tail, And bust it all asunder. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane. 3 My gal crossed the bridge, so she wouldn't get her feet wet, My gal crossed the bridge, so she wouldn't get her feet wet, Well, she didn't cross the bridge, but she would, would, would, would, would, would But the bridge wasn't built yet. Oh! it's good-by Liza Jane.
File: San051
Partial text(s)
The Gospel Ship From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 75-77. Supplied by Celeste Hazen, from a copy made by or for Amanda Culver, apparently in 1831. The Gospel Ship is sailing by, The Ark of Safety now is nigh; On sinners, unto Jesus fly Improve your day of grace. Oh, there'll be glory, glory hallelujah! Oh, there'll be glory, when we the Lord embrace. (10 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr075
Partial text(s)
Gra Machree As sung by Margaret Barry. Recorded in 1953 by Alan Lomax and found on Barry's recording "I Sang Through the Fairs" (Rounder 11661-1774-2). Last night I dreamed a happy dream, though restless where I be, I thought again brave Irishman would set old Ireland free. And all excited I became when I heard the cannons roar, O gra machree, I long to see old Ireland free once more. (3 additional stanzas)
File: OLoc063
Complete text(s)
(No title listed; to the tune of "The Maid in Bedlam")
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #46, pp.
47 (first of two items listed as "To the foregoing Tune). As found
in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile).
As down on Banna's banks I stray'd, one evening in May,
The little birds, in blythest notes, made vocal ev'ry spray:
They sung their little notes of love; they sung them o'er and o'er.
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
The daisy pied, and all the sweets the dawn of nature yields;
The primrose pale, the vi'let blue, lay scatter'd oe'r the fields;
Such fragrance in the bosom lies of her whom I adore,
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
I laid me down upon a bank, bewailing my sad fate,
That doom'd me thus the slave of love, and cruel Molly's hate.
How can she break the honest heart, that wears her in its core?
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
You said, you lov'd me, Molly dear; ah! why did I believe?
Yes, who could think such tender words were meant but to decieve.
That love was all I ask'd on earth; nay Heav'n could give no more.
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
Oh! had I all the flocks that graze on yonder yellow hill.
Or low'd for me the num'rous herds, that yon green pastures fill,
With her I love I'd gladly share my kine and fleecy store,
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
Two turtle doves, above my head, fat courting on a bough,
I envy'd them their happiness, to see them bill and coo;
Such fondness once for me she shew'd, but no, alas! 'tis o'er.
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
Then, fare thee well, my Molly dear, thy loss I still shall moan;
Whilst life remains in Strephon's hear, 'twill beat for thee alone.
Tho' thou art false, may heav'n on thee its choicest blessings pour!
Ah! gramachree, mo challeenouge, mo Molly astore.
File: HHH204
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1876 by C. M. Cady.
Title page inscribed
Grand-
father's
Clock
Song and Chorus
WORDS AND MUSIC BY
HENRY C. WORK
1. My grandfather's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more.
It was bought on the morn on the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short -- never to go again --
When the old man died.
CHORUS.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick),
His life-seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick),
It stopp'd short -- never to go again --
When the old man died.
2. In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours he had spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride,
But it stopp'd short -- never to go again --
When the old man died.
3. My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he'd found;
For it wasted no time and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
At it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short -- never to go again --
When the old man died.
4. It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short -- never to go again --
When the old man died.
File: RJ19076
Complete text(s)
From "The Dime Song Book #2" (1860), p. 15.
I loved with my grandma on yonder little green,
She's the nicest old lady that ever was seen;
She taught me fine lessons of prudence and care,
She taught me above all things of young men beware,
Of young me to beware,
Of young me to beware,
And she bade above all things of young men to beware.
These false young men they flatter and decieve,
So, my dearest Elize, you must not believe;
They'll flatter, they'll coax, till you are in their snare,
And away goes your poor old grandma's care,
Your poor old grandma's care,
Your poor old grandma's care,
And away goes your poor old grandma's care.
The first came a courting was little Johnny Green,
Fine young man as ever was seen;
But the words of my grandma did run in my head,
And I could not hear one word that he said,
One word that he said,
One word that he said,
And I could not hear one word that he said.
The next came a courting was little Ellis Grave,
'Twas then we met with a joyous love;
With a joyous love I could not be afraid,
You'd better get married than die an old maid,
Than die an old maid,
Than die an old maid,
Better get married than die an old maid.
Oh, dear! what a fuss these old women do make,
I wish to my heart they would make a mistake;
If all the young women of young men were afraid,
Then grandma herself would have died an old maid,
Would have died an old maid,
Would have died an old maid,
Then grandma herself would have died an old maid.
File: R101
Partial text(s)
Grandmother's Old Armchair
From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains,
pp. 373-374. Collected from a manuscript made by Polly Morris of
Yellow Branch, Pirkey, Virginia.
Oh, my grandmother, she died at the age of eighty-three
Was taken very sick one day and died,
And after she was dead, the will of corse was red (sic.)
by the lawyers as they all stood by her side.
2
To my brothers it was found she had left one hundred pounds
The same unto my sisters I declair (six.)
But when it come to me, the lawyers said, I see
She has only left to you one old arm chair.
(6 additional stanzas plus a final "chorus")
File: R467
Partial text(s)
From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #54, pp. 125-126. Source not indicated. Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green, They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike, and skian, And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead, They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red. (7 additional stanzas)
File: OCon058
Complete text(s)
From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume I, p. 171, text I. From Belfast. Green gravel, greem gravel, your grass is so green, The fairest young damsel that ever was seen; We washed her, we dried her, we rolled her in silk, And we wrote down her name with a glass pen and ink. Dear Annie, dear Annie, your true love is dead, And we sent you a letter to turn round your head.
Also from Gomme, pp. 171-172, text III. From Derbyshire and Worcestershire. Around the green gravel the grass is so green, All the pretty fair maids are plain to be seen; Wash them in milk, and clothe them in silk, Write down their names with a gold pen and ink. All but Miss "Jenny," her sweetheart is dead; She's off to her wedding to turn back her head. O mother, O mother, do you think it is true? O yes, child! O yes, child! Then what shall I do? We'll wash you in milk, and dress you in silk, And write down your name with a gold pen and ink.
Also from Gomme, pp. 174, text XIV. From Oxfordshire. Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green, The fairest young lady that ever was seen. As I went up Miss Betsey's stairs to buy a frying-pan, There sat Miss Betsey a-kissing her young man. She pulled off her glove and showed me her ring, And the very next morning the bells they did ring. Dear Betsey, dear Betsey, your true love is dead, He's sent you a letter to turn back your head.
From Vance Randolph Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, p. 323, text B. Collected 1930 from Elizabeth Waddell of Ash Grove, Missouri. Green gravel, green gravel, How green the grass grows, An' all the free masons Are dressed in green clothes!
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #15, p. 71. Green gravel, green gravel, the grass is so green, And all the free masons (maidens) are ashamed (arrayed?) to be seen. O Mary, O Mary, your true love is dead, The king sends you a letter to turn back your head.
The Beers family, of "The Seasons of Peace," sings a version similar to the above, in which the King sends a letter (to announce the lad's death, presumably in a war, likely the Napoleonic wars); the girl is told to "bow down her head." The key stanza runs, Miss Martha, Miss Martha, Your love has been found; 'Twas only his stallion That fell to the ground.
File: R532
Complete text(s)
Marden Forfeit Song
From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, p. 206.
From the singing of the "Bell-Ringers" at Marden; date not
given.
O green grow the leaves on the ackorn tree, (sic.)
Some grow high and some grow low;
With this wrangling and this jangling
We never shall agree,
And the tenor of our song goes merrily.
Twenty, noneteen, eigtheen, seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen,
thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five,
four, three, two, one,
And the tenor of our song goes merrily.
File: Leath206
Complete text(s)
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #77, p. 78.
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In ev'ry hour that passes, O:
What signifies the life o' man,
An' twere not for the lasses, O.
Green grow the Rashes, O;
Green grow the rashes, O:
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent amang the lasses, O.
The warly race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O;
An tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
But gie me a canny hour at e'en,
My arms about my Dearie, O,
An' warly cares, an' warly men,
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
For you sae douse! ye sneer at this,
Ye'er nought but senseless asses, O;
The wisest Man the warl' saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Auld Nature swears, the lovely Dears
Her noblest work she classes, O:
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
The above text is as it appears in the facsimile of the 1853
edition. Various other transcriptions exist. The version in
William Beattie and Henry W. Meikle, "Robert Burns," gives
the following variants (ignoring capitalization, but
including punctuation variants, except those involving :/; where
the facsimile is unclear):
Chorus PRECEDES the first verse
1.2: ev'ry ] every
1.4: twere ] 'twere; not ] na
2.3: an (vid) ] an'
4.1: douse! ] douse,
4.2: Ye'er ] Ye're
4.3: warl' saw ] warl' e'er saw
The Wordsworth Poetry Library edition, "The Works of Robert
Burns," has these variants (again ignoring capitalization,
which it corrects toward modern usage. Also, the Wordsworth
text eliminates all commas before the word O; this variant
is not noted):
Chorus PRECEDES the first verse
1.4: twere ] 'twere; not ] na
2.3: an (vid) ] an'
4.1: douse! ] douce,
4.2: Ye'er ] Ye're
5.3: try'd ] tried
vid=videtur, i.e. that's what it appears to read.
File: SBoA097
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 48-49. From the second (1940) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. Ye tender hearded Christians, I hope you will attend To these few feeling verses that I have lately penned. Listen to my mournful story; your grief it will renew When I relate the hardships that befell the Greenland's crew. They sailed from St. John's Harbour all on the tenth of March, Commanded by Captain Barbour, the ice fields for to search; With colors flying gaily they gave three hearty cheers, But mark what followed after, you quickly shall hear. (11 additional stanzas) NOTE: Other versions rearrange the first stanzas significantly. Doyle (who splits the song into half stanzas) begins with verse 2A, followed by 1B. They have several verses in common from there before diverging again.
File: Doy40
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 50-51. From Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports; collected in 1951 from Jim Rice. Sad comes the news from over the sea, from over the troubling main, To fill the hearts of those they loved with sorrow and with pain. With sorrow and with pain, To fill the hearts of those they loved with sorrow and with pain. Oh it's less than three short weeks today they left their native shore, But all, alas, they never returned to their friends no more. To see their friends no more, But all, alas, they never returned to their friends no more. (7 additional stanzas)
File: RySm050
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From the earliest known printing in "A Handful of Pleasant Delights" (1584).
As printed in Norman Ault's Elizabethan Lyrics from the Original Texts (1949),
pp. 86-89. Spelling was modernized by Ault.
Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight;
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but Lady Greensleeves.
Alas, my Love! ye do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously:
And I have loved you so long,
Delighting in your company.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
I have been ready at your hand,
To grant whatever you would crace.
I have both waged life and land,
Your love and goodwill for to have.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
I bought thee kerchers to thy head,
That were wrought fine and gallantly:
I kept the both at board and bed,
Which cost my purse well favouredly.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
I bought thee petticoats of the best,
The cloth so fine as fine might be:
I gave thee jewels for thy chest,
And all this cost I spent on thee.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thy smock of silk, both fair and white,
With gold embroidered gorgeously:
Thy petticoat of senal right:
I thus I bought thee gladly.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thy girdle of gold so red,
With pearls bedecked sumptuously:
The like no other lasses had,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thy purse and eke thy gay gilt knives,
Thy pincase gallant to the eye,
No better wore the burgess wives,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thy crimson stockings all of silk,
With gold all wrought above the knee;
Thy pumps as white as was the milk,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
The gown was of the grossie green,
Thy sleeves of satin hanging by,
Which made thee be our harvest queen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thy garters fringed with the gold,
And silver aglets hanging by,
Which made thee blithe for to behold,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
My gayest gelding I thee gave,
To ride wherever liked thee;
No lady ever was so brave,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee:
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
They set thee up, they took thee down,
They served thee with humility;
Thy foot might not once touch the ground,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
For every morning when thou rose,
I sent thee dainties orderly,
To cheer thy stomach from all woes,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Thou couldst desire no earthly thing
But still thou hadst it readily:
Thy music still to play and sing,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
And who did pay for all this fear
That thou didst spend when pleased thee?
Even I that am rejected here,
And thou disdain'st to love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Well, I will pray to God on high,
That thou my constancy may'st see,
And that yet once before I die
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy, &c.
Greensleeves, now farewell! adieu!
God I pray to prosper thee:
For I am still thy lover true --
Come once again and love me.
Greensleeves was all my joy,
Greensleeves was my delight;
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but Lady Greensleeves.
File: ChWI239
Complete text(s)
Down By Gruyer's Groves From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond02: "Love Songs" FOLKTRAX-158). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS One night on my rambles down by Greer's Grove When Cupid in ambush he did bend a bow When Cupid in ambush he did bend a bow And I'm shot through and through by the [?] 'tarnel (eternal?) Says I my wee lassie my joy and delight O could I get staying the half of the night Or if I could get lodging until [ontil = Ulster pronounciation] it's daylight I'd be off long before it is morning. The first that she took me was to her own room Where two of his cronies sat on the bed stock And they buffed me about till it was near twelve o'clock And by that time I thought it was morning When I awoke out of my silent sleep My lips was that dry not a word could I speak And a glass for young Johnny I thought would be neat In my pocket was damn the one farthing I stood a wee while in the middle of the floor I asked her to show me the road to the door And with burdens of love I left her on the floor I went round by the turnpike that morning Now Johnny's old mother sits mourning at home, She wonders her darling son's not coming home O Johnny, dear Johnny, it's are you my son? Or is it your ghost in the morning? And the neighbours they gathered into Johnny's room And they says poor devil he's all out of tune Och they says poor devil he's all out of tune We're afraid he's got side in the sparring O mother dear mother they're altogether wrong Down Frank Mullen's ramper [Ulster = rampart or bank] I tumbled headlong And my hinch is [haunch is] all broken and I'm all gone wrong And I'll scarce be alive til it's morning Come all you young fellows that courting does go Beware of young Nancy for she'll take you so For she'll rise off her heel and she'll light on her toe And she'll neb you right out in the morning. [neb= Ulster Nose]
File: RcGrrGrv
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O Saw ye my Father From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #76, pp. 77. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). O saw ye my Father, or saw ye my Mother, Or saw ye my true love John. I saw not your father, I saw not your Mother, But I saw your true love John. It's now ten at night, and the stars gi'e nae light, And the bells they ring, ding dong, He's met wi' some delay, that sauseth him to stay, But he will be here ere long. The surly auld carl did naething but snarl, And Johny's face it grew red; Yet tho' he often sigh'd, he ne'er a word reply'd, Till all were asleep in bed. Up Johny rose, and to the door he goes, And gently tirled the pin; The lassie taking tent, unto the door she went, And she open'd and let him in. And are you come at last, and do I hold ye fast, And is my Johny true! I have nae time to tell, sae lang's I like myself, Sae lang shall I love you. Flee up, flee up, my bonny gray cock, And craw when it is day; Your neck shall be like the bonny beaten gold And your wings of the silver grey. The cock prov'd false, and untrue he was, For he crew an hour o'er soon; The lassie thought it day, when she sent her love away, And it was but a blink of the moon.
File: C248
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #19, pp. 102-103. From the singing of John B. Stymiest, Tabusintac, 1947. At that time land was of little value, Two hundred acres I then secured And to the westward I went a-courting, And got acquanted with Peggy Steward. When I stand up and begin to whistle, You'll see all the gulls around me fly, And in the sand they seem to nestle, From whence they call me the Gull Decoy. (Stanzas 1, 9 of 9)
File: Doe255
Complete text(s)
Story of Gustave Ohr
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #121, pp. 274-276.
From the inscription on the back of a photograph, said to be of
Ohr, in the possession of Mrs. Lydia Lormer of Dalton, Ohio.
1. My name is Gustave Ohr,
The same I'll never deny,
Which leaves my aged parents
In sorrow for to cry.
It's little did they ever think,
While in my youthful bloom,
They brought me to America
To meet my fatal doom.
2. In bad houses of liquor
I used to take delight,
And consequently my associates
They used me there invite
It was on a certain day,
As you shall quickly see,
I was enticed into Mann's company
By a bottle of whisky.
3. It was in the town of Alliance,
As we were traveling,
Mann picked up an iron
Commonly called a coupling pin.
As we got into Webb's sugar camp,
We all laid down to rest,
When Mann steps up to me and says
Our chances are now the best.
4. He says now let us stun him,
And take his things away,
And we will go to New York city
And spend fourth of July day.
To Beloit, then, we quickly fled,
Thinking to escape, but
The hand of Providence was against us,
Indeed we were too late.
5. Then we were taken prisoners,
And brought unto our doom,
To die upon the scaffold,
All in our youthful bloom.
Our trial came on quickly,
Condemned we were to die,
A death upon the scaffold,
All on the gallows high.
6. I am thankful to the Sheriff
For his kindness to me,
Likewise my noble lawyer
Who tried to set me free;
And also to my clergymen
Who brought my mind to bear
That there is a good and holy judge
Way up in heavenly sphere.
File: E121
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #119, pp. 259-260. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Come, all ye landsmen, and young sailors too, While I relate the hardships that I have gone through. I have suffered some hardships and pain in my time, Oh, I put them together and composed the rhyme. (10 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS119
Complete text(s)
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #19, p. 20. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). The version collected by Sam Henry is similar but shorter, consisting of seven half verses, roughly 1A+2A, 2B+4A, 4B+5A+5B. How blest has my time been! what joys have I known Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own! So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain. Thro' walks green with woodbines, as often we stray, Around us our boys and girls frolic and play: How pleasing their sport is! the wanton ones see, And borrow their looks from my Jessy and me. To try her sweet temper, oft-times I am seen, In revels all day with the nymphs on the green: Tho' painful my absence, my doubts she beguiles, And meets me at night with complacence and smiles. What tho' on her cheeks the rose loses its hue, Her wit and good humour bloom all the year thro'; Time still, as he flies, adds increase to her truth, And gives to her mind what he steals from her youth. Ye shepherds so gay, who make love to ensnare, And cheat, with false vows, the too credulous Fair; In search of true pleasure, how vainly you roam! To hold it for life, you must find it at home.
File: HHH753
Complete text(s)
As recorded by Burnett & Rutherford, Columbia 15187-D, April 2, 1927. Transcribed by Robert Waltz. Come back to me in my dreaming, Come back to me once more. Come with love light gleaming, As in days of yore. I wonder if you love me, And if your heart is still true. When the spring roses are blooming, I'll come back to you. Somewhere a heart is breaking, Calling me back to you. Memories of love are waking Each happy home anew. Absence makes the heart fonder, Is it the same with you? Are you still happy, I wonder, And are you lonesome too? If you thought I was lonesome, Would you come back to me? You were my one and only one In days that used to be. Absence makes the heart fonder, Is it the same with you? Are you still happy, I wonder, And are you lonesome too?
File: RcHol
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs
of the Catskills, #153, pp. 575-580. From the singing of Mary Avery.
I'm my daddy's only son,
Gay and lively, full of fun,
The girls all kiss and they call me sweet,
It would take a dandy off his feet.
Refrain:
Get away now, don't come nigh me,
I'm like a kite, you'll have to fly me,
I can't keep still: come and tie me,
Happy, frisky Jim,
For I'm my daddy's only sonny,
Me and brother Joe.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: R431
Partial text(s)
My Fairey and My Forey From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 40-41. Sung by the sisters Mary and Serena Frye of Brookline, Massachusetts. Have you any bread and wine, my fairy and my forey, Have you any bread and wine, within the golden storey? Yes, we have some bread and wine, my fairy and my forey, Yes, we have some bread and wine, within the golden storey. Let us have a pint of it, my fairy and my forey, Let us have a pint of it, within the golden storey. (10 additional stanzas)
From Hammond-Belfast pp. 24-25 Do you want to breed a fight? We are the rovers! For it's if you want to breed a fight, Oh, we are the jolly fine rovers! The winders retreat: Ha! Ha! You had to go, you had to go, you had to go. Ha! Ha! You had to go, riding on a donkey. The winders reply: Raddy daddy and we're not beat yet, Raddy daddy and we're hardly! Raddy daddy and we're not beat yet A button for your Marley. (2 additional stanzas)
We Are All King George's Men From Greig-Duncan, volume 8, p. 1600, text Ab. We are all King George's men, King George's men, King George's men; We are all King George's men, Matheerie and mathorie. Similarly: We are all King William's men.... We will have a glass of wine.... (7 additional stanzas)
As printed in Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, pp. 343-345, first text. From Ellesmere's Shropshire Folklore, p. 518. We have come to take your land, We are the rovers! We have come to take your land, [Though you are] the guardian soldiers. We don't care for your men nor you, [Though you] are the rovers! We don't care for your men nor you, For we are the guardian soldiers. (12 additional stanzas)
As printed in Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, pp. 345-346, second text. From Miss D. Kimball of Wrotham, Kent. We have come for a glass of wine, We are the Romans! We have come for a glass of wine, We are King William's soldiers! We won't serve you with the wine, We are the Romans! We won't serve you with the wine, We are King William's soldiers! (6 additional stanzas)
File: Lins040
Partial text(s)
Heavenly Sunshine From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #80, p. 305. From the singing of Mrs. Henry Terbusch Oh sunshine, heavenly sunshine, Flooding my soul with glory Divine, Heavenly sunshine, heavenly sunshine, Hallelujah, Jesus is mine. My Lord knows the way through the wilderness, All along the golden twilight, My Lord knows the way through the wilderness, All along the golden twilight, That's what he knows, my Lord, All along for [...] My Lord knows the way through the wilderness, All along the golden twilight, (Apparently sung as a medley with "My Lord Knows the Way.")
File: FSC080
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Where Helen Lies From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume II, #155, p. 163. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). O that I were where Helen lies! Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies In fair Kirkconnel lee! O Helen, fair beyond compare, A rignlet of thy flowing hair, I'll wear it still forevermair Until the day I die. Curs'd be the hand that shot the shot, And curd's the gun that gave the crack! Into my arms bird Helen lap, And died for sake o' me. O think na ye but my heaart was fair; My love fell down, and spake nae mair; There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnel lee. I lighted down, my sword did draw, I cutted him in pieces sma', I cutted him in pieces sma', On fair Kirkconnel lee. O Helen, chaste, thou'rt now at rest, If I were with thee I were blest, Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest On fair Kirkconnel lee. I wish my grave was growing green, An winding sheet put o'er my een, And I in Helen's arms lying In fair Kirkconnel lee! I wish I were where Helen lies. Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnel lee!
File: OBB152
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 46. From the singing of Captain James P. Barker of Brooklyn, NY. Hello, Somebody, hello! There's Somebody knocking at the garden gate; Hello, Somebody, hello! There's Somebody knocking at the garden gate; Hello, Somebody, hello! (1 additional stanza)
File: Doe046
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 473. "Sung in 1934 by Mrs. John Lamberton, Belding." The hen to herself said one beautiful day, "Cluck, cluck, The day is so fine we'll step over the way And call on my neighbor and friend Madam Duck, Who lives by the side of the beautiful brook, Cluck, cluck -- cluck, cluck -- cluck, cluck!" And so they jumped in, but alas they soon found That chicks were not ducks, for the brood were all drowned. "Peep, peep -- peep, peep -- peep, peep." (stanzas 1, 6 of 6)
File: GC199
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 15-16. Sung by Fred Pullen of North Anson, Maine. A singing game of a very simple sort; the players form a ring with a single girl at the center; she chooses a boy; they salute; another girl goes to the center, etc. Here stands an old maid forsaken, She's of a contented mind, She's lost her own true lover And wants another as kind; She wants another a kind, sir, I'll have you all to know, She's very well provided for With forty-five strings to her bow, With forty-five strings to her bow.
File: Lins015
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #163B, pp. 599-561. As recalled by Elwyn Davis. There is a family lived under the hill, And talk of their neighbors we know they will, But the neighbors say that they don't care, For it is seldom they ever go there. Refrain: The Hesleys, the Hesleys, we'll never go there anymore; The Hesleys, the Hesleys, we'll never go there anymore. Old Mrs. Hesley, she's got a long tongue; Old John's eyes cock to the sun: His neighbors think he likes to keep, For he stole one of Joe Hill's buck sheep. Refrain: The bucksheep, the bucksheep, they'll never go there anymore; The bucksheep, the bucksheep, they'll never go there anymore. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 8)
File: FSC163
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From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number XII, pp. 45-47. No source listed, but Kinloch cites a fragment of another version. Early in the morning whan the cat crew day, Hey the mantle! how the mantle! Our gudeman saddl'd the bake-bread, and fast rade away And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. Our gudeman's gane awa to the Mers Hey the mantle! how the mantle! Wi' his breeks on's head, and his bonnet on's arse, And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. And as he gaed through thick wud, thin wud's brither, Hey the mantle! how the mantle! Ilka tree stood a mile frae the ither, And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. As he cam by the mill door, he heard psalms singing, Hey the mantle! how the mantle! As he cam by the kirk door, he heard the meal grinding, And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. There war four-and-twenty tailors riding on a snail, Hey the mantle! how the mantle! "Ho!" says the foremost, "I'll be heads oure her tail," And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. There war four-and-twenty tailors riding on a paddock, Hey the mantle! how the mantle! "Ho!" says the foremost, "we'll haud her at the gallop," And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay. There war four-and-twenty tailors playing at the ba', Hey the mantle! how the mantle! Up started the headless and took it frae them a', And hey for a mantle o' the gude green hay.
File: KinBB12
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast,
#84, pp. 216-217. "Sung by Leo O'Brien, Pinware, July 1960."
On the twentieth of May, boys, I'll have you to know,
We went up to Schooner Cove, de work for to go;
Our bread it got short, and that you all know.
And then to make ballast the Lwo did go.
And 'twas high times in de store.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: LLab084
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The Maid of Rygate As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 134-136. Immediate source not listed. Near Rygate there lived a farmer, Whose daughter to market would go, Not fearing that any would harm her, For often she rode to and from. It fell one time among many, A great store of corn she sold, She having received the penny In shillings, and guineas, and gold. She rode a little way farther, But, dreading some danger to find, She sewed it up in her saddle, Which was with leather well lined. She riding a little way farther, She met a thief on the highway, A robber apparelled, well mounted, Who soon did oblige her to stay. Three blows then he presently gave her, Load pistols he held to her breast, Your money this moment deliver, Or else you shall die I protest. This maiden was sorely affrighted, And so was poor Doby the steed, When down off his back she alighted He quickly ran home with great speed. Then this damsel he stripped nearly naked, And he gave her some sorrowful blows, Says, "girl you must patiently take it; I'll have both your money and clothes." The thief up his bundle was making, His horse he obliged her to hold; The poor girl stood trembling and shaking, As though she would perish with cold. The thief up is bundle was making And being rejoiced at his prize, Says, "Yourself I shall shorly be taking, As part of my baggage likewise." The girl while she held fast the bridle, Was beginning to grow more afraid. Says she, "it's in vain to be idle, I'll show you the trick of a maid." Then up on the saddle she mounted, Just as if she had been a young man, As while on his money she counted, "Pray follow me, Sir, if you can." The rogue in a passion he flew, He cursed her, he swears, and he blows, At length his words were, "halloo! Stay girl! and I'll give you your clothes." She says, "That's not so much matter, You may keep them, kind sir, if you please;" He runs, but he could not get at her, His boots they so hampered his knees. She rode over hedges and ditches, The way home she knew very well, She left him a parcel of farthings, The sum of five shillings to tell. This maiden was sorely benighted From seven till twelve of the clock, Her father was sorely affrighted To see her come stripped to her smock. "O daughter, the matter come tell me, And how you have tarried so long?" She says, "some hard fortune befel me, But I have received no wrong." They ended their sorrow with joy, When in his portmanteau was found, In a bundle a great sum of money, In all about eight hundred pound. O! was this not rare of a maiden, Who was in great danger of life? With riches she's now overtaken, No doubt she will make a good wife.
File: LL02
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From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 480-486. Collected 1908 from Robert Mellis, West Folds, Huntly. THERE was a knight, a baron bright, A bold baron was he, And he had only but one son, And a comely youth was he. He brought him up at schools nine, So has he at schools ten, And the boy learned to haud the plough Amang his father's men. But it fell ance upon a day The bold baron did say: "My son, you maun gae court a wife, And ane o' high degree. "Ye hae lands, woods, rents, and bowers, Castles and towers three; Then go, my son, and seek some dame To share these gifts wi' thee." "Yes, I have lands and woods, father, Castles and towers three; But what if she likes my lands and rents Far more than she loves me? "But I will go and seek a wife That weel can please my e'e; And I will fairly try her love Before she goes wi' me." Then he's taen aff his scarlet coat, Bedeck'd wi' shinin' gold, And he's put on the hireman's coat To keep him frae the cold. He's laid past the studded sword That he could bravely draw, And he's gone skippin' down the stair, Swift as a bird that flaw. He took a stick into his hand, Which he could bravely wiel', And he's gone whistling o'er the lan', Like ony hireman chiel. He gaed up yon high, high hill, And low in yonder glen, 'Twas there he saw a gay castle Wi' turrets nine or ten. And he's gone on and further on, Till to the yett drew he, And there he saw a lady fair, That pleased that young man's e'e. He went straught to the grieve's chamber, And with humilitie Said, " Hae ye ony kind o' work For a hireman chiel like me?" "What is the wark ye'd tak' in han', Or how can we agree? Can ye plough, sow, and reap the corn, And a' for meat and fee?" "Yes, I can plough, and reap and mow, And sow the corn tee, And I can manage horse and cow, And a' for meat and fee." "If ye can haud the plough richt weel, And sow the corn tee, By faith and troth, my hireman loon, We sanna pairt for fee." He's put his hand in his pocket, And ta'en out shillings nine; Says, "Tak' ye that, my hireman chiel, And turn in here and dine." He acted all he took in hand, His master loved him weel; And the young lady of the land Fell in love wi' the hireman chiel. How oft she tried to drown the flame, And oft wept bitterlie; But still she loved the hireman ohiel, So weel's he pleased her e'e. She has written a broad letter, And sealed it wi' her hand, And dropt it at the stable-door Where this young man did stand. "I am in love, my hireman chiel, I'm deep in love wi' thee; And, if ye think me worth your love, I' the garden green meet me." When he read the letter o'er, A loud, loud laugh gae he; [1] Said, "If I manage my business weel, I'm sure to get my fee." At night they met behind a tree, Low in the garden green, To tell the tale among the flowers, And view the evenin' scene. Next morning by the rising sun, She, wi' her Maries fair, Walk'd to the field to see the plough And meet the hireman there. "Good morn, good morn, my lady gay, I wonder much at you, To rise so early in the morn While fields are wet wi' dew; To hear the linnets on the thorn, And see the plough-boy plough." "I wonder much at you, young man, I wonder much at you, That ye no other station have Than hold my father's plough." "I love as weel to rise each morn As you can your Maries fair. I love as weel to hold the plough As if I was your father's heir. "If ye love me as ye protest, As I trust weel ye dee, [2] The morn's nicht at eight o'clook, In the guid green-wood meet me." "Yes, I love you, my hireman chiel, And that most tenderlie, But my maidenhood it feareth me So late to meet with thee." "Tak' ye no dread, my bonnie lass, Lat a' your folly be; If ye come a maiden to the green wood, Ye'll return the same for me." The lady she went home again, Wi' a Marie on every hand; She was so very sick in love, Should could not sit or stand. [3] It was on a dark and dismal night, No stars blink'd o'er the lea, When the lady and her hireman met Under the greenwood tree. He took the lady in his arms, Embraced her tenderlie, And thrice he kissed her rosy lips Under the greenwood tree. "Haud aff your hands, young man," she said, "I wonder much at thee; The man that holds my father's plough To lay his hands on me." "No harm I mean, my winsome dame, No impudence at a'; I never laid a hand on you Till your libertie I saw. "But the morning it is coming in, The dew is falling down, An' you must go home again Or you'll spoil your satin gown." "If you are wearied of me so soon, Why did you tryst me here?" "I would not weary with you, my dear, Though this night were a year." When morning beams began to peep Among the branches green, The lovers rose to part, and meet, And tell their tale again. "Ye will go home unto the plough, Where often ye hae been; I'll tak' my mantle folded up And walk i' the garden green. "The baron and my mother dear Will wonder what I mean; They'll think I've been disturbed sair, When I am up see seen." But this passed on, and further on, For two months and a day, Till word cam' to the bold baron, And an angry man was he. The baron swore a solemn oath, An angry man was he: "The morn before I eat or drink, High hanged he shall be." "Farewell, my lovely lady fair, A long adieu to thee; Your father has sworn a solemn oath That hanged I shall be." "O woe's me!" the lady said, "Yet do not troubled be; If e'er they touch the hair on thy head They'll get no good of me." He turned him right and round about, And a loud, loud laugh gave he: "That man never stood in a oourt That daur this day hang me." Her mother spoke from her bower door, An angry woman was she: "What impudence in you to tryst Her to the greenwood tree." He turned him right and round about, And a loud, loud laugh gave he: Says, "If she came a maid to the green, green wood, She return'd the same for me. "If she had not gien her consent, She had not gone with me; Ye may wed your daughter when ye will, She's none the worse for me." He's gone whistling o'er the knowe, Swift as the bird that flaw; The lady stood in her bower door And lat the tears downfa'. But this passed on, and further on, Till two months and a day, When there came a knight, a baron bright, To woo this lady gay. He soon gained the baron's will, Likewise the mother gay; He woo'd and won the lady's love, But by a slow degree. "O weel befa' you, daughter dear, And happy may ye be, To lay your love on that grand knight, And let the hireman be." "O haud your tongue, my father dear, And speak not so to me; For more I love yon hireman chiel Than a' the knights I see." The morn was oome, and tho bells were rung, And all to church repair; And like a rose among the thorns Was this lady and her Maries fair. But as they walked across the field, Among the flowers so fair, Beneath a tree stood on the plain, The hireman chiel was there. "I wish ye joy, my gay madam, And aye weel may ye be; Here's a ring, a pledge o' love, That ance I got from thee." "O wee befa' you, hireman chiel, Some ill death may ye dee; Ye might hae tauld to me your name, Your hame, and your countrie." "If ye love me, my lady fair, As ye protest ye dee, [2] Then turn your love from this grand knight, And reach your hand to me." Then out it spoke the gay, gay baron, And an angry man was he: "If I had known she was belov'd She had ne'er been loved by me." When she was set on high horse-back, And ridin' through the glen, They saw her father followin' fast Wi' fifty armed men. "Do for yourself, my hireman lad, And for your safety flee; My father he will take me back, But married I'll never be." When they gaed up yon high, high hill, There, low down i' the glen, They saw his father's gilded coach, Wi' five hundred gentlemen. "Come back, come back, my hireman chiel, Turn back and speak wi' me; Ye served me fang for my daughter's sake, Come back and get your fee." "Your blessing give us instantly, Is all we crave of thee; Seven years I served you for her sake, And now I've got my fee." --- [1] "gae": so Ord; I would assume the singer sang "gie" [2] "dee": i.e. "dae" [3] "Should": read "She"?
File: DBuch64
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 51-52. From John Stewart of Dorset, Vermont, but learned in Maine. Collected 1930. If you give me your attention A few facts I will mention Concerning a convention That was held last fall. The crooks, they were delighted When they heard they were invited, To the hoboes grand convention That was held in Montreal. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr051
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Swine-Herders From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #164, pp. 232-233. The "A" text, apparently from North Carolina, is given here. Reproduced on pp. 810-812 of B. A. Botkin, American Folklore. "Hog-drivers, hog-drivers, hog-drivers we air, A-courtin' your darter so sweet and fair; And kin we git lodgin' here, O here -- And kin we git losgin' here?" "Now this is my darter that sets by my side, And no hog-driver can get 'er fer a bride; And you kain't get lodgin' here, O here -- And you kain't get lodgin' here." "Yer darter is pretty, yer ugly yerself, So we'll travel on further and seek better wealth, And we don't want lodgin' here, O here -- And we don't want lodgin' here." "Now this is my darter that sets by my side, And Mr. ---- kin git 'er fer a bride, And he kin git lodgin' here, O here -- And he kin git lodgin' here." [To a different tune, used for the second part of the game] Come under, come under, My honey, my love, my heart's above -- Come under, come under Below Galilee. We've caught you as a prisoner, My honey, my love, my heart's above -- We've caught you as a prisoner, Below Galilee. Then hug 'er neet, and kiss 'er sweet, My honey, my love, my heart's above -- Then hug 'er nice, and kiss 'er twice Below Galilee.
File: LoF207
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #6, pp.37-38. Collected from O. J. Abbott of Hull, Quebec, August 1957. Oh, come all you brisk young fellows that assemble here tonight, Assist my bold endeavors while these few lines I write. It's of a gang of shantyboys I mean to let you know, They went up for Thomas Laugheren through storm, frost, and snow. (7 additional stanzas)
File: FMB174
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From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 186-187. Apparently from the singing of Mr. J. Hancocks, Monnington, 1908. As it fell out upon a day, On a bright and a holy day, Sweet Jesus asked of His dear mother If He might go to play. (12 additional stanzas)
File: L690
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As recorded by the Roanoke Jug Band, OKeh 45393, recorded October 18, 1929. Reissued on The New Roanoke Jug Band, "Play It for a Long Time," Copper Creek CCCD-2003. (Recording opens with fiddle breaks, then a conversation in which bands members Ray Barger, Billy Altizer, and others meet and share brew.) Well, I've never been drunk but about one time, And it think it was on home brew; If you drink any brew yourself, You know just what it'll do. Think I'll go home now And make me a barrel or two. Ick-poo, home brew, You know just what it'll do. Come on, boys, I've made my brew And I hope you'll say it's good. If it isn't what it should be, I've done the best I could. Come on, boys, let's have a little drink And see what it will do. Ick-poo, home brew, You know just what it'll do.
File: RcHoBreR
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #20, pp. 108-110. From the singing of Wilmot MacDonald of Glenwood in 1947. Oh, come listen to those verses I made up the other day, 'Twas all about two jolly boys Unto the woods did stray. Being fond of outdoor pleasuring, For what I say is true, We're the boys that make the whiskey That some people calls home brew. (9 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi021
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 157. As remembered by Fuson himself. Gimme the hook And gimme the line; Gimme the girl You call Caroline.
File: Fus157
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From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 90. Apparently collected by Mrs. Tom Bartlett of Marlin, Texas. I went to the hop-joint And thought I'd have some fun, In walked Bill Bailey With his forty-one! (Oh, baby darlin', why don't you come home?) First time I saw him I was standin' in the hop-joint door. Next time I saw him, I was lyin' on the hop-joint floor. (Oh, baby darlin', why don't you come home?) (2 additional stanzas, and probably more which the informant would not repeat)
File: ScaNF090
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Ostler Joe From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 176-178. Presumably from some other printed collection. I stood at eve, as the sun went down, by a grave where a woman lies, Who lured men's souls to the shores of sin with the light of her wanton eyes; Who sang the song that the Siren sang on the treacherous Lurley height, Whose face was as fair as a summer day, and whose heart was as black as night. In the summer, when the meadows were aglow with blue and red, Joe, the hostler of the "Magpie," and fair Annie Smith were wed. Plump was Annie, plump and pretty, with cheek as white as snow; He was anything but handsome, was the "Magpie" hostler, Joe. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 22)
File: R830
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From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 108-109. Come all you tender hearded, Your attention I docall. I will tell you how it started Come listen one and all. But when she started home again, Her house was in a flame, She cried, "Alas, my babes are gone And I'm the one to blame." (Stanzas 1, 5 of 8)
File: ThBa108
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From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 474-475. Presumably from some other printed collection. There was once two Irish labouring men; to England they came over; They tramped about in search of work from Liverpool to Dover. Says Pat to Mick, "I'm tired of this; we're both left in the lurch; And if we don't get work, bedad, I'll go and rob a church." "What, rob a church!" says Mick to Pat; "How dare you be so vile? There's something sure to happen as you're treading down the aisle. But if you go I go with you;we'll get out safe, I hope;" So, if you listen, I'll tell you here how Paddy stole the rope. (4 additional stanzas)
File: OCon068
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From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #117, p. 168, first text. From Massachusetts. Reproduced on p. 806 of B. A. Botkin, American Folklore. Hunt the squirrel through the wood, I lost him, I found him; I have a little dog at home, He won't bite you, He won't bite you, And he *will* bite you.
File: BaF806
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #115, p. 285. "Sung by Peter Letto, Lance au Clair, July 1960." I'm sweet forty-five and my dear little wife She's twenty years younger than me; She's fond of enjoyment and all sorts of fun; She loves to go out on a spree. Lawty, tauty, hush a my baby, Hail, my baby grows so high, Lawty, tauty, hush a my baby, Mother will come to baby by 'n by. One night as my baby lay silent in sleep, I took a short stroll around the street, And to my surprise my dear wife I spied Hugging a soldier sixteen.
File: LLab115
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Sleep On, Mother, Sleep On From Lonnie McIntorsh, as recorded on Victor 21271, 1928. Transcribed by Bob Bovee: Sleep on, Mother, sleep on Lie down and take your rest You got to lay your head Upon your saviour's breast I love you, Lord My Saviour and my God Sleep on, sleep on, sleep on. Sleep on, Father, sleep on Lie down and take your rest You got to lay your head Upon your saviour's breast I love you, Lord My Saviour and my God Sleep on, sleep on, sleep on. Sleep on, Auntie, sleep on Lie down and take your rest You got to lay your head Upon your saviour's breast I love you, Lord My Saviour and my God Sleep on, sleep on, sleep on. Sleep on, Sister, sleep on Lie down and take your rest You got to lay your head Upon your saviour's breast I love you, Lord My Saviour and my God Sleep on, sleep on, sleep on. (repeat verses)
The Christian's Good-Night As recorded by Tom, Brad and Alice on "Holly Ding." Their text is described as a four-verse subset of the Sankey Brothers version found in the 1938 Cokesbury Worship Hymnal. Sleep on, beloved, sleep and take your rest; Lay down your head upon the Savior s breast. I love you well, but Jesus loves you best, Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Lord, I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Long is your slumber as an infant's sleep, But you shall wake no more to toil and weep. Thine is a perfect rest so pure and deep. Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Lord, I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Until the shadows from this earth are cast, Until he gathers in his sheaves at last, Until the twilight gloom be overpass'd, Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Lord, I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. Until, made beautiful by love divine, Thou in the lightness of the Lord shall shine And he shall bring that golden crown of thine, Goodnight, goodnight, goodnight. And I bid you goodnight, goodnight, goodnight.
The Christian's "Good-Night" From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 342-343. Compare to the preceding. Sleep on, beloved, sleep and take thy rest; Lay down thy head upon thy Savior s breast. We love thee well, but Jesus loves thee best, Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!. Calm is thy slumber as an infant's sleep, But thou shalt wake no more to toil and weep. Thine is a perfect rest, secure and deep -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!. Until the shadows from this earth are cast; Until He gathers in His sheaves at last; Until the twilight gloom be overpast -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! Until the Easter glory lights the skies; Until the dead in Jesus shall arise, And He shall come, but not in lowly guise -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! Until made beautiful by Love Divine, Thou, in the likeness of thy Lord shall shine, And he shall bring that golden crown of thine -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! Only "Good-night," beloved -- not "Farewell!: A little while, and all His saints shall dwell In hallowed union, indivisible -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! Until we meet again before His throne, Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own; Until we known even as we are known -- Good-night! Good-night! Good-night!
File: DTbidgni
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The Stepmother From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II, p. 202. From the author's own recollection. The marriage rites are over, Although I turned aside To keep the guests from seeing The tears I could not hide. I'll wreathe my face in smiles, And take my little brother, I'll greet my father's chosen, But I will not call her mother. (1 additional stanza)
File: R726
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I Fights Mit Seigle From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II, pp. 222-223. Apparently as printed by W. H. Strong in Ozark Life. Ven I come from dot Dutch country, I vorks sometimes at bakin', Und den I keeps a beer-saloon, Und den I tries shoe-makin'. But now Iwas a soldier been, To save dot Yanke eagle; Und so I gets mine soldier clothes Und go und fight mit Seigle. Yah, dot been true, I speak mit you, To go and fight mit Seigle! (2 additional stanzas)
File: R217
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(no title)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 16-17. From a janitor apparently named "Parsons" in
Natchitoches, Louisiana
Gwine to lay me on a cooling board one of dese mornings,
Gwine to lay me on a cooling board one of dese mornings,
Gwine to lay me on a cooling board one of dese mornings,
Hope I'll jine de band.
Chorus:
Oh, my sister, oh, my sister, oh, my sister,
Won't you come and go?
(2 additional stanzas and a distinct final chorus)
Chatter With the Angels From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume II, #266C, p. 341. From Doney Hammontree, Farmington, Arkansas, February 8, 1941. Chatter with de angels, soon in de mornin', Chatter with de angels, soon in de mornin', Chatter with de angels, soon in de mornin', Hope I jine de band, band, band, An' I hope I jine de band! (4 additional stanzas)
File: R266
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From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), p. 203. Apparently from M. C. Dean's The Flying Cloud. Abroad as I rambled one morning in May, So carelessly I rambled down Liverpool's streets so gay. I overheard a fair maid, and this was all her cry, "And ley my friends say what they will, I love my sailor boy." (4 additional stanzas)
File: Rick203
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As recorded by Kelly Harrell, Victor 20867, March 22, 1927.
Chorus:
The sun was sinking slowly,
Sinking in the west;
I love all those pretty boys,
But I love my sweetheart the best.
If I had listened to mother,
I would not have been here today,
But I was young and foolish, girls,
They stole my heart away.
Girls, when you left your mother,
You've left your best friend,
Yes, listen to your mother, girls,
Don't listen to the men.
They'll tell you that they love you;
Don't believe them what they say.
They'll leave you broken-hearted,
They'll steal your life away.
Final Chorus:
The sun was sinking slowly,
Sinking in the west;
I love all those pretty boys,
But I love little Johnny the best.
File: RcILMSTB
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From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, pp. 40-41. Collected from "Grandma Bell" in Buchanan County. I onct was young but now I'm old Am blind, but yet I have a soul That soul to save and that you know Or else sink down to endless woe. (2 additional stanzas)
File: ScaSC040
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Religious version from the Josiah H. Combs collection. From Combs/Wilgus, Folk-Songs of the Southern United States, Combs #315, pp. 141-142. Contributed by A. E. Harris of Little Branch, West Virginia. I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day, on Christmas day; I saw three ships come sailing in, On Christmas day in the morning. And what was in those ships all three? etc. Our Savior, Christ, and His Lady. Pray, whither sailed those ships all three? O, they sailed into Bethlehem. And all the bells on earth did ring. And all the angels in heaven did sing. Then let us all rejoice again.
Three Little Ships Secular version, from Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, p. 280, text II. From London. Three little ships come sailing by, Sailing by, sailing by, Three little ships come sailing by, New Year's Day in the morning. Who do you think was in the ships, In the ships, in the ships, Who do you think was in the ships, New Year's Day in the morning. Three pretty girls were in the ships, In the ships, in the ships, Three pretty girls were in the ships, New Year's Day in the morning. One could whistle and one could sing, One could play the violin, One could whistle and one could sing, New Year's Day in the morning.
File: OBB104
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From the recording by George (Shortbuckle) Roark, of Pineville, Kentucky and his family (1928). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. I wish to the Lord I never been born, Nor died when I was young, I never would've seen them two brown eyes, Nor heard that flattering tongue, my love, Or heard that flattering tongue. I truly understand that you love another man, And your heart shall no longer be mine. I truly understand that you love another man, And your heart shall no longer be mine. Who will shoe your little feet, Who will glove your hand, Who will kiss your red rosy cheeks, When I'm in the foreign land, my love, When I'm in the foreign land, my love. Remember what you told me, dear, As we stood side by side, You promised that you'd marry me, And be no other man's bride, my love, And be no other man's bride, my love. I never will listen what another woman says, Let her hair be black or brown, For I'd rather be on the top of some hill, And the rain a-pouring down, down, And the rain a-pouring down, down. My father will shoe my little feet, My mother will glove my hand, And you will kiss my red rosy cheeks, When I'm in the foreign land, O love, When I'm in the foreign land, O love.
File: CSW025
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #178, pp. 642-643. As sung by George Edwards. I am a poor unlucky chap, I'm very fond of rum, I walk the road from morn till night, I ain't ashamed to bum; My feet being sore, my clothes being tore, but still I didn't complain, I got up and I hoisted my turkey and I walked the road again. Refrain: I walked the road again, my boys, I walked the road again, If the weather be fair, I combed my hair and I walked the road again. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FSC178
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From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, pp. 166-167. Supplied by Virginia Fitzgerald of Virginia. I went to my sweetheart's house, I never was thar before, They sot me in the corner as still as a mouse, An' I ain't gwine thar no mo', mo', mo, An' I ain't gwine that no mo', my love, An' I ain't gwine that no mo'. I had a little rooster, He crowed 'bout break o' day; An' the weasel come to my house An' stole my rooster 'way. An' he stole my rooster 'way, my love, An' he stole my rooster 'way. (5 additional stanzas)
File: ScaNF166
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Bellaghy Fair From Henry, Huntington, Herrmann, Sam Henry's Songs of the People, p. 23. Henry #758, printed June 4, 1938. Source not listed. I went to the fair at Bellaghy, I bought a wee swad of a pig, I got it up in my arms And danced 'The Swaggering Jig.' Then it's hi! for the top o' the heather, And hi! for the root of the sprig, And hi! for the bonny wee lassie That danced 'The Swaggering Jig.' (2 additional stanzas)
File: E151
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From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #126, pp. 361-362. Collected from "Mr. Sanders" of Forsyth county, North Carolina. Date of collection not listed. 1 I wish my love was in a ditch, Without no clothing to her, With nettles up and down her back Because she was not truer. 2 She kissed me with her red, red lips, She swore she would be mine O; But she swore the same to Alan O'Chree, Who lives way down the line O. 3 Her belly grew big, her face grew pale, But it was no fault of mine O; It must have been that Alan O'Chree Who lives way down the line O. 4 She swore the brat was mine alone, And soon enough we were wed. But I swear by the light of Kincastle Hill She shall not share my bed.
File: BrII126
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There's a Herrin' in the Pan As recorded by Gordeanna McCulloch on "Sheathe and Knife" (Fellside FECD117). Described as "Collected recently by Jim Mahon from his grandmother in Glasgow." There's a herrin' in the pan for you, auld man, There's a herrin' in the pan for you, auld man, The heid's for you and the tail's for me, But the middle's for the lodgin-man. There's an egg in the pan for you, auld man, There's an egg in the pan for you, auld man, There's ane for you and there's ane for me, But there's twa for the lodgin-man. Ye're gettin' auld and grey, auld man, Ye're gettin' auld and grey, auld man, Och, I wisht ye were deid, wi' a stane at your heid, And I'd run awa wi' the lodgin-man.
File: HHH531
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 219. "From singing of C. M. Moses." Fathers, bear your cross, for it will only make you richer For to enter into that bright Kingdom, by and by. I yield, I yield, oh, how I love to yield. For to enter into that bright kingdom, by and by. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Fus219
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When the Roses Bloom Again
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 123.
"From singing of Irene Good, Cyclone, Kentucky."
They were roaming in the gloaming by the river,
Just a soldier and his sweetheart brave and true.
"Oh, your heart need not be sighing, if I'm not among the dying,
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again."
Chorus
"When the roses bloom again by the river,
And robin redbreast sings a sweet refrain,
I'll be with you, sweetheart mine, if I'm not among the dying,
I'll be with you when the roses bloom again."
(2 additional stanzas)
File: RcIBWYWt
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I'll Hang My Harp From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 56-57, from the singing of Mrs. D. S. Allen. I'll hang my harp on a willow tree, And I'll off to the wars again; My peaceful home has no charms for me, The battlefield no pain. For the lady I love will soon be a bride, With a diadem on her brow, Oh! why did she flatter my boyish pride? She's going to leave me now. She took me away from my war-like lord, And she gave me a silken suit; I thought no more of my master's sword When I played on my lady's lute. She seemed to think me a boy above Her pages of low degree, Oh! had I but loved with a boyish love It would have been better for me. Then I'll hide in my breast every selfish care, And I'll flush my pale cheek with wine, When smiles awaken the bridal pair I'll hasten to give them mine. I'll laugh and I'll sing though my heart my bleed, And I'll walk in the festive train, And if I survive I'll mount my steed And I'll off to the wars again. But one golden tress of her hair I'll twine In my helmet's sable plume, And then on the field of Palestine I'll seek an early doom. And if by the Saracen's hand I fall, 'Mid the noble and the brace, A tear from my lady-love is all I seek for the warrior's grave.
File: MN1113
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From sheet music published 1876 by John Church & Co.
Title page inscribed
I'LL TAKE YOU HOME
AGAIN,
KATHLEEN
SONG AND CHORUS
WORDS AND MUSIC BY
THOMAS P. WESTENDORF
1. I'll take you home again, Kathleen,
Across the ocean wild and wide,
To where your heart has ever been,
Since first you were my bonny bride.
The roses all have left your cheek,
I've watched them fade away and die;
Your voice is sad when e'er you speak,
And tears bedim your loving eyes.
Chorus.
Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen,
To where your heart will feel no pain,
And when the fields are fresh and green,
I'II take you to your home again.
2. I know you love me, Kathleen, dear,
Your heart was ever fond and true;
I always feel when you are near,
That life holds nothing, dear, but you.
The smiles that once you gave to me,
I scarcely ever see them now,
Tho' many, many times I see
A dark'ning shadow on your brow.
3. To that dear home beyond the sea,
My Kathleen shall again return,
And when thy old friends welcome thee,
Thy loving heart will cease to yearn.
Where laughs the little silver stream,
Beside your mother's humble cot,
And brightest rays of sunshine gleam,
There all your grief will be forgot.
File: RJ19083
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From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #144, p. 310. From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio. I'm a tight little Irishman born and bread, And me name it is Larry O'Broome, sir, Me father he died and left me all he had, It was an old pig and a loom, sir. This did very well for a very short space, Till I married a wife who soon altered me case, She blackened me eyes and she spit in me face; It was tight times for Larry O'Broome, sir.
File: E144
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #125, pp. 299-300. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1959. Old woman in the garden, Scratchin' away with the hoe, I'm settin' on the doorstep, Making my fingers go. Chorus I'm goin' to pick my banjo, I'm goin' to pick my banjo, I'm goin' to pick my banjo, I'll pick it while I can. Pick it in the mornin', Pick it in the evenin', I'm goin' to pick my banjo, Right to the promised land. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa125
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As recorded by Belle, Sheila, and Cathie Stewart on "The Stewarts of Blair" (Lismore recording LIFL 7010, copyright 1985). (I have consulted the enclosed lyric sheet, but am transcribing it as I hear the words. - RBW) O, a nice wee lass, a bonnie wee lass, Is bonnie wee Jeannie McKay. A nicer lass than Jeannie You could never,never spy. I said that I would take her To a music hall you see, So dressed up nice and tricky She cam dancin' roon for me. And as I heard her at the door, I was sorry I had to roar, O I'm no' comin' oot the noo, the noo, I'm no comin' oot the noo. I'm awfae sorry, Jeannie, for disappointin' you. My mother's ta'en my claes tae the pawn Tae raise a bob or two, And I've only a muffler roon' my neck, And I'm no' comin' oot the noo. (2 additional stanzas)
File: RcINCOtN
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 243-245. "[F]rom a Dallas, Texas woman who got it from Tennessee folks." 1 I'm sad and I'm lonely, my heart it will break; My sweetheart loves another, Lord, I wish I wuz dead! My cheeks once were read as the bud on the rose, But now they are whiter than the lily that grows. 2 Young ladies, tak' wahnin', tak' a wahnin' from me. Don't waste your affections on a young man so free. He'll hug you, he'll kiss you, he'll tell you mo' lies, Than the cross-ties on the railroad or the stars in the sky. 3 I'll build me a cabin in the mountains so high, Where the blackbirds can't see me and hear my sad cry. I'm troubled, I'm troubled, I'm troubled in mind; Ef trouble don' kill me, I'll live a long time.
File: San243
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Seventy-Two Today From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #158, pp, 359-360. From the singing of C K. "Tink" Tillett of North Carolina. Collected 1940. I'm seventy-two today, my boys, They say I'm growing old. I feel as young as I used to be, My heart is strong and bold. No ache or pain my limbs astale,* Though I am old it's true. So walk your horse while you are young, If you'd trot him at seventy-two. You see young men when they go out To spend their night in glee, Drink whiskey, wine, and beer, get tight, Oh, none of that for me. WHen I was young I used to sit All in some shady grove, With some pretty girl all on my knee, I'd tell her of my love. I'd place my arms about her waist, I would hug and kiss her too. I think I could enjoy it all over again, Although I am seventy-two. With a laugh and a smile and a ha ha ha I will keep this end in view. I will praise you all both great and small Although I am seventy-two. * i.e. "assail"
File: R433
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I'm Sitting on the Stile, Mary (The Irish Emigrant) From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, Text A, pp. 462-463. Sung by James and Lucy Heaney, Stock Cove, July 1952. Oh, I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning long ago when first you were my bride; The corn was springing fresh and green and the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lips, Mary, and the love was in your eye. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Pea462
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I'm Wukin' My Way Back Home
From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 13-14. No source indicated.
B. A. Botkin, reprints the item verbatim in A Treasury of
Mississippi River Folklore, pp. 575-576.
Chorus:
I'm wukin' my way back home,
I'm wukin' my way back home,
I'm wukin' my way back home,
Baby, I'm wukin' my way back home.
Timber don't git too heavy fo; me,
An; sacks too heavy to stack,
All that I crave fo' many a long day,
Is yo' lovin' when I git back.
Oh fireman, keep her rollin' fo' me,
Let's make it to Memphis, Tennessee,
Fo' my back is gittin' tired,
An' my shoulder is gittin' sore.
Down in the Mississippi to the Gulf uv Mexico,
Down below Natchez,
But ef the boat keep steppin'
I'll be seein' you soon.
Now Paducah's layin' roun' the ben',
Now Paducah's layin' roun' the ben',
Captain, don't whistle, jes' ring yo' bell,
Fo' my woman'll be standin' right there.
File: BMRF575
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From Louis W. Chappell, _Folk-Songs of Roanoke and the Albemarle_, #119, p. 198. Collected in 1934 from Tom Forbes of Old Trap, NC. There is a few songsters, Their like could not be found, Who have been making a song Upon old Isaac C. Brown. Now if you will listen And pay attention well, I'll tell you how I tended my crops And dredged the big canal. (4 additional stanzas)
File: ChFRA118
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From John Greenway, American Folksongs of Protest, pp. 212-213. No source listed. They chaw tobacco thin In Kansas. They chaw tobacco thin In Kansas. They chaw tobacco thin And they spit it on their chin And they lap it up agin In Kansas. (4 additional stanzas)
File: EM049
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 196. As remembered by Fuson himself. Wine sparkles in our glasses, We have no debts to pay; We spend our time in pleasure In North America."
File: Fus196C
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 251-253. "From the book of Comical Brown's Songs." I'll sing to you of the good old times When people were honest and true; Before their brains were addled or crazed By ev'rything strange and new; When ev'ry man was a workingman and earned his livelihood And the women were smart and industrious and lived for their family's good' Of the days of Andrew Jackson and of old Grandfather Grimes; When a man wasn't judged by the clothes he wore In old pod auger times. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr069
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #99, pp. 370-371. From the singing of George Edwards. In the days when I was hard up, not many years ago, Relations, friends, companions, they made me suffer so; Relations, friends, companions, they all stuck up their nose, They made of me a vagabond for want of better clothes. Refrain: Hard up, hard up, I never shall forget, In the days when I was hard up, I might be well off yet. (3 additional stanzas, but numbered 1, 2, 3, 6!)
File: FSC099
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 224-225. Apparently from Abbie Burgess of Providence, Rhodse Island. Collected 1945. In the dense woods alone I roam Away from friends and far from home. I see no signs my heart to cheer. No human voice can I hear. (7 additional stanzas)
File: FO243
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From sheet music published 1880 by Hitchock's Music Store.
Title page does not mention the song title; it is inscribed
JAMES A. BLAND'S
THE BEST ETHIOPIAN SONGWRITER IN THE WORLD
GREAT ETHIOPAN SONGS
KEEP DEM GOLDEN GATES WIDE OPEN
DE ANGELS AM A COMING
TAKE GOOD CARE OF MOTHER
IN THE EVENING BY THE MOONLIGHT
The song itself is inscribed
Dedicated to Mr. NEIL MOORE
IN THE EVENING BY THE MOONLIGHT
Words and Music by JAS. BLAND
1. In de ebening by de moonlight when dis darkies work was over,
We would gather round de fire 'till de hoecake it was done.
Den we all would eat our supper, after dat we'd clear de kitchen,
Dat's de only time we had to spare to had a little fun,
Uncle Gabe would take de fiddle down, dat hung up on de wall,
While de silv'ry moon was shining clear and bright,
How de old folks would enjoy it, they would sit all night and listen,
As we sang in de ebe'ning by de moonlight.
CHORUS.
In de ebening by de moonlight, you could hear us darkies singing,
In de ebening by de moonlight you could hear de banjo ringing,
How de old folks would enjoy it, They would sit all night and listen,
As we sang in de ebening by de moonlight.
2. In de ebening by de moonlight when de watchdog would be sleeping,
In de corner near de fireplace, beside de ole armchair,
Whar Aunt Chloe used to sit and tell de Piccaninnies stories,
And de cabin would be fill'd wid merry coons from near and far,
All dem happy times we used to hab, will ne'er return again,
Eb'ry thing was den so merry gay and bright,
And I never will forget it, when our daily toil was ober,
How we sang in de ebe'ning by de moonlight.
File: RJ19087
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #27, pp, 98-99. From the collection of Benjamin S. Davies, apparently of Ohio. Contributed 1948. In the pit from sin set free, Sudden death would glory be. That is why I sing with glee, Jesus saves. We black diamonds for them get, Though they force us hard to sweat. There's salvation for them yet, Jesus saves. Chorus: Jesus saves, Jesus saves, Jesus saves, Jesus saves, From the fear of pit explosion, Jesus saves. When our work on earth is done, We will rise to wear a crown, And go singing 'round the throne, Jesus saves. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa027
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Young Indian Lass From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #51, pp. 103-104. "Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, of South-East Passage." When I was a young man I rambled from home, I went into an ale-house To spend half a crown; And as I was sitting there A-viewing of my glass, Who should happen in But a young Indian lass. (4 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS051
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 216. "From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses." When shall we all meet again? When shall we all meet again? Oft shall glowing hope expire, Oft our wearied love retire, Oft shall death and sorrow reign, Ere we all shall meet again. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Fus216
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From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #108,
pp. 451-454. Source not listed.
I
Mark this song, for it is true,
For it is true as clerkes tell:
In old time strange things came to pass,
Great wonder and great marvel was
In Israel.
II
There was one Octavian,
Octavian of Rome Emperour,
As bookes old doe specify,
Of all the wide world truely
He was lord and governour.
(16 additional stanzas)
File: OBB108
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II,
pp. 366-367. Sung by Patrick W. Nash, Branch, October 1962.
I went to a party consisting of four,
And as it was private we soon closed the door;
There was one girl from England and another from Wales,
And one that resided in Scotland's fair dales.
We sat down in friendship, we drank of the wine,
Each told of their country, I told them of mine.
The rose, leek, and thistle, unconquered, unseen,
But says I, "Here's a toast to the Irish colleen."
Then here's to old Ireland, her sons and her daughters,
Here's to old Ireland, the shamrock I mean.
May the sun shine on the round towers of Erin,
Here's a toast from the heart of an Irish Colleen.
(2 additional stanzas, one taken from a different text.)
File: Pea366
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From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 352-353. Och! while I live I'll never forget The troubles of that day, When bound into a foreign land Our ship got under way. My friends I left at Belfast town, My love at Carrick shore, And I gave to poor old Ireland My blessing o'er and o'er. Och! well I knew as off we sailed, What my hard fate would be; For, gazing on my country's hills They seemed to fly from me. I watched them as we sailed away Until my eyes grew sore, And I felt that I was doomed to walk The Shamrock sod no more. They say I'm now in freedom's land, Where all men masters be; But were I in my winding-sheet There's none to care for me. I must, to eat the strangers bread, Abide the stranger's scorn, Who taunts me with thy dear loved name Sweet isle, where I was born. Och! where -- och! where's the careless heart I once could call my own? It bade a long farewell to me The day I left Tyrone. Not all the wealth by hardship won Beyond the Western main, Thy pleasures, my own absent home, Can bring to me again.
File: HHH235
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #76, pp. 252-253. From the singing of John A. Gilks, Southesk, in 1958. In the city of Mialco, near the county of Leone, There lived a comely maiden, her skin as white as snow, Her cheeks were like the roses, with a dark and a rolling eye, And the proper name she goes by is the Irish Rebel Spy. (8 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi076
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #14, pp, 71-73. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1941. Ye Erin sons of hill and plain, Come listen to my feeble strain, Perhaps you'll think it all a dream, Though ev'ry line is true. I'll sing to you of our long campaign Through summer sun and winter's rain, To Richmond's gates and back again, I will relate to you. It was in August, sixty-one, When Colonel Owens took command, And brought us into Maryland Where let it rain or shine. He drilled us -- every day we rose To learn us how to thrash our foes, And more than once they felt the blows Of the Irish Sixty-ninth. In February, sixty-two, While passing in a grand review, We were told our foes we would pursue And Richmond overthrow. To Washington we went straight way, And sailed in steamers down the bay Until we were forced next day To land at Fort Monroe. At Hampton then we camped around, Until brave Little Mac came down And ordered us up to Yorktown Our strength there to combine. And there we worked both night and day, And drove the rebel hordes away, And marching through the town next day Went the gallant sixty-ninth. From Yorktown then we sailed away, And landed at West Point next day, And gaily marched along the way, And camped among the pines. And there we stayed three weeks or more, Until we heard the cannons roar And musketry come like a shower Along the rebel lines. Then double quick away we went, Along the river we were sent To drive the rebels back we meant, No man fell out of line. When Philadelphia's noble sons Had nobly spotted Pickett's guns, And when away the Rebels run, Cheered the gallant Sixty-ninth. Then on Antietam's field again We boldly faced the iron rain. Some of our boys upon the plain They found a bloody grave, Where our brave general, Little Mac, Made boastingly to clear the track And to send the ragged rebels back Across Potomac's waves. At Fairoaks* then long weeks we lay, Had picket fighting night and day, I've seen our brave boys borne away And some in death grow pale. And in that seven days' fight, going back, Over bloody fields we left our track Where other regiments they fell back, We stood as at Glendale.** Next day out on the battle field, Old veterans they were forced to yield, For the rebels had a stone wall shield Protecting front and rear. [They gave us constant] shot and shell. It was like the gaping jaws of hell, And many's the brave man round us fell. We boldly did our share. O'Keen, our colonel, nobly stood Where the grass was turning red with blood, And growing to a crimson flood. We still kept to our line, And many got a bloody shroud, Though Philadelphia's sons were proud And sang of deeds in praises loud Of the gallant Sixty-ninth. * Sic. Probably should be "Fair Oaks." ** This verse and the one before have probably been swapped; only by reversing them does the song make chronological sense. This is one of the few indications of actual oral transmission in this song.
File: Wa014
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #15, pp, 73-75. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1939. On the first day of April, I'll never forget The Irishtown boys at Ratigan's met. They fulled up their glasses and swore solemnly That that very day they'd go out on a spree! Chorus Sing fol the dol laddie Ri tol the dol laddie Sing fol the dol laddie Ri tol the lo day! (11 additional stanzas)
File: Wa015
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Originally from the Scots Musical Museum, volume 5, 1796. As printed
in William Beattie and Henry W. Meikle, Robert Burns, p. 236.
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.
Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain:
My Love and Native Land fareweel,
For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.
He turn'd him right and round about,
Upon the Irish shore,
And gae his bridle reins a shake,
With, adieu for evermore, my dear,
With, adieu for ever more.
The soger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main,
But I har parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my dear.
Never to meet again.
When day is gane, andnight is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep;
I think on him that's far awa,
The lee-lang night & weep, my dear.
The lee-lang night & weep.
File: SMM5IWAF
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #59, pp. 131-132. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N.B. It's seven long years and something better Since Willie the sailor crossed over the sea, And seven long years with never a letter Nancy lamented bitterly. "Willie dear, oh dearest Willie, William dear it was not I, It was my trembling hand deceived you, Caused my youthful tongue to lie." (1 additional stanza)
File: CrSNB059
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 86. From the singing of Captain Patrick Tayluer, New York, NY. O mitch mein inkum stinkum buckerroom and mein ja, ja, ja, Mitch mein inkum stinkum buckerroom and mein ja, ja, ja, Vell, ve'll git up on der shteeples and ve'll spiit down on der peoples, Mitsch mein ja, ja, ja!
File: Doe086
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 125-126. I'm a North-countrie man, in Redesdale born, Where our land lies lea and grows ne corn -- And two such lads to my house never com', As them two lads called Jack and Tom. They mounted their horses and rode over the moor Till they came to a house, where they rapped at the door' "D'ye brew onyale? d'ye sell ony beer? Or have ye only lodgings for strangers here?" (Stanzas 1, 3 of 9 [stanza 8 having 6 lines])
File: StoR126
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Jack Robson From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #40, pp. 79-80. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." The voyage is over, and home at last My good ship in Portsmith arrived at last, The sails all furled and the anchor cast, The happiest of the crew was Jack Robson. (10 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS040
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Bonnet o' Blue As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 104-106. Immediate source not listed. At Kingston-upon-Waldy, a town in Yorkshire, I lived in great splendour and free from all care, I rolled quite in riches, had sweethearts not a few, I was wounded by a bonny lad and his bonnet o' blue. There came a troop of soldiers as you now shall hear, From Scotland to Waldy abroad for to steer; There is one among them I wish I ne'er knew; He's a bonny Scotch laddie wi' bonnet o' blue. I cannot find rest, contentment has fled, The form of my true love will run in my head, The form of my true love still keeps in my view, He's a bonny Scotch laddie wi' bonnet o' blue. Early in the morning arising from bed, I called upon Sally my own waiting maid To dress me as fine as her two hands could do; To seek out the lad and his bonnet o' blue. So quickly she dressed me and quickly I came To mingle with persons to hear my love's name, Charles Stewart they called him, I felt it was true; Once a prince of that name worse a bonnet o' blue. My love he marched by with a gun in his hand, I strove to speak to him but all was in vain, I strove to speak to him away then he flew -- My heart it was with him and his bonnet o' blue. She says, "My dear laddie, I'll buy your discharge, I'll free you from soldiers, I'll let you at large, I'll free you from soldiers if your heart will prove true, And I'll ne'er cast a stain on your bonnet o' blue. He says, "My dear lassie, you'll buy my discharge, You'll free me from soldiers and let me at large? For your very kind offer, I bow ma'am to you, But I'll ne'er wear a strain in my bonnet o' blue. "I have a sweet girl in my own country town, Who I ne'er would forsake though poverty frown, I ne'er will forsake the girl that proves true, And I'll ne'er wear a stain in my bonnet o' blue." I will send for a limner from London to Hull, To draw my love's picture out in the full, I'll set it in my chamber all close in my view, And I'll think on the lad whose heart proved so true.
File: FSC43
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Jacky Tar As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 53-55. No source listed. When Jack had pull'd the oar, and the boat was gone, And the lassie on the shore with her head hanging down; The tears stood in her eyes, and her bosom heaving sighs, Farewell, my dear, she cries, with your trousers on. Farewell, said he, I go to sea, and you must stay behind; But do not grieve, for while I live I ever will be kind, And when I come to land, you will meet me on the strand, And welcome Jacky Tar with his trousers on. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Ord324
Complete text(s)
As transcribed by Doris Chriswell of Palmyra, NY. From a copy in a family Bible. It was " written by John JamesÿJohnson Jan. 28th 1881." Johnson, her great grandfather, "lived on the Ohio and Indiana frontier border and eventually farmed tobaccoÿat Mallet Creek, Ohio where he died in 1895 at the age of 44." List Columbia sons of glory sea and landsmen all give ear you a sad and mournful story as ever was told, you shall hear Hull you know his troops surrendered and defenceless left the west and Captain Thomas our commander the invader to resist Among the troops that marched to Erie were the kingston volunteers And Captain Thomas was our Commander to protect our west frontiers. But there was one amongst that number tall and graceful in his mien firm his step, his look undaunted never a noble youth was seen. one sweet kiss he stole from mary begged his mothers prayers once more pressed his fathers hand and started for lake Eries distant shores. Where is Bird the battle rages is he in the strife or no hear the cannons roar tremendous dare he meet the dreadful foe Yes by Perry see him standing in the self same ship he fights those his messmates fall around him nothing can his sole affright but behold a ball has hit him see the crimson current flow leave the deck exclaimed brave Perry no cried Bird I will not go here on deck I have took my station Bird will near his colors fly I'l stand by you galliant Perry til we conquer or we die Thus he fought both faint and bleeding till out stripes and stars arose victory having crowned our efforts all triumphant ore our foes Then did Bird recieve a pension was he to his friends restored-no nor never to his bosom clasped the maid his hart adored but there came most dismal tidings from lake eries distant shore I must suffer for deserting from the brig Niagarie read this letter . Brother Sisters it is the last you'll have from me though he fought so brave at Erie freely bled.and boldly dared. let his courage plead for mercy let his noble life be spared it was a dark and doleful morning Bird was ordered out to die Where is the heart not dead to pity but for him would heave a sigh see him kneeling on his coffin sure, his death can do no good spare him. hark.my god they have shot him see his bosom stream with blood farewell Bird Farewell forever friends and home you will see no more now his mangled corpse lies buried on lake eries distant shore
File: LA05
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #113, pp. 256-257.
From Mrs. S. T. Topper, Ashland, Ohio.
1. Oh, come all ye good people, it's now I have come to view
The sad and unhappy fate which I now come unto;
I pray you all take warning by my unhappy fate
And shun vice and folly before it is too late,
And alas, I am undone.
2. Oh, it was in Center County where I first drew breath,
And in that same county I met my shameful death;
Had I took the council my parents gave to me
I never should have suffered all on the shameful tree,
And alas, I am undone.
3. Oh, come, friends, all remember James Munks is my name,
This day I confess it with sorrow and shame;
I shot Reuben Guile whom I never saw before,
I left him lie waldring all in his bloody gore,
And alas, I am undone.
4. Oh, the Devil so possessed me before he was quite dead,
I took my tomahawk and gave him two blows on the head,
Still thinking this wilful murder should never come to light
Being done in the wilderness in the dead of night,
And alas, I am undone.
5. Oh, his horse and saddle bag they soon became my prey,
His watch and his pocketbook I also took away,
And in his saddle blanket I rolled his bloody clothes,
I left his naked body to the wild beasts exposed,
And alas, I am undone.
6. Oh, I hid his bloody shirt in the trunk of a tree,
Which quickly was found and presented to me,
To show this private murder should never be concealed;
The dog told the secret, and the whole was revealed,
And alas, I am undone.
7. Oh,'tis God who all secrets knows, he has ordained it so
That this author should not unpunished go;
His bones were presented and brought before my trial;
This last shock and proof would permit of no denial,
And alas, I am undone.
8. Oh, council endeavored to save me from the tree
But the judge and the jury no favor showed to me;
And soon I was found guilty, sentence on me passed,
And now I have come to suffer by this fatal account at last,
And alas, I am undone.
9. Oh, here is one thing I tell you before I do quit time,
I blamed Andy Alison for this my cruel crime;
But since I am to die, to tell a lie I scorn;
He is as clear and as innocent as the babe unborn,
And alas, I am undone.
10. Oh, I hope there is none so wretched would be
As to cast this crime to my young posterity;
I bid a long farewell to all I leave behind,
I die a true and impenitent and peace to all mankind,
And alas, I am undone.
File: E113
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Jeannette and Jeannot From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 435-436. Presumably from some other printed collection. You are going far away, far away from poor Jeannette; There is no one left to love me now, and you, too, may forget, But my heart will be with you, wherever you may go; Can you look me in the face and say the same to me, Jeannot? When you wear the jacket red and the beautiful cockade, Oh! I fear that you'll forget all the promises you made; With a gun upon your shoulder and your bayonet by your side, You'll be taking some proud lady and making her your bride. (2 additional stanzas)
File: SWMS245
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 39-40. Stanza 1. Whei cowers biv the chimley reek, Begox! it's all a horney, For thro' the world aw wisht to keek Yen day when aw was corney Sae, wiv some varry canny chiels All on the hop an' murry, Aw thowt aw'd myek a voyage to Shiels Iv Jemmy Joneson's whurry. (8 additional stanzas)
File: StoR046
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #115 pp. 226-227. Collected from Mike Gillis, Halifax. Come tender-hearted people please who love their children dear, To hear of Francis Kenny just in his nineteenth year, May the looks of grief on mother's face and features no one can, Got buried in the angry waves, he was one fine young man. (4 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB115
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #24, pp. 118-119. From the singing of Donald MacDonald of Black River Bridge in 1948. My given name it is Jeremiah I was bred and born down in Bartibogue, Where I spent all of my days of boyhood And I was counted a cunning rogue. Until I arrived at the age of manhood For to seek my fortune I did go try, Then I steered my course for the town of Chatham, And with Billy Muirhead I got employ. (7 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi024
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From H. M. Belden, Ballads and Songs Collected by the Missouri Folk-Lore Society, 1955 edition, pp. 403-404. Supplied in 1916 by Mary Alice Owen, from an unknown informant. Jesse James was one of his names, another it was Howard. He robbed the rich of every stitch. You bet he was no coward. His mother she was elderly, his father was a preacher, Though some do say, I can't gainsay, his mother was his teacher. And then one day, the papers say, Bob Ford got his rewarding: A cowboy drunk his heart did plunk. As you do you'll git according. (stanzas 1, 2, 10 of 10)
File: FR379
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From Louis W. Chappell, _Folk-Songs of Roanoke and the Albemarle_, #100, p. 173. Collected in 1938 from Tom Forbes of Old Trap, NC. Let's go and tell it on the mountains, Let's go and tell it on the mountains, Let's go and tell it on the mountains, Jesus setta me free. It's come on everybody in the marvelous light Jesus setta me free Where the yoke is easy and the burden is light Jesus setta me free. O let's go and tell it on the mountains Let's go and tell it on the mountains, Let's go and tell it on the mountains, Jesus setta me free.
File: ChFRA100
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From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', pp. 13-15. You're sending me for life, judge, For killing Bill McCoy, But maybe you don't know, Judge, that I'm Jim Hatfield's boy. I do not ask for mercy A Hatfield does not whine; But I want the court and jury to hear these words of mine. (6 additional stanzas)
File: ThBdM013
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From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, #96, pp. 302-303. From MacAlister, Pioneering Days in the Old Sunny South. O listen for a moment, lads, And hear me tell my tale, How o'er the sea from England's shore I was compelled to sail. The jury says, He's guilty, sir, And says the judge, says he, For life, Jim Jones, I'm sending you Across the stormy sea. (9 additional stanzas)
File: PBB096
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From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 100. Apparently collected by Dr. John C. Wyeth. Jimmy Rose, he went to town, Jimmy Rose, he went to town, Jimmy Rose, he went to town, To 'commodate de ladies. Fare ye well, ye ladies all, Fare ye well, ye ladies all, Fare ye well, ye ladies all, God Ermighty bless you!
File: SBoA211
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Around the Ring
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 173.
"From the singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses."
Here we go around the ring;
Choose you one while we do sing;
Choose the one that you love best, And she will come at your request.
(He chooses)
Now you've got her, and I wish you much joy;
You are my son and childish joy;
You are my son and my daughter too,
Kiss her quick, and that will do.
(He kisses her)
File: Fus173
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The Hoe-Cake From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 158. As remembered by Fuson himself. Jinny, get your hoecake done, my love, Jinny, get your hoecake done; Jinny, get your hoecake done, my love, Jinny, get your hoecake done.
File: Fus158C
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From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume II, #272, pp. 272-273. Collected from Miss Leone Duvall of Pineville, Missouri, October 14, 1928. Oh where did you git your whiskey? Oh where did you get your dram? Oh where did you get your whiskey? Way down in Rockingham. Chorus Jinny go round an' around an' around, Jinny go round an' around an' around, Jinny go round an' around an' around, Way down in Rockingham. I wouldn't marry an old maid, I'll tell you the reason why, Her nose is always leakin' An' her chin is never dry. I wouldn't marry a widder, I'll tell you the reason why, She's got too many children To make the biscuits fly. I wouldn't marry a Dutch gal, I'll tell you the reason why, Her neck's so long and stringy I'm afeared she'll never die. I wouldn't marry old Joe's gal, I'll tell you the reason why, ...... in the bisquit tray An' called in pumpkin pie.
(Number Ninety-nine) From Harold Courlander, Negro Folk Music U.S.A., pp. 121-122. Reproduced from "American Sketches" by Lafcadio Hearn. You may talk about your railraods, Your steamboat and can-el, If it hadn't been for Liza Jane There wouldn't been no hell. Chorus Oh aint I gone, gone, gone, (x3) Way down the river road. Where do you get your whisky? Where do you get your rum? I get it down in bucktown At Number Ninety-nine. I went down to Bucktwn, Never was there before. Great big nigger knocked me down, But Katy barred the door. She hugged me, she kissed me, She told me not to cry; She said I was the sweetest thing That ever lived or died. * * * Yonder goes the wildwood, She's loaded to the guards; But yonder comes the Fleetwood, And she's the boat for me.
Master Had a Bran' New Coat From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 24-25. From the singing of one Bill Sheffield. Master had a bran' new coat, He hung it on the wall. Nigger stole his Master's coat, An' wore it to the ball. Where'd you get yo' whiskey, Where'd you get yo' dram? Where'd I git my whiskey? I got it from Linkum Abraham.
File: R272
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Jocky Said to Jeany From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #61, pp. 62. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). Jocky said to Jeany, Jeany, wilt thou do't? Ne'er a fit, quo' Jeany, for my tocher good, For my tocher good I winna marry thee. E'ens ye like, quo' Jocky, ye may let me be. I hae gowd and gear, I hae land enough, I hae seven good owsen ganging in a pleught, Ganging in a pleugh, and linking o'er the lee; And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be. I hae a good ha' house, a barn, and a byre, A stack afore the door; I'll make a rantin' fire, I'll make a rantin fire, and merry shall we be; And gin ye winna tak me, I can let ye be. Jeany said to Jocky, Gin ye winna tell, Ye shall be the lad, I'll be the lass mysell. Ye're a bonny lad, and I'm a lassie free, Ye're welcomer to tak me than to let me be.
File: CrNS022
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The Joe Brook Song From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #25 pp. 120-121. From the singing of Wilmot MacDonald, Glenwood, 1958. It was Friday in October, Nineteen and twenty-four, I left dear old Grey Rapids WIth a half-a-dozen more, I took the train for Deersdale, A place I did not know, For to work up in the lumber woods, With Cough-a-lans did go. (7 additional stanzas, with some spoken parts)
File: IvNB077
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #124, pp. 268-269.
"Sung by Mr. Hiram O. Hilshie, Dartmouth."
Come sit down beside me, come listen awhile,
I'll sing you a song that will cause you to smile
About this old villain, he's very well known,
And he sails the Columbia from Eastport town.
Chorus
Singing down, down, derry down.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS124
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John Anderson my Jo From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume III, #260, p. 269. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). John Anderson my jo, John, When we were first Acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bony brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my Jo. John Anderson my jo, John, We clamb the hill the gither; And mony a canty day John, We've had wi' ane anither: Now we maun totter down, John, And hand in hand we'll go; And sleep the gither at the foot, John Anderson my Jo.
File: FSWB141B
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 467-468. Sung by Joshua Osborne, Seal Cove, June 1960. Come all ye good people, come by and lend an ear, It's a sad and mournful story you quickly shall hear, It's about a young hero in the height of his bloom Who has lost his sweet life in a watery tomb. Bad luck attend you, Percy, wherever you may be, You would not assist my Johnny for he's drownded in the sea, You would leave him for to tumble and to roll in the sea, In that cold, cold bed of sorrow far away from me. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Pea467
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), pp. 8-9. Apparently from a manuscript by Nathaniel Silsbee. Aloft we all must go-oh, John come down the backstay, In hail and frost and snow-oh, John come down the backstay, John Dameray! John Dameray -- John come down the backstay, \ John Dameray -- John come down the backstay, |- TWICE John Dameray! / (4 additional stanzas)
File: Doe008
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As printed by Francis James Child, #284 (p. 132 in volume V of the
five volume Dover edition). Derived from Ravenscroft's 1609 printing.
1 As it fell on a holy-day,
And vpon all holy-tide-a,
Iohn Dory bought him an ambling nag,
To Paris for to ride-a.
2 And when John Dory to Paris was come,
A little before the gate-a,
John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted
To let him in thereat-a.
3 The first man that John Dory did meet
Was good king John of France-a;
John Dory could well of his courtesie,
But fell downe in a trance-a.
4 'A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king,
For my merie men and for me-a,
And all the churles in merie England,
I'le bring them all bound to thee-a.'
5 And Nicholl was then a Cornish man,
A little beside Bohide-a,
And he mande forth a good blacke barke,
With fiftie good oares on a side-a.
6 'Run vp, my boy, vnto the maine top,
And looke what thou canst spie-a:'
'Who ho! who ho! a goodly ship I do see,
I trow it be John Dory-a.']
7 They hoist their sailes, both top and top,
The meisseine and all was tride-a,
And euery man stood to his lot,
What euer should betide-a.
8 The roring cannons then were plide,
And dub-a-dub went the drumme-a;
The braying trumpets lowde they cride
To courage both all and some-a.
9 The grappling-hooks were brought at length,
The browne bill and the sword-a,
John Dory at length, for all his strength,
Was clapt fast vnder board-a.
File: C284
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #26, pp. 122-123. From the singing of Stanley MacDonald, Black River Bridge, 1947 and 1948. A sint for beer, a friend draw near,* Come listen to my song. This cruel fate I will relate, This young man dead and gone, Who now lies silent in his grave Without any care nor pain. Prince Edward's Isle his native isle, John Lad-en-er by name. * This text is what the informant insisted upon. Manny and Wilson suggested "A sympathetic ear" for "A sint for beer"; I had thought of "A cent for beer." But it appears the original was something like "You sympathetic friends draw near." (6 additional stanzas)
File: Din040
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 21. From the first (1927) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. Come all ye jolly fishermen agoing to the ice, Oh, beware of the John Martin and don't go in her twice. For I was in her last spring and I'll go in her no more. If I cannot get a better berth, I'd rather stay ashore. With my ring to re la ring to lah rady oh. (5 additional stanzas, one of them of six lines rather than four)
File: RySm020
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #155, p. 579. From the singing of Elwyn Davis. And there they sat a-popping corn, John Styles and Susan Cutter; John Styles as strong as any ox, And Susan soft as butter. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC155
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The Moncton Tragedy From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #35, pp. 152-155. From the singing of Arthur MacDonald of Black River Bridge. Ye men all over Westmorland, I pray you will attend, And listen on attention To these few lines I penned; For I will sing you of a song I just made up today Concerning John E. Sullivan Ye Moncton Trageday. (13 additional stanzas)
File: Dib057
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Shannelly's Mill From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #50, p.176. Collected from P. Taillon of Cornwall, Ontario, August 1961. To you my kind friends and to you I'll relate, I'll tell you what happened to me in York state. When I got to Genore I got into a fight, And to skip a policeman I forced out the light. My pockets are empty, and the truth I will tell, And I'll sing you a song about Shannelly's Mill. REFRAIN Derry down, down, down derry day. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC171
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From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition),
pp. 265-266. No source information given.
O a' the seasons o' the year,
When we maun work the sairest --
The harvest is the foremost time,
And yet it is the rarest.
We rise as seen as mornin' licht,
Nae craters can be blyther,
We buckle on oor finger-steels
And follod oot the scyther.
For you, Johnnie, you, Johnnie,
You, Johnnie Sanster --
I'll trim the gavel o' my sheaf
For ye're the gallant bandster.
A moenin' piece to line oor cheek
Afore that we gae forder,
Wi' clouds o' blue tobacco reek,
We then set oot in order.
The sheaves are risin' thick and fast,
And Johnnie he maun bind them;
The busy group, for fear they stick,
Can scarcely look behind them.
For you, Johnnie, etc.
I'll gie ye bads that winna slip,
I'll pleat them well and thraw them,
I'm sure they winna tine the grip,
Hooever weel ye draw them.
I'll lay my leg oot ower the sheaf,
And draw the band sae handy.
Wi' ilka strae as straucht's a rash,
And that will be the dandy.
For you, Johnnie, etc.
If e'er it chance o be my lot
To get a gallant bandster,
I'll gar him wear a gentle coat,
And bring him gowd in handfu's.
But Johnnie he can please himsel',
I wadna wish him blinket;
Sae aifter he has brewed his ale
He can sit doon and drink it.
For you, Johnnie, etc.
A dainty cowie in the byre,
For butter and for cheeses;
A grumphie, feedin' in the sty,
Wad keep the hoose in greases;
A bonnie ewie in the bucht
Wad help to cresh the ladle,
And we'll get ruffs o' cannie woo'
Wad help to theek the cradle.
For you, Johnnie, etc.
File: DBuch69
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 471-472. Sung by Phillip Foley, Tilting, July 1952. There's a tree in the greenwood I love best of all, It stands by the side of Aymer's haunted hall, It was there where the sunlight falls bright far away Last we met 'neath its branches, my Johnny Dunlay. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Pea471
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 469-470. Sung by William Stevens, Bellburns, August 1959. As I was a-smoking, my pipe in my hand, I said, "Johnny Coughlin, you're a handsome young man. If you'll take this bounty and come along with me From the sweet County Carlow, strange faces to see." (4 additional stanzas)
File: Pea469
Complete text(s)
Johnnie Lad
(Nursery Song)
From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition),
pp. 168-169. No source information given, though it appears to be a
transcript of the version in Logan with the spelling slightly
Scotticised.
I bought a wife in Edinburgh
For ae bawbee,
I got a farthing back again
To buy tobacco wi';
We'll bore a hole in Aaron's nose,
And put therein a ring,
And straight we'll lead him to and fro,
Yea! lead him on a string.
Chorus.
And wi' you, and wi' you,
And wi' you, Johnnie lad,
I'll drink the buckles o' my sheen
Wi' you, my Johnnie lad.
When auld King Arthur ruled this lad
He was a thievish king,
He stole three bows o' barley meal
To mak' a white pudding.
And wi' you, etc.
The pudding it was sweet and good,
And weel mixed up wi' plumes,
The lumps o' suet into it
Were big as baith my thooms.
And wi' you, etc.
There was a man in Nineveh,
And he was wondrous wise,
He jumped into a hawthorn hedge
And scratched out baith his eyes.
And wi' you, etc.
And when he saw his eyes were out
He was sair vexed then,
He jumped into anither hedge
And scratched them in again.
And wi' you, etc.
Oh, Johnnie's nae a gentleman,
Nor yet is he a laird,
But I wad follow Johnnie lad,
Although he was a caird.
And wi' you, etc.
Oh, Johnnie is a bonnie lad,
He was ance a lad o' mine,
I never had a better lad,
And I've had twenty-nine.
And wi' you, and wi' you,
And wi' you, Johnnie lad,
I'll drink the buckles o' my sheen
Wi' you, my Johnnie lad.
File: Log443
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #125, pp. 269-271. "Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, South-East Passage." Come, sll you jolly fishermen, That does a-fishing go, Beware of the cold nor'westers And the stormy winds that blow. It was in the winter season On the western Banks we lay On board of the old Veronia, Oh, I'll never forget the day. (6 additional stanzas; the final stanza is either a mis-printed half-stanza or is defective.)
File: CrNS125
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Johnnie O'Rogers
From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, p. 318.
Collected in 1935 from Mrs. Morris Stallings of New Harmony, Indiana.
'T was Johnnie O'Rogers, the tin-maker man,
Who lived in a garret in New Amsterdam,
And showered down blessings like rain in the spring;
All maids and maidens of him they will sing.
Chorus
There never was yet a boy or man
Who better could mend a kettle or pan
Than Johnnie O'Rogers, the tin-maker man:
Che whang! che whang! te rattle, te rattle te bang!
(2 additional stanzas)
File: R496
Partial text(s)
The Gatineau Girls From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #54, pp.190-191. Collected from O. J. Abbott of Hull, Quebec, April 1960. I am a jolly shantyboy, I love to sing and dance. I wonder what my girl would say if she would see my pants. Fourteen patches on the knees and sixteen on the stern, I wear them when I'm in the woods, and home I do return. REFRAIN. I'm on my jovial way, and I spend my money free. I have plenty, come and drink lager beer with me. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Be021
Partial text(s)
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #103,
pp. 439-441. Source not listed, and the song does not seem to
occur in tradition.
Can I not sing but 'Hoy',
When the joly shepard made so much joy?
I
The shepard upon a hill he sat;
He had on him his tabard and his hat,
His tarbox, his pipe, and his flagat;
His name was called Joly Joly Wat,
For he was a gud herdes boy.
Ut hoy!
For in his pipe he made so much joy.
(9 additional stanzas)
File: OBB103
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #28, pp. 126-128. From the singing of Nicolas Underhill of Nor'west Bridge in 1959. I'll tell you a tale of the Jones Boys Who lived in yonder hill, Two jolly fellows with a twinkle in their eye, And they each did own a mill. They owned a mill in the side of a hill, And Eliza she worked in the kiln, They worked all night, and they worked all day, But they couldn't make the gosh-darned saw-mill pay. Then hi dum diddle um Johnny Jones, Then hi dum diddle um Jimmy. Chorus (after verses 2, 4, 5, 6, 7): O the Jones Boys, O the Jones Boys, Here's to the jolly Jones Boys. They worked all night and they worked all day, But they couldn't make the gosh-darned saw-mill pay. Then hi dum diddle um Johnny Jones, Then hi dum diddle um Jimmy. (5 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi028
Complete text(s)
July Ann Johnson From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 9. Based on Scarborough's own memories of songs sung by a girl named "Tish." July Ann Johnson, Don't you know, If you don't dress fine You can't catch a beau?
File: LxA244
Partial text(s)
Jim Crow
As printed in Douglas Gilbert on p. 18 of Lost Chords.
Come listen all you gals and boys I'm just from Tuckyahoe,
I'm going to sing a little song, my name's Jim Crow.
Went down to the river but I didn't mean to stay,
When I seen so many gals I couldn't get away.
Chorus: I wheel about I twist about I do just so,
Every time I turn about I jump Jim Crow.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: Gilb018
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1862 by Root & Cady.
Title page inscribed
Just before the battle
MOTHER
Song & Chorus
by
GEO.F.ROOT
1. Just before the battle, Mother,
I am thinking most of you;
While upon the field we're watching,
With the enemy in view.
Comrades brave are round me lying,
Fill'd with tho'ts of home and God;
For well they know, that on the morrow,
Some will sleep beneath the sod.
CHORUS
Farewell Mother, you may never
Press me to your heart again;
But, O, you'll not forget me, Mother,
If I'm numbered with the slain.
2. Oh, I long to see you, Mother;
And the loving ones at home;
But, I'll never leave our banner,
Till in honor I can come.
Tell the traitors, all around you,
That their cruel words, we know,
In ev'ry battle kill our soldiers
By the help they give the foe.
3. Hark! I hear the bugles sounding,
Tis the signal for the fight,
Now may God protect us, Mother,
As He ever does the right.
Hear "The Battle Cry of Freedom,"
How it swells upon the air;
Oh, yes, we'll rally round the standard
Or we'll perish nobly there.
File: RJ19102
Complete text(s)
From Sigmund Spaeth, Read 'Em and Weep (revised edition), pp. 131-132. In ancient days there liv'd a Turk, A horrid beast, E'en in the East, Who did the Prophet's holy work, As barber of Jerusalem. He had a daughter fair and smirk, Complexion fair, And light brown hair, With naught about her like a Turk, Except her name, Kafoozalem! Refrain My own Kafoozalem, Kafoozalem, My own Kafoozalem, The daughter of the Barber! A youth resided near to she -- His name was Sam -- A perfect lamb Who was of ancient pedigree, And came from old Methusalem; He drove a trade (and prospered well) In skins of cats, And worn-out hats; And ringing at the airy bell, He saw, and loved, Kafoozalem. [Refrain] If Sam had been a Mussulman, He might have sold That barber old, And with a verse of Al Koran Have managed to bamboozle 'em; But no, ah no! Sam tried to scheme -- Stole up one day -- The airy way -- And crept into the Turk's hareem To carry off Kafoozalem. [Refrain] The Old Man had begun to smoke, When slaves rushed in With horrid din -- "Marshallah! The dogs your house have broke! Oh, do come down, and toozle 'em!" The Old Man wreathed his face in smiles, Said twenty prayers, Then rushed downstairs To find a man with three old tiles A-kissin' of Kafoozalem. [Refrain] The Barber went to his boudoir, And, smiling still With great sang-froid, He took a bowstring from a drawer, And greased it well with goozalum. The youth and maid he seized on, And nothing loth, He choked them both, And threw them in the brook Kedron (Which flows hard by Jerusalem). [Refrain] In ancient days -- the story goes -- When day was done In Babylon, And when the silver moon arose And shone down on Jerusalem, Amid the crying of the cats -- A sound that falls From ruin'd walls -- A ghost was seen, with three old hats, A-kissin' of Kafoozalem! [Refrain]
File: SRW131
Complete text(s)
Child's A text, collated from the text of Herd and a text known to Burns.
1 There livd a lass in yonder dale,
And doun in yonder glen, O
And Katherine Jaffray was her name,
Well known by many men. O
2 Out came the Laird of Lauderdale,
Out frae the South Countrie,
All for to court this pretty maid,
Her bridegroom for to be.
3 He has teld her father and mither baith,
And a' the rest o her kin,
And has teld the lass hersell,
And her consent has win.
4 Then came the Laird of Lochinton,
Out frae the English border,
All for to court this pretty maid,
Well mounted in good order.
5 He's teld her father and mither baith,
As I hear sindry say,
But he has nae teld the lass her sell,
Till on her wedding day.
6 When day was set, and friends were met,
And married to be,
Lord Lauderdale came to the place,
The bridal for to see.
7 'O are you ecame for sport, young man?
Or are you come for play ?
Or are you come for a sight o our bride,
Just on her wedding day?'
8 'I'm nouther come for sport,' he says,
'Nor am I come for play;
But if I had one sight o your bride,
I'll mount and ride away.'
9 There was a glass of the red wine
Filld up them atween,
And ay she drank to Lauderdale,
Wha her true-love had been.
10 Then he took her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
And he mounted her high behind him there,
At the bridegroom he askt nae leive.
11 Then the blude run down by the Cowden Banks
And down by Cowden Braes,
And ay she gard the trumpet sound,
'O this is foul, foul play!'
12 Now a' ye that in England are,
Or are in England born,
Come nere to Scotland to court a lass,
Or else ye'l get the seorn.
13 They haik ye up and settle ye by,
Till on your wedding day,
And gie ye frogs instead o fish,
And play ye foul, foul play
Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott's adaption of the above. He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Esk river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) 'O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?' 'I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied; -- Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.' The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, -- 'Now tread we a measure !' said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, ' 'Twere better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.' One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur: They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
File: C221
Complete text(s)
From "The Dime Song Book #2" (1860), p. 26. Kathleen Mavourneen! the gray dawn is breaking, The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill, The lark from her light wing the bright dew is shaking, Kathleen Mavourneen! what, slumbering still! Oh! hast thou forgotten how soon we must sever? Oh! hast thou forgotten this day we must part? It may be for years, it may be for ever; Oh! why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? It may be for years and it may be for ever; Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen? Kathleen Mavourneen! awake from thy slumbers The blue mountains glow in the sun's golden light; Ah! where is the spell that once hung on my numbers? Arise in thy beauty, thou star of the night, Arise in thy beauty, thou star of the night, Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling To think that from Erin and thee I must part; It may be for years, it may be for ever -- Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart? It may be for years and it may be for ever; Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen.
File: FSWB253C
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From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 246-247. Presumably from some other printed collection. Two brown heads with tossing curls, Red lips shuttered over pearls, Bare feet, white and wet with dew, Two eyes black, and two eyes blue; Little girl and boy were they, Katie Lee and Willie Grey. In a porch she sits, and lo! Swings a basket to and fro, Vastly different from the one That she swung in years agone. This is long and deep and wide, And has -- rockers at the side. (Stanzas 1, 10 of 10)
File: R773
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), #34, item III, p. 131. From Ed "Arkansaw" Springstad of Bemidji, Minnesota. Gilboyd gave orders to James to their assistance to go, To steer the boat through Miller's Falls that lurks the hidden foe. Kenneth Cameron, he being standing by, those words to James did say, "You say on shore, and I will go, for it's dangerous to delay." (one additional partial stanza)
File: Rick131
Complete text(s)
I'll Give to You a Paper of Pins From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #5 (first full text), p. 52. From an anonymous child in New York. "I'll give to you a paper of pins, And that's the way my love begins; If you will marry me, me, me, If you will marry me." "I don't accept your paper of pins, If that's the way your love begins; For I won't marry you, you, you, Foe I won't marry you." "I'll give to you an easy chair, To sit in and comb your golden hair. "I'll give to you a silver spoon, You feed your babe in the afternoon, "I'll give to you a dress of green, To make you look like any queen. "I'll give to you the key of my heart, For you to lock and never part. "I'll give to you the key of my chest, For you to have money at your request." "I *do* accept the key of your chest, For me to have money at my request; And I will marry you, you, you, And I will marry you." "Ha, ha, ha, money is all, And I won't marry you at all; For I won't marry you, you, you, For I won't marry you."
File: R354
Partial text(s)
The Drummer From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #27, p. 54. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. One bright summer's morning in the sweet month of May, Four and twenty ladies went strolling so gay, A regiment of soldiers they chanced to pass by, And a drummer on one of them casted his eye. Chorus: And it's oh my hard fortune. (8 additional stanzas)
File: KaNew074
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From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 186-187. Collected by Samuel Elliot Morison from boatmen in St. Kitts. Love, love alone, Cause King Edwards to leave the t'rone Love, love alone, Cause King Edwards to leave the t'rone. There never was a king so great But love cause him to abdicate. On the tenth December we hear the talk He give the t'rone to the Duke of York. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Colc186
Complete text(s)
King Arthur Was King William's Son From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #27 (second text, with tune), p. 73. Said to be an "exceedingly familiar" kissing round "throughout the Middle and Southern States." King Williams was King James's son, And all the royal race he run; Upon his head he wore a star. Star of the East, Star of the West, Star of the one you love the best. If she's not here don't take her part, But choose another with all your heart. Down on the carpet you must kneel, As the grass grows on the field, Salute your bride, and kiss her sweet, And rise again upon your feet.
King William Was King George's Son From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #177, p. 246, from Connecticut. King William was King George's son, And from the royal blood he sprung; Upon his breast he wore a stowe, Which denotes the sign of woe. Say, young lady, will you 'list and go? Say, young lady, will you 'list and go? The broad-brimmed had you must put on, And follow on to the fife and drum.
King William As printed in Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume I, p. 302, first text. From H. Hardy, Hanging Heaton, Yorkshire. King William was King David's son, And all the royal race is run; Choose from the east, choose from the west, Choose the one you love the best. Down on this carpet you shall kneel While the grass grows in yonder field; Salute your bride and kiss her sweet, Rise again upon your feet.
File: R543
Complete text(s)
Kingdom Coming
From sheet music published 1862 by Root & Cady.
Title page inscribed
Twentieth Edition
Kingdom Coming
SONG AND CHORUS
BY
HENRY C. WORK
AUTHOR OF
"Nellie Lost and Found;" "Our Captain's Last Words;"
Grafted into the Army, etc."
1. Say, darkeys, hab you seen de massa,
Wid de muff stash on his face,
Go long the road some time dis mornin',
Like he gwine to leab de place?
He seen a smoke, way up de ribber,
Whar the Linkum gumboats lay;
He took his hat, an' lef' berry sudden,
An' I spec he's run away!
CHORUS.
De massa run? ha, ha!
De darkey stay? ho, ho!
It mus' be now de kingdom comin',
An' de year ob Jubilo!
Second Verse
He six foot one way, two foot tudder,
An' he weigh tree hundred pound,
His coat so big, he couldn't pay de tailor,
An' it won't go half way round.
He drill so much dey call him Cap'an,
An' he get so drefful tanned,
I spec he try an' fool dem Yankees
For to tink he's contraband.
CHORUS.
Third Verse
De darkeys feel so lonesome libing
in de log-house on the lawn,
Dey move dar tings to massa's parlor,
For to keep it while he's gone.
Dar's wine an' cider in de kitchen,
An' de darkeys dey'll hab some;
I spose dey'll all be comfiscated
When de Linkum sojers come.
CHORUS.
Fourth Verse
De oberseer he make us trouble,
An he dribe us round a spell;
We lock him up in de smokehouse cellar,
Wid de key trown in de well.
De whip is lost, de han'cuff broken,
But de massa'll hab his pay;
He's ole enough, big enough, ought to known better
Dan to went an' run away.
CHORUS.
File: R230
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #162, pp. 595-596. From the recitation of Jerry Van Kleeck. Old Abbey Kelder kept a beer saloon; The boys went there by the light of the moon; They kintey coyed and raised the devil, I bet they thought their heads was level. Refrain: With a jig-ji ottem and a foddy toddy eh, With a jig-ji ottem and a jig-di eh. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC162
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 106. From the Rowell manuscript. One morning as through the village churchyard I did stray I spied a fair creature came passing that way. Her eyes were like diamonds, her teeth were like pearl, Her cheeks were like roses, and her hair hung in curls. I stepped up to her and stood by her side, Said I, "My fair creature, would you be my bride?" Go home and ask mother if you mean what you say." I gained and emigrated with my own Kitty Gray. Chorus For she looked like an angel although she was poor, That sweet charming creature I ne'er shall see more. From her lonely poor mother I led her astray; She's gone, she's dead now, my poor Kitty Gray. (2 additional stanzas)
File: GC032
Complete text(s)
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #127, p. 395.
Supplied by Violet Norland; collected by 1916. Reportedly
copied out by John Raese, who learned it circa 1880.
1 You might ask what causes me to weep,
While others 'round me are so gay;
What makes the tears roll down my cheeks
From early morn till close of day.
Chorus
While the birds are singing in the morning,
And the myrtle and the ivy are in bloom,
And the sun over the hilltops a-dawning,
It was then I laid her in the tomb.
2 My mournful story you shall hear,
While in my memory fresh it dwells;
It will cause you to drop a tear
Over the grave of my sweet Kate Wells.
3 I shall never forget the day,
While together 'round the dell,
I kissed her cheek and named the day
That I should marry Kate Wells.
4 But death came in my cabin door
And stole from me my joy, my pride;
But when I found she was no more,
I laid down my banjo and cried.
5 The springtime has no charms for me,
Though flowers are blooming in the dell;
'Tis that sweet form I cannot see,
The form of my dear Kate Wells.
Katy Wells
From [H. M. Wharton], War Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy,
pp. 212-213.
You ask what makes this darky sad,
Why he like others am not gay,
What makes the tear flow down his cheek
From early morn till close of day?
My story, darkies, you shall hear
For in my memory fresh it dwells,
'Twill cause you all to drop a tear
On the grave of my sweet Katy Wells.
Chorus:
When the birds were singing in the morning,
And the myrtle and the ivy were in bloom
When the sun o'er the hills was dawning;
'Twas then we laid her in the tomb.
Oh, I remember well the day
When we roamed together through the dells,
I kissed her cheek and named the day
When I should marry Katy Wells.
But death came in my cabin door,
And stole from me my joy and pride,
And when I found she was no more,
I laid my banjo down and cried.
The springtime has no charms for me,
The flowers that bloom around the dells
There's a form I long to see;
The form of my sweet Katy Wells. Chorus--
I've sometimes wished that I was dead,
And laid beside her in the tomb,
For sorrow now bows down my head
In silence to the midnight gloom,
I'm longing for the day to come
When I shall clasp her to my heart,
While in the heavenly fields we roam
And never, never more to part. Chorus--
File: MN2166
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #146A, pp. 551-552. From the singing of George Edwards. My wife she is a tailor, a tailor she is by trade, Many a pair of pantaloons on time for me she's made, She'll begin them in the morning, she'll have them ready on time, She's a regular don't-you-touch-her on the Knickerbocker Line. Refrain: She's a rig, she's a jig, she's a rippety, skippety dig! Skinny-me-dig to my ha, ha, ha, I'll go 'way down south to my Rovering Joe, I'll go 'way, and never will come back, Till the winter roads are ready and the car is on the track. (2 additional stanzas)
File: K323
Partial text(s)
Night in Green From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 184-191. From the "Grandey Blankbook," seen by Flanders in 1939. A northern Lord of high renown Two daughters had the elder brown The younger beautiful and fare A noble knight came riding there Their Father said kind sir I have Two daughters here which do you crave She that is beautiful he cry'd The noble Lord he then Reply'd (49 additional stanzas)
File: FO184
Partial text(s)
The Knight and the Labourman's Daughter From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 422-423. Sung by Freeman Bennett, St. Paul's, July 1958. 'Tis of a rich knight who dreamed a dream, 'Bout one that was beautifully featured; No rest could he take, but some journey to make To England to see that fair creature. (6 additional stanzas)
File: K132
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #133, pp. 320-321. "Sung by Ned Odell, Pinware, June 1960." Note that Leach spells the lad's name Gordie, not Geordie. The tune as supplied is fitted to the second verse, not the first. On the banks of the Clyde stood a lad and his lassie; The lad's name was Gordie and the Lassie's was Jean; She threw her arms round him and cried, "Do not leave me," For Gordie was going to fight for his queen. She game him a lock of her bright auburn tresses; She kissed him and pressed him once again to her heart Till his eyes spoke the love which his lips could not utter; The last words were spoken; they kissed and depart. (4 additional stanzas)
File: LLab133
Complete text(s)
George Collins As recorded by Roy Harvey and the North Carolina Ramblers, in Ashland, Kentucky, February 16, 1928 (Brunswick 250). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. George Collins rode home one cold winter night, George Collins rode home so fine, George Collins rode home one cold winter night, Was taken sick and died. Dear little sweet Nell in yonders room Was sewing her silks so fine, But when she heard that George was dead, She laid her silk aside. She followed him up, she followed him down, She followed him to the grave; And there she sat on a cold, cold stone, She wept, she mourned, she prayed. "Set down the coffin, take off the lid, Lay back the linens so fine, And let me kiss his cold, pale cheeks, For I know he'll never kiss mine." "O daughter, dear daughter, why do you weep so? There's more young men than one." "O mother, O mother, George has my heart, His day on earth is done." "Look up and down that lonesome road, Hang down your head and cry; The best of friend is bound to part, And why not you and I." "O, don't you see that lonesome dove, There, flyin' from pine to pine; He's mournin' for his own true love, Just like I mourn for mine."
File: C085
Partial text(s)
The Laidley Worm From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 180-181. The King is gone from Bamborough Castle, Long may the Princess mourn; Long may she stand on the castle wall, Looking for his return. A lord said, wondering while she spake, "This Princess of the north Surpasses all of female kind In beauty and in worth." The envious Queen replied at last, "Ye might have excepted me; In a few hours I will her bring Down to a low degree." "I will liken her to a Laidley worm That warps about the stone; And not till Childy Wynd comes back Shall she again be won." (Stanzas 1, 4, 5, 6 of 26)
File: C034A
Complete text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 358-359. Immediate source not noted, but appears to be based on the Lady Nairn text. The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great, His mind is ta'en up wi' affairs o' the state; He wanted a wife his braw hoose to keep, But favours in wooin' are fascious to seek. Near yonder dykeside a leddy did dwell -- At his table-head he thocht she'd look well -- MacLeish's ae dochter o' Claversha' Lea, A penniless lass wi' a long pedigree. His wig was well poothered and as gude as new, His doublet was red, and his hose they were blue; He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat, An' wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that? He mounted his naig, and he rode cannilie, And when he arrived at Claversha' Lea, "Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben, She's wanted to speak wi the Laird o' Cockpen." Mistress Jean she was makin' the Elder-flower wine, "What brings the Laird here at sic an ill time?" She's put aff her apron, put on a silk goun, A mutch wi' red ribbons an' cam awa' doun. An' when she cam be he bowed fu' low, An' what was his errand he sune let her know, Astonished was he when the leddy said "Na!" An' wi' a low courtesy turned her awa'. Dumbfounder'd was he, but nae sigh did he gie, He mounted his naig and he rode cannilie, An' often he thocht, as he jogged through the glen, "She was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." Noo after the Laird his exit had made, Miss Jean she reflected on what she had said, "For ane I'll get better, for waur I'll get ten, I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." Next time that the Laird and the Leddy were seen, They were gaun arm in arm to the Kirk on the Green; Noo she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, But nae chickens as yet hae appeared at Cockpen.
File: Log355
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 1790-191. From Merrick Jarrett of Toronto. Land of the silver birch, home of the beaver, Where still the mighty moose wanders at will, Blue lake and rocky shore, I will return once more. REFRAIN: Boom de de boom boom, Boom de de boom boom, Boom de de boom boom, Boo-oo-oom. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FJ190
Partial text(s)
From Sigmund Spaeth, Weep Some More, My Lady, pp. 222-224. No source indicated. In the town of Athol liv'd one Jimmy Lanigan, He batter'd away till he hadn't a pound; His father he died, and made him a man again, Left him a farm of ten acres of ground. He gave a large party to all his relations, That stood beside him when he went to the wall; So if you but listen I'll make your eyes glisten With the rows and the ruptions at Lanigan's Ball. Chorus: Whack! fal lal, fal lal, tal ladeddy, Whack! fal lal, fal lal, tal daded-dy, Whcak! fal lal, fal lal, tal ladeddy, Whack hurroo! for Lanigan's ball! (5 additional stanzas)
File: SWM222
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #148, p. 314. From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio. Note that this is one of the later verses in most versions. We fought like the divil as Irishmen always do, Nate then we pelted bauld Bony at Waterloo; Now I've come home and peace I have brought to you, Welcome to Ireland Larry O'Gaff. With me hub-bub-bub, hil-li-loo, drums beating rowdy-dow, All me life play the fife, Patrick's Day fire away; In the army so frisky we tipple the whiskey, Whoo! Hurrah for old Ireland and Larry O'Gaff.
File: E148
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 358-359. "Obtained... from a boy of fifteen in the Detention Home, Detroit." I used to work in the kitchen And wash the pans and crocks, But now I work in the laundry And wash the stinking socks. I met a gang of seven men Who said, "Now come with me, And do as you are told to do, And fun you sure will see." (Stanzas 1, 6 of 11)
File: GC148
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #107, pp. 399. From the singing of Marvin Yale. My wife is such a lazy Turk, She will not do a bit of work, She says she isn't such a slat, hard work will never make her fat. Refrain: Skiddy-me-dig, ri-too-ra-lo, Skiddy-me-dig, ri-too-ra-lo, Skiddy-me-dig, ri-too-ra-lo, Skiddy-me-dog, ri-too-ra-lo. But in the morning when she wakes, Her breakfast then upstairs she takes, She treats herself to toast and shrub, And says she's joined a Lazy Club. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC107
Complete text(s)
Lazy Mary From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #32, pp. 96, perhaps from New York "Lazy Mary, will you get up, Will you get up, will you get up? [Lazy Mary, will you get up,]* Will you get up to-day?" "What will you give me for my breakfast, If I get up, if I get up, If I get up today?" A slice of bread and a cup of tea.... No, mother, I won't get up... [Missing verse calling Mary to supper] A nice young man with rosy cheeks... Yes, mother, I will get up.... * The sheet music includes this line, which is certainly the way I remember the song, but the printed text below omits it.
What Will You Give Me If I Get Up? From Louise Pound, American Ballads and Songs, #110, pp. 225-226. Collected 1916 from Lucia Saxer of Mount Clare, Nebraska. "What will you give me if I get up, If I get up, if I get up? What will you give me if I get up.* If I get up today?" "A slice of bread and a cup of tea, A cup, a cup, a cup of tea, A slice of bread and a cup of tea, If you get up today." "No, mother, I won't get up, I won't, I won't, I won't get up, No, mother, I won't get up, I won't get up today." "What will you give me if I get up, If I get up, if I get up? What will you give me if I get up,* If I get up today?" "A nice young man with rosy cheeks, With rosy cheeks, with rosy cheeks, A nice young man with rosy cheeks, If you'll get up today." "Yes, mother, I will get up, I will get up, I will get up, Yes, mother, I will get up, I will get up today." * Note the curious difference in punctuation in these identical stanzas. Presumably the first is a typographical error.
File: R396
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #29, p. 129. From the singing of George E. Duplessis of Bel River Bridge, around 1950. A young man came from Moncton town When the autumn leaves were falling. He came to win a hunter's crown When the autumn leaves were calling. Beside the banks of bleak Black Brook Of evil reputation, His party found a sheltered nook For rest and recreation. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi029
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #170, p. 388. From the singing of Sue Thomas of North Carolina, 1933. Well, I'm a soldier, let me ride. Well, I'm a soldier, let me ride. Well, I'm a soldier, let me ride. Low' down your chariot and let me ride! I've been converted, let me ride. I've been converted, let me ride. I've been converted, let me ride. Low' down your chariot and let me ride! (4 additional stanzas)
File: Wa170
Complete text(s)
By Paul Dresser and Max Sturm (1886)
As printed in Douglas Gilbert on p. 142 of Lost Chords.
Any letter here for me? was the question that he asked
Of the mailman at the closing of the day.
He turned sadly with a sigh, and a tear stood in his eye
As he bowed his head and slowly walked away.
Then he asked, "How can it be? Will it never come to me?"
He had waited all those many years in vain.
But from early morning light, he would wait till late at night,
For the letter, but alas, it never came.
Chorus: Was it from a grayhaired mother,
A sister or a brother,
Had he waited all those many years in vain?
Yet from early morning light
He would wait with spirits bright
But the letter that he longed for never came.
His poor soul it had gone out with the tide.
In his hands they found a note with the last words he had wrote,
"Should a letter come please place it by my side."
*** B ***
As recorded by Charlie Poole, Columbia 15179-D, 1927. The below
is a comparison of my (RBW) transcription with Kinney Rorrer's.
I used my punctuation as closer to the evident intent of the song.
Places where my transcription differs from Rorrer's (Rambling
Blues, p. 76) are marked * and listed at the end.
"Is there any mail for me?"
Was the question that he asked
Of the postman at the closing of the day.
But he turned away and sighed
While a tear stood in his eye
As he drooped his head and slowly walked away.
Was it from a* gray-haired mother
Or a sister or a brother?
He waited all these many years in vain.
Oh, from early morning light
He would wait till dark at night
For the letter but at last it never came.
As he waited all these years,
Joy mingled with his tears.
His poor soul had faded* out with a* tide.
In his hand he held a note,
And those simple words he wrote,
"If the letter comes just place it by my side."
Variants:
Cho.1 -- "a": so clearly the recording (all three times); Rorrer "his"
2.3 -- "faded": so Rorrer; I thought it might be "petered"
2.3 -- "a": Rorrer "the"
File: Gil142
Partial text(s)
From Louis W. Chappell, _Folk-Songs of Roanoke and the Albemarle_, #99, p. 172. Collected in 1938 from Laura Lamb of Tyner, NC. We're floating down the streams of time, We have not long to stay, The stormy clouds of darkness Is turned to brightest day. Oh let us all take courage For we're not left alone; The lifeboat soon is coming To gather his jewels home. (1 additional stanza)
File: ChFRA099
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #299, p. 689. Said to have been sung by "F. Coleman" in 1922. 1 While the sun in his sinking beauty Was shining brightly in the West A fair fortune maiden was thinking How soon she would meet her death. 2 Lillian Brown from Stanent,* Virginia Was boarding near the West Durham Mill. While tired of life and all her troubles Drank poison from which a bottle filled. 3 God only knows how this girl suffered; She paid an awful debt to be free. After drinking from the bottle its contents She said, 'Dear Lord, have pity on me.' * The editors conjecture that this might be an error for "Staunton."
File: BrII299
Complete text(s)
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #98A, pp. 377. Collected from Charles Ingenthron of Walnut Shade, Missouri, September 6, 1941. Down by the shores of the sounding sea Is the humble home of my Lily Lee, And over the deep and the far away Went sailing her lover all bright and gay. To gather diamonds, to gather gold, And over the waters so clear and so cold, The earth and the seas may give up their dead Before I'll return without treasure, he said.
File: R098
Partial text(s)
The Spendthrift clapt into Limbo As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 304-306. "From a chap copy of 'Five Excellent new Songs. 1. The Valiant M'Craws...." Logan dates the print c. 1782. I once was great, full little I've grown, A mimic of multum in parvo; I'm buried alive in a cluster of stone, Some say it is what I deserve, O! In what they have said there is somewhat of truth; I have been a wild and extravagant youth; Some hundreds have spent upon Rachel and Ruth, For which I am clapt up in limbo. (10 additional stanzas)
File: CrMa124
Complete text(s)
The Poacher As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 348-349, "From a broadside 'Printed by J. Catnach, 2 Monmouth Street, 7 Dials.'" When I was bound apprentice in fam'd Northamptonshire, I served my master truly for almost seven year, Then I took up to poaching, as you shall quickly hear; Oh! it's my delight of a shiney night, in the season of the year. As me and my comrades were setting of a snare, The game-keeper was awatching us -- for him we did not care; For we can wrestle -- fight, my boys -- jump over anywhere; For it's my delight of a shiney night, in the season of the year. As me and my companions were setting four or five, And taking of them up again, we took the hare alive; We popt him into the bag, my boys, and through the wood did steer; For it's my delight of a shiney night, in the season of the year. We threw him over our shoulders and wandered through the town, Called into a neighbour's house, and sold him for a crown; We sold him for a crown, my boys, but did not tell you where; For it's my delight of a shiney night, in the season of the year. Well! here's success to poaching, for I do not think it fair, Bad luck to every gamekeeper that would not sell his deer, Good luck to every gamekeeper that wants to buy a share; For it's my delight of a shiney night, in the season of the year.
File: K259
Complete text(s)
Reeling Song From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, p. 34. From "Mr. Cheney" of Dorset, Vermont. All along, all along, All along, all along, All along, all along, Linktem blue. Linktem blue is a very fine song All along, all along, All along, all along, All along, all along, Linktem blue.
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 19. From a former slave called "Uncle Israel," who thought it had African influence. All along, all along, all along, Linked in blue. I bet any man a pint of brandy All of me marks will be thirty-two.
File: FlBr034
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1855 by Winner & Shuster.
Title page inscribed
Respectfully Dedicated to
Aaron R. Dutcher, Esq.
LISTEN TO THE
Mocking Bird.
MELODY
By
RICHARD MILBURN
Written and arranged by
Alice Hawthorn
1. I'm dreaming now of Hally, sweet Hally, sweet Hally;
I'm dreaming now of Hally,
For the thought of her is one that never dies:
She's sleeping in the valley, the valley, the valley;
She's sleeping ing (sic.) the valley,
And the mocking bird is singing where she lies.
CHORUS.
Listen to the mocking bird,
Listen to the mocking bird,
The mocking bird still singing o'er her grave;
Listen to the mocking bird,
Listen to the mocking bird,
Still singing where the weeping willows wave.
2. Ah! well I yet remember, remember, remember,
Ah! well I yet remember
When we gather'd in the cotton side by side.
'Twas in the mild September, September, September,
'Twas in the mild September,
And the mocking bird was singing far and wide.
3. When the charms of spring awaken, awaken, awaken:
When the charms of spring awaken,
And the mocking bird is singing on the bough.
I feel like one forsaken, forsaken, forsaken.
I feel like one forsaken,
Since my Hally is no longer with me now.
File: RJ19110
Partial text(s)
From W. K. McNeil, Southern Folk Ballads, Volume II, pp. 172-173. Collected from Viola Cole, Fancy Gap, Virginia, in 1962. Same version in Roger D. Abrahams and George Foss, Anglo-American Folksong Style, pp. 122-123. Hug me closer, mother, closer; Put your arms around me tight. For I',m cold and tired mother And I feel so strange tonight. Something hurts me here, dear mother, Like a stone upon my breast And I wonder, wonder, mother, Why it is I cannot rest. (7 additional stanzas)
File: MN2172
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 89. "From singing of Susie Cox." "Where are you going, little bird, little bird, Where are you going, little bird?" "I am going to the woods, sweet child, sweet child, I am going to the woods, sweet child." "What's in the woods, little bird, little bird, What's in the woods, little bird?" "There's a tree in the woods, sweet child, sweet child, There's a tree in the woods, sweet child." (4 additional stanzas)
File: Fus089
Partial text(s)
The Little Black Train
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 2460-261. Source not indicated save that it is said to
be a Holy Roller song.
God said to Hezekiah
In a message from on high,
Go set thy house in order
For thou shalt surely die.
Chorus:
The little black train is coming,
Get all your business right;
Better set your house in order,
For the train may be here tonight.
(10 additional stanzas)
File: BAF914
Complete text(s)
Little Brown Jug
From sheet music published 1869 by J. E. Winner.
Title page inscribed
THE LITTLE
BROWN JUG
SONG AND CHORUS
BY
EASTBURN
1. My wife and I lived all alone,
In a little log hut we called our own;
She loved gin, and I loved rum,
I tell you what, we'd lots of fun.
CHORUS.
Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
"Little brown jug" don't I love thee;
Ha, ha, ha, you and me,
"Little brown jug" don't I love thee.
2. 'Tis you who makes my friends my foes,
'Tis you who makes me wear old clothes;
Here you are, so near my nose,
So tip her up, and down she goes.
3. When I go toiling to my farm
I take little "Brown Jug" under my arm;
I place it under a shady tree,
Little "Brown Jug," 'tis you and me. -- Cho.
4. If all the folks in Adam's race,
Were gathered together in one place;
Then I'd prepare to shed a tear,
Before I'd part from you, my dear. -- Cho.
5. If I'd a cow that gave such milk,
I'd clothe her in the finest silk;
I'd feed her on the choicest hay,
And milk her forty times a day. -- Cho.
6. The rose is read, my nose is, too,
The violet's blue, and so are you;
And yet I guess before I stop,
We'd better take another drop. -- Cho.
File: RJ19115
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #56, pp. 214-215. From the singing of George Edwards. 'Tis of a lady so gay And possessed of beauty bright, All for the sake of a little cabin boy She forsaked both lords and knights. Away unto Billy she goes, "Billy, coo!" cried she, "My affections, they are so great, My mind is fixed on thee." (11 additional stanzas)
File: FSC056
Complete text(s)
Collected by Alan and Elizabeth Lomax from Jim Howard of Harlan, Kentucky in 1939. Library of Congress #1376B2. Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. I'll tell to you a new song that's lately been made, 'Tis of the little carpenter, he courted a fair maid; He courted her, he courted her, he loved her as his life; Oftimes he's asked her if she would be his wife. Along come an old man, he came from Noey's ark, A long ways a traveling and courting in the dark; I can't fancy you, old man, you look too old and grim; Oh, my little carpenter, oh what's become of him? Along come a blacksmith, it was the other day, He gave to me a handkerchief, or so the people say; He gave to me a gold ring to talk with him again; O-oh little carpenter, oh what's become of him? Along come a young man, he came from Scarlet town, With gold chains and finger rings, he threw them on the ground; I can fancy you, young man, you look so neat and trim, O-oh little carpenter, what would become of him? Along came the carpenter, he come so neat and slow; All the money that he makes, he brings to me to show; He uses his broadax all day, and sets by me all night, Oh, my little carpenter, my own heart's delight.
File: DTLitCar
Partial text(s)
From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, p. 345.
Collected in 1935 from Helen T. Little of Knoxville, Iowa.
A defective version.
I loved a little beauty, but she's not with me now;
The lilies of the valley are growing o'er her brow;
And now I'm sad and lonely and weeping all the day
For bright-eyed, laughing little Nell of Narragansett Bay.
Chorus
Tolled, tolled the bell at early dawn of day
For lovely Nell, so quickly passed away;
Tolled, tolled the bell so sad and mournfully
For bright-eyed, laughing little Nell of Narragansett Bay.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: Brew88
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 377-378. Sung by Mike Kent, Cape Broyle, July 1951. It's of Sir Walter Raleigh, I think that was his name, He first brought over tobacco, from Americay he came. He might have been a jinker it's plainly to be seen, And if it weren't for him I wouldn't be smoking my old dudeen. My dudeen, my dudeen, you are so dear to me, I love to sit and smoke 'er up when I am through my tea. In dry or rainy weather my friend you'll always be, And 'pon me word I'll never never part with my old dudeen. (Three additional stanzas plus a half-stanzas)
File: Pea337
Complete text(s)
My Pretty Pink From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #175, p. 245. From east Tennessee. My pretty little pink, I once did think That you and I would marry, But now I've lost all hope of that, I can no longer tarry. I've got my knapsack on my back, My musket on my shoulder, To march away to Quebec town, To be a gallant soldier. Where coffee grows on a white-oak-tree, And the rivers flow with brandy, Where the boys are like a lump of gold, And the girls as sweet as candy.
My Pretty Little Pink From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 166. "The first verse and melody are from Lillian K. Rickaby of Riverside, California, as she heard then when a girl in Galesburg, Illinous; the other two verses are from Neeta Marquis of Los Angeles as learned by her mother in Kentucky in the late 1840's." 1 My pretty little Pink, I once did think That you and I would marry, But now I've lost all hopes of you, And I have no time to tarry. 2 I'll take my knapsack on my back, My rifle on my shoulder, And I'll march away to the Rio Grande, To view the forest over. 3 Where coffee grows on white oak trees, And the river flows with brandy, Where girls are sweet as sweet can be And the boys like sugar candy.
File: San166
Complete text(s)
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #95, pp. 373.
Collected from Mrs. Lillian Short of Cabool, Missouri, August 8,
1940.
My mother stood on the Liverpool dock,
Her handkerchief was up to her eyes,
And as the big ship slowly steamed out the tide,
'Twas there that I kissed her goodbye.
CHORUS:
Goodbye, I'm going to leave you,
I'm going to go far away, far away,
And when I return to the land of my birth,
There'll be no one to welcome me home,
dear old home.
File: R095
Partial text(s)
From David W. Bone, Capstan Bars, 1932. Informant not listed; said
to have been heard in 1900.
Twas in the' cold month of December
When all my money I had spent,
I shipped in the clipper ship "Defender,"
An' away to the west-ard I went.
CHORUS
An' it is "Get ye back." Ho!
"Take in yer slack." Ho!
Heave away th' capstan. Heave a pawl.
Heave a pawl!
'Bout ship: stations, boys, be handy.
Raise tacks, sheets, an' mains'l haul!
There was Dutchmen an' Roossians an' Spanish,
An' Johnny Creepaws straight across from France,
An' most didn't know a word of English,
But answered to the name o' "Month's Advance.
(Stanzas 1, 5 of 7)
File: BonCB140
Complete text(s)
The Blackbird, or, Logan's Lament
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #112, pp. 254-255.
From Catherine J. Rayner, Piqua, Ohio.
1. The blackbird is singing on Michigan's shore,
As sweetly and gaily as ever before,
For she knows to her mate she at pleasure can hie,
And her little brood she is teaching to fly,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
2. The fox and the panther, both beasts of the night,
Retire to their dens on the gleaming of light,
And they spring with a free and a sorrowless track,
For they know that their mates are expecting them back,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
3. The sun looks as ruddy, and rises ad bright,
And reflects o'er our mountains as beamy a light
As it ever reflected, or ever expresses
When skies were the bluest, my dreams were the best,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
4. Each bird and each beast are blessed in degree;
All nature is cheerful, all happy but me;
I will go to my tent and lie down in despair,
I will paint me with black and I'll sever my hair.
Oh, alas, I am undone!
5. I will sit on the shore when the hurricane blows,
And reveal to the God of the tempest my woes;
I will weep for a season, on bitterness fed,
For my kindred have gone to the hills of the dead,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
6. But they died not by hunger or lingering decay;
The steel of the white man has swept them away;
The snake-skin that once I so sacredly wore
I will toss with disdain to the storm-beaten shore,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
7. They came to my cabin when heaven was black,
I heard not their coming, and knew not their track,
But I saw by the light of their blazing fusees
They were people engendered beyond the big seas,
Oh, alas, I am undone!
8. I will dig up my hatchet and bend my oak bow,
By night and by day I will follow the foe;
No lake shall impede me, no mountains nor snow,
Their blood can alone give my spirit repose.
Oh, alas, I am undone!
9. My wife and my children! Oh, spare me the tale,
For who is there left that is kin to Geehale;
My wife and my children! Oh, spare me the tale,
For who is there left that is kin to Geehale;
Oh, alas, I am undone!
File: E112
Complete text(s)
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item
#150, the "E" text, pp. 209-210. From "the convent-school of
Savannah." This is the form most similar to what I seem to recall
hearing in my childhood, though it is longer than what I remember.
I have expanded the first stanzas to show the proper form, which
Newell abbreviates in this text (having supplied it for other texts).
London bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London bridge is falling down,
My fair lady!
How shall we build it up again?
Up again, up again,
How shall we build it up again?
My fair lady!
Build it up with lime and stone.--
Stone and lime would wash away.--
Build it up with iron bars.--
Iron bars would bend and break.--
Build it up with gold and silver.--
Gold and silver would be stole away.--
Get a watch to watch all night.--
Suppose the watch should fall asleep?--
Get him a pipe to smoke at night.--
Suppose the pipe should fall and break?--
Get a dog to bark all night.--
Suppose the dog should get a bone?--
Get a cock to crow all night.--
Suppose the cock should fly away?--
What has this poor prisoner done?--
He's broke my box and stole my keys.--
A hundred pounds will set him free.--
A hundred pounds he has not got.--
Off to prison he must go,
My fair lady!
File: R578
Complete text(s)
Lost John As recorded by Burnett & Rutherford, Columbia 15122-D, November 6, 1926. Transcribed by Robert Waltz; the recording is very difficult to understand (a combination of scratchiness and odd intonation); the questionable lines are marked [?]. Funniest thing you ever seen Was Lost John going through Bowling Green No hat on his head, no shoes on his feet Begging everyone in his stocking feet. [?] He's long gone, long gone. Lost John sitting on the railroad track, Waiting for a freight train to come back. Freight train come, never made no stop, You ought to seen old Long John jump on top [?] He's long gone, long gone. Had an old dog, his name was Will, He run Lost John to the top of the hill, They ain't caught Lost John, never will He's long gone, long gone. John ran away from the prison home, [?] He outrun the message on the telephone 'Long come a policeman, skipping through the mine, [?] Trying for to catch him with a hook and line. [?] Long gone, long gone
File: LoF287
Complete text(s)
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 141-142. "Sung by Captain Charlton L. Smith... of Marblehead, Massachusetts." A long, long time, and a very long time to me, way-hay-heigh-o, A long, long time, and a very long time, and a long time ago. While strolling out one morning fair, to me, way-hay-heigh-o, I met a maiden in despair a long time ago.
File: Doe037
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published at an uncertain date by Firth & Hall.
No title sheet; the song is printed on two sides of a single page,
very badly (note the absurd punctuation), with the heading at the
top of the first page reading
LONG, LONG AGO
Ballad
Composed by
TH.H.BAYLY. ESQ.
Tell me the tales that to me were so dear,
Long long ago, long long ago:
Sing me the songs I delighted to hear,
Long long ago, long ago:
Now you are come my grief is remov'd,
Let me forget that so long you have rov'd,
Let me believe that you love as you lov'd,
Long long ago, long ago:
2
Do you remember the path where we met,
Long long ago, long ago.
Ah yes you told me you ne'er would forget,
Long long ago, long ago.
Then to all others my smile you prefer'd,
Love when you spoke gave a charm to each word,
Still my heart treasures the praises I heard,
Long long ago, long ago,
3
Though by your kindness my fond hopes were rais'd,
Long long ago, long ago,
You by more eloquent lips have been praise'd
Long long ago, long ago,
But by long absence yout truth has been tried,
Still to your accents I listen with pride,
Blest as I was when I sat by your side,
Long long ago, long ago,
File: RJ19119
Partial text(s)
Longshoreman's Strike From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #28, pp, 100-101. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1941. I am a simple lab'ring man, And I work along the shores. For to keep the hungry wolves away From the poor longshoreman's door. I toil all day long in the broiling sun On the ships that come in from the sea, From early light until late at night For the poor man's family. Chorus Then it's give us good par for every day, For that's all we ask of thee. For our cause is right, and we're out on a strike For the poor man's family. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC101
Partial text(s)
I Put My Little Hand In
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 23-26.
Apparently from the children of Dr. and Mrs. Frank Allen Hubbard.
I put my little hand in,
I put my little hand out,
I give my little hand a shake, shake, shake
And I turn myself about.
Chorus
Here we go looby loo,
Here we go looby la,
Here we go looby loo,
All on a Saturday night,
Tra-la,
All on a Saturday night.
(7 additional stanzas)
File: R554
Complete text(s)
Brave Lord Willoughbey From Percy/Wheatley, II.ii.xx, pp. 238-241 No source listed; it is not from the Percy MS. The fifteenth day of July, With glistering spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders Was foughten in the field: The most couragious officers Were English captains three; But the bravest man in battel Was brave lord Willoughbey. The next was captain Norris, A valiant man was hee: The other captain Turner From field would never flee. With fifteen hundred fighting men, Alas! there were no more, They fought with fourteen thousand then, Upon the bloody shore. Stand to it noble pikemen And look you round about: And shoot you right you bow-men And we will keep them out: You musquet and calliver men, Do you prove true to me, I'le be the formost man in fight, Says brave lord Willoughbey. And then the bloody enemy They fiercly did assail, And fought it out most furiously, Not doubting to prevail; The wounded men on both sides fell Most pitious for to see, Yet nothing could the courage quell Of brave lord Willoughbey. For seven hours to all mens view This fight endured sore, Until our men so feeble grew That they could fight no more; And then upon dead horses Full savourly they eat, And drank the puddle water, They could no better get. When they had fed so freely, They kneeled on the ground, And praised God devoutly For the favour they had found; And beating up their colours, The fight they did renew, And turning toward the Spaniard, A thousand more they slew. And sharp steel-pointed arrows, And bullets think did fly; Then did our valiant soldiers Charge on most furiously; Which made the Spaniards waver, They thought it best to flee, They fear'd the stout behavior Of brave lord Willoughbey. Then quoth the Spanish general, Come let us march away, I fear we shall be spoiled all If here we longer stay; For yonder comes lord Willoughbey With courage fierce and fell He will not give one inch of way For all the devils in hell. And then the fearful enemy Was quickly put to flight, Our men persued couragiously, And caught their forces quite; But at last they gave a shout, Which ecchoed through the sky, God, and St. George for England! The conquerors did cry. This news was brought to England With all the speed might be, And soon our gracious queen was told Of this same victory. O this is brave lord Willoughbey, My love that ever won, Of all the lords of honour, 'Tis he great deeds hath done. To the souldiers that were maimed, And wounded in the fray, The queen allowed a pension Of fifteen pence a day; And from all costs and charges She quit and set them free: And this she did all for the sake Of brave lord Willoughbey. Then courage, noble Englishmen, And never be dismaid; If that we be but one to ten, We will not be afraid To fight with foraign enemies, And set our nation free. And thus I end the bloody bout Of brave lord Willoughbey.
File: Perc2238
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1857 (on six pages) by H. M. Higgins
Title page inscribed
LORENA
And hear For
the distant Church bells "if we try,
chimed we may forget."
But there, up there,
'tis Heart to Heart.
1. The years creep slowly by, Lorena,
The snow is on the grass again,
The sun's low down the sky, Lorena,
The frost gleams where the flow'rs have been.
But the heart throbs on as warmly now,
As when the summer days were nigh;
Oh! the sun can never dip so low,
Adown affection's cloudless sky.
The sun can never dip so low,
Adown affection's cloudless sky.
2. A hundred months have passed Lorena,
Since last I held that hand in mine,
And felt the pulse beat fast, Lorena,
Tho' mine beat faster far than thine.
A hundred months, 'twas flow'ry May,
When up the hilly slope we climbed,
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant churchbells chimed. (sic.)
To watch the dying of the day,
And hear the distant churchbells chimed. (sic.)
3. We loved each other then Lorena,
More than we ever dared to tell;
And what we might have been, Lorena,
Had but our lovings prospered well
But then, 'tis past the years have gone,
I'll not call up their shadowy forms;
I'll say to them, "Lost years, sleep on!
Sleep on! nor heed, life's pelting storm."
I'll say to them, "Lost years, sleep on!
Sleep on! nor heed, life's pelting storm."
4. The story of that past, Lorena,
Alas! I care not to repeat,
The hopes that could not last, Lorena,
They lived, but only lived to cheat.
I would not cause e'en one regret
To wrankle (sic.) in your bosom now;
For "if we try, we may forget,"
Were words of thine long years ago.
For "if we try, we may forget,"
Were words of thine long years ago.
5.
Yes, these were words of thine, Lorena,
They burn within my memory yet;
They touched some tender chords, Lorena,
Which thrill and tremble with regret.
'Twas not thy woman's heart that spoke;
Thy heart was always true to me:
A duty stern and pressing, broke
The tie which linked my soul with thee.
6.
It matters little now, Lorena,
The past is in the eternal Past;
Our hearts will soon lie low, Lorena,
Life's tide is ebbing out so fast.
There is a future! O thank God,
Of life this is so small a part!
'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod;
But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.
File: R757
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 48-50. Based on a recording by Kenneth Peacock, with the source being Mrs. A. Ghaney of Fermeuse; the text may perhaps have been edited. Fort Amherst's hardy youthful crew sang cheerily as they passed, But yet Fort Amherst little knew that sailing was their last. Only the small birds overhead encircling in the blue Screamed down the win in fear and dread of some strange terror new. (9 additional stanzas)
File: FJ047
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 41. From James Murphy, Songs and Ballads of Newfoundland, Ancient and Modern. Ye fishermen who know so well The dangers of the deep, Come listen to a dreadful tale And join your hearts to weep For the loss of the schooner Maggie And thirteen precious lives Which leave so many homes bereft Of husbands, sons and wives. (5 additional stanzas)
File: RySm041
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #128, pp. 275-277. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Ye landsmen all, on ye I call And jolly seamen too, While I relate the hardship great I've lately gone through. For Havana bound in the Philosophy, And from St. John set sail, It was on the fourth of November In a sweet and pleasant gale. (7 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS128
Partial text(s)
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #60, pp. 271-272. Collected from Charles Ingenthron of Walnut Shade, Missouri, March 2, 1941. One morning, one morning, one morning in Spring, The birds in the desert so loudly did sing, I met a fair damsel in the desert alone, Oh she says I'm a poor lost girl, and a long ways from home. I stepped up to her, her features to see, And making so freely her pardon I asked, And making so freely in the desert alone, Oh she says I'm a poor lost girl and a long ways from home! (4 additional stanzas)
File: R060
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 151. "From singing of Mrs. Ethel Edwards." Oh, I wonder where my lost Johnny's gone, Oh, I wonder where my lost Johnny's gone, Oh, I wonder where my lost Johnny's gone, Oh, he's gone to that new railroad, He's gone to that new railroad. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Fus151
Partial text(s)
Lots of Fish in Bonavist' Harbour From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 122-124. Apparently from Peacock. Oh -- there's lots of fish in Bonavist' Harbour, Lots of fish right in around here. Boys and girls are fishin' together, Forty-five fron Carbonear. Refrain: Oh -- catch a-hold this one, catch a-hold that one, Swing around this one, dance around she. Catch a-hold this one, catch a-hold that one, Diddle-dum this one, diddle-dum-dee. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FJ122
Complete text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #129, pp. 278-279.
"Words and music contributed by Prof. A. McMechan.... As sung by Robert
Haddow in Knox College, Toronto, circa 1883.)
Way down Louisiana, boys, not many years ago,
There lived a coloured gentleman whose name was Pompey Snow.
This Pompey Snow he started to have a little fun,
And first he thought he'd refresh himself with a good stiff glass of rum.
Chorus
So they buried him in the Lowlands, Lowlands
In the Louisiana Lowlands, low.
In the Louisiana Lowlands, Low