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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 78, September 19, 2021, as posted by user John5918. "Any old iron? Any old iron? Any, any, any old iron? You look neat! Talk about a treat! You look a dapper from your napper to your feet Dressed in style wi' a brand new tile And your father's old green tie on I wouldn't give you tuppence for your old watch-chain Old iron, old iron!"...
File: LTCSAnOI
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From Fred High, Old, Old Folk Songs, p. 5. Text reproduced as printed. Subscription says "By Drettie McElyea" (meaning that McElyea was the informant, not the author). Welcome band of true toilers Who by thousands are found One the hundereds of rail-ways And the staitions a round There a question concerning Heaven's calling so bright Are you happy in Jesus. Are the signals All right CHO With a clear shining light Is your lamp burning bright Have you oil in your vessels Are the signals all right (3 additional stanzas)
File: High005
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From John Ashton, Real Sailor-Songs, Leadenhall Press, London, 1891;
reprinted by D. N. Goodchild, Philadelphia, 2006, insert after #7.
Come all ye jolly Sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour's mould,
While England's glory I unfold,
Huzza to the Arethusa.
She is a Frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemm'd the dashing wave;
Her men are staunch
To their fav'rite Launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike we'll all expire,
On board of the Arethusa.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: AshS007i
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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 Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, p. 413. Collected by Sandys from an unnamed Cornish informant. As Tom was a-walking one fine summer's morn, When the dazies and goldcups the fields did adorn; He met Cozen Mal, with the tub on her head, Says Tom, 'Cozen Mal, you might speak if you we'd.' But Mal stamped along, and appeared to be shy, And Tom singed out, 'Zounds! I'll knaw of thee why?' So back he tore a'ter, in a terrible fuss, And axed cozen Mal, 'What's the reason of thus?' (3 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo413
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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
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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 text (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)
From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #263, p. 272. No source indicated. Awa whigs awa, Awa whigs awa, Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, Ye'll do nae gude at a'. Our thrissles flourish'd fesh and fair, And bone bloom'd our roses, But whigs cam like a frost in June And wither'd a' our posies. (3 additional stanzas)
File: SMMu263
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
Complete text(s)
From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #213, p. 222.
No source indicated.
Simmer's a pleasant time,
Flowers of ev'ry colour;
The water rins o'er the heugh,
And I long for my true lover!
Ay waukin', O,
Waukin still and weary;
Sleep I can get nane,
For thinking on my Dearie.
When I sleep I dream,
Whan I wauk I'm irie;
Sleep I can get nane
For thinking on my Dearie.
Ay waukin &c.
Lanely night comes on,
A' the lave are sleepin;
I think on my bony lad
And I bleer my een wi' greetin.
Ay waukin &c.
File: GrD5933
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)
From the original sheet music, as printed in the inner covers of Richard Moody, Ned Harrigan: From Corlear's Hook to Herald Square. If you want for information Or in need of merriment, Come over with me socially To Murphy's tenement; He owns a row of houses In the First ward, near the dock, Where Ireland's represented By the Babies on our Block. THere's the Phalens and the Whelans From sweet Dunochadee, The are sitting on the railings With their children on their knee, All gossiping and talking With their neighbors in a flock, Singing "Little Sally Waters," With the Babies on our Block. Oh, Little Sally Waters, Sitting in the sun, A-crying and weeping for a young man; Oh, rise, Sally, rise, Wipe your eyes out with your frock; That's sung by the Babies a-living on our block. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Dean091
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
Caleb A Wall, The Historic Boston Tea Party of December 16, 1773
(Worcester: F.S. Blanchard & Co, 1896 ("Digitized by Google")),
pp. 14-15. According to Bronner-Eskin1 18, this song "first
appeared on the front page of the _Pennsylvania Packet_ on
January 3, 1774."
As near beauteous Boston lying,
On the gently swelling flood,
Without jack or pennant flying,
Three ill-fated tea-ships rode.
Just as glorious Sol was setting,
On the wharf, a numerous crew,
Sons of freedom, fear forgetting,
Suddenly appeared in view.
Armed with hammers, axes, chisels,
Weapons new for warlike deed,
Towards the taxed, tea-freighted vessels
They approached with dreadful speed.
O'er their heads, aloft in mid-sky,
Three bright angel forms were seen:
This was Hampden, that was Sidney,
With Fair Liberty between.
Soon they cried, "Your foes we'll banish,
Soon the triumph shall be won;
Scarce the setting sun shall vanish,
E'er the glorious deed be done."
Quick as thought, the ship was boarded,
Hatches burst and chests displayed;
Axes, hammers, help afforded,
What a crash that eve they made.
Deep into the sea descended
Cursed weed of China's coast;
Thus at once our fears were ended;
British rights shall ne'er be lost.
Captains! once more hoist your streamers,
Spread your sails and plough the wave;
Tell your masters they were dreamers
When they thought to cheat the brave.
File: BNEF538
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
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
Lyrics as supplied by Kay Reville. To Bannow's lonely banks farewell where once I used to stray To view the craft of smaller size glide swiftly o'er the bay The birds above that lonely beach their sweetest notes did pour Which echoed thro' the silent woods near Bannow's lonely shore. On those lone banks I often sat to watch the flowing tide And gentle barques with swelling sails that o'er its surface glide The seabirds' dismal cries were heard, but now those joys are o'er Yet recollection brings me back to Bannow's lonely shore. The village school-house on the hill, it still appears in view As bright and beautiful as when I bade my last adieu Those pleasant hours are past and gone, perhaps tp come no more Yet fondly still my heart will cling to Bannow's lonely shore. The boys with whom my youth was spent when sporting on the green Their smiling faces I behold, though seas roll wide between Our youthful joys I still retain though sadly I deplore When I cast back my wandering eyes on Bannow's lonely shore. As on my pillow I recline in a foreign land to rest The love of Bannow's flowery banks still throbs within my breast When silent sleep steals over me I dream I see once more The rocky cliffs that close abound by Bannow's lonely shore. With these few lines I now conclude and bid a long farewell May Heaven's beams shine bright on all who on those banks do dwell May happiness forever reign and choicest blessings pour Where first I drew the breath of life near Bannow's lonely shore.
File: Ran026
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 the Forget-Me-Not Songster, Nafis & Cornish (no date), pp. 17-19.
Old Ross, Cockburn, and Cochran too,
And many a bloody villain more,
Swore with their bloody savage crew,
That they would plunder Baltimore.
But General Winder being afraid
That his militia would not stand,
He sent away to crave the aid
Of a few true Virginians.
Then up we rose with hearts elate,
To help our suffering sister state, &c
When first our orders we received,
For to prepare without delay,
Our wives and sweethearts for to leave,
And to the army march away.
Although it griev'd our hearts full sore,
To leave our sweet Virginia shote,
We kiss'd our sweethearts o'er and o'er,
And march'd like true Virginians.
Adieu awhile, sweet girls adieu,
With honor we'll return to you.
(6 additional stanzas)
File: CAFS1165
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 Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 213-214. From Hogg's Jacobite Relics. Up and rin away', Hawley, Up and rin away', Hawley, The philabegs are coming fown To gie your lugs a claw, Hawley, Young Charlie's face at Dunipace, Has gi'en your mou' a throw, Hawley, A blasting sight for bastard wight, The warst that e'er he saw, Hawley, Up and rin, etc. (5 and a half additional stanzas)
File: MBra213
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
Partial text(s)
From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 248-257. Source not indicated. Frae Dunnoter to Abberdeen, I raise and took the way, Believing weel that it had been Not half ane hour to day. The lift was clad with cloudis gray, And ower maskit was the moon, Which me deceived where I lay, And made me rise ower soon. (40 additional stanzas)
File: GlnBa074
Partial text(s)
The Battle of Killicrankie (sic.) From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 268-269. Source not clearly indicated but may be Hogg. Clavers and his Highlandmen Came down upon the raw, man, Who, being stout, gave mony a clout, The lads began to claw, then. Wi' sword and targe in their hand, Wi' which they were na slaw, man, Wi' mony a fearfu' heavy sigh, The lads began to claw, then. (6 additional stanzas)
File: MBra268
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Rullion Green or Pentland Hills From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 166-167. Apparently based on Walter Scott's text. The gallant Grahams cam from the west, Wi' their horses black as ony craw; The Lothian lads they marched fast, To be at the Rhyns o' Gallowa. Betwixt Dumfries town and Argyle, The lads they marched mony a mile; Souters and taylors unto them drew, Their covenants for to renew. They Whigs, they, wi' their merry cracks, Gar'd the poor pedlars lay down their packs; But aye sinsyne they do repent The renewing o' their Covenant. (8 additional stanzas)
File: MBra166
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From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 194-197. Apparently from Child's first collection of ballads. There's some say that we wan, and some that they wan, And some say that nane wan at a' man! But one thing I'm sure, that at Sherra-muir, A battle there was that I saw, man. And we ran and they ran, and they ran, and we ran, But Florence ran fastest of a' man. Argyle and Belhaven, not frightened like Leven, Which Rothes and Haddington saw, man: For they all, like WIghtman, advanc'd on the right, man White others took flight, being raw, man: And we ran, etc. (22 additional stanzas)
File: MBra193
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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
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From Carolyn Rabson, _Songbook of the American Revolution_, NEO Press, 1974, pp. 42-43. On Christmas day in '76 Our ragged troops with bayonets fixed For Trenton marched away. The Delaware see! The boat below! The light obscured by hail and snow But no sign of dismay. Our object was the Hessian band That dared invade fair freedom's land, And quarter in that place. Great Washington he led us on, Whose streaming flag in storm or sun, Had never known disgrace. (3 additional stanzas)
File: SBoA072
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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
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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
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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
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From (National Magazine), "Heart Songs," Chapple Publishing Company, 1909, pp. 224-226. Beautiful isle of the sea! Smile on the brow of the waters, Dear are your memories to me, Sweet as the songs of your daughters; Over your mountains and vales, Down by each murmuring river, Cheer'd by the flow'r-loving gales, Oh, could I wander forever! Land of the true and the old, Home ever dear unto me; Fountain of pleasures untold, Beautiful isle of the sea! Fountain of pleasures untold, Beautiful isle of the sea! (1 additional stanza.)
File: HeSo224
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 304-310. From a broadside believed to be of the eighteenth century. A seaman of Dover, whose excellent parts, For wisdom and learned, had conquered the hearts Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright, Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write; And show of his turnings, and windings of fate, His passions and sorrows, so many and great: And how he was blessed with true love at last, When all the rough storms of his troubles were past. (48 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo304
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Bedlam City, or The Maiden's Lamentation
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 187-188. Based on two broadsides, one by Pitts, one by
Armstrong.
Down by the side of Bedlam city,
There I heard a maid complain;
Making grevious lamentation,
Lost my lov'd, my only swain.
Chorus.
Billy is the lad that I do admire,
He is the lad that I do adore;
Now for him his love lies dying,
For fear she should never see him more.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: BrMa971
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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
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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
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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
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Collected by Nancy Roeder from her mother in 1992-1993. You can find information about this oral history project at https://bit.ly/2KQwyLQ. Bells in heaven just strike one My Lord's work has just begun. Chorus (repeated after each stanza): Oh, the old ark's moving Moving, little children, The old ark's moving, And I thank God. Bells in heaven just strike two, Lord, what wilt Thou have me do? Bells in heaven just strike three, My Lord's setting the people free. Bells in heaven just strike four, My Lord's preaching to the poor. Bells in heaven just strike five, My Lord's making the dead alive. Bells in heaven just strike six, My Lord's healing all the sick. Bells in heaven just strike seven, My Lord's pointing the way to heaven. Bells in heaven just strike eight, My Lord's opened the golden gate. Bells in heaven just strike nine. My Lord's turning the water into wine. Bells in heaven just strike ten, My Lord's saving sinful men.
File: Roeder01
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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
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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
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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
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 311-317. Apparently from a broadside. Bachelors of every station, Mark this strange and true relation, Which in brief to you I bring, -- Never was a stranger thing! You shall find it worth the hearing; Loyal love is most endearing, When it takes the deepest root, Yielding charms and gold to boot. Some will wed for love of treasure; But the sweetest joy and pleasure Is in faithful love, you'll find, Graced with a noble mind. (50 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo310
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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 LibraryThingCampSongsThread, posts 102-104, September 24, 2021. In response to Tess_W, John5918 supplied the chorus: Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do, I'm half crazy all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage, But you'll look sweet upon the seat Of a bicycle built for two... Crypto-Willobie had a version of the parody: Michael, Michael, here is your answer true, I'm not crazy over the likes of you. If you can't afford a carriage, Call off the blooming marriage, Coz I'll be damned if I'll be jammed On a bicycle built for two... John5918 also pointed out a parody by "The Two Ronnies," which I presume is under copyright and not traditional.
File: Gil255
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From Jim Bob Tinsley, He Was Singin' This Song, University of Central Florida, 1981, p. 140. That ugly brute from the cattle chute, Press along to the big corral, He should be branded on the snoot, Press along to the big corral. Chorus: Press along, cowboy, Press along with a cowboy yell, Press along with a noise, bug noise, Press along to the big corral. (4 additional stanzas)
File: JIWGA106
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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
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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
Complete text(s)
(No Title)
As found in James Orchard Halliwell, The Nursery Rhymes of England
(London, 1843 ("Digitized by Google")),#250 p. 144
"A Scotch version of the above" referring to #249, p. 143, ("Girls
and boys, come out to play, The moon doth shine as bright as day").
Lazy dukes, that sit on their neuks, [corners
And winna come out to play;
Leave your supper, leave your sleep,
Come out and play at hide-and-seek.
I've a cherry, I've a chess,
I've a bonny blue glass;
I've a dog among the corn.
Blow, Willie, Buckhorn
Three score of Highland kye,
One booly-backed, [crooked-backed
One blind of an eye.
An' a' the rest hawkit. [white-faced or spotted
Laddie wi' the shelly-coat,[1]
Help me owre the ferry-boat;
The ferry-boat is owre dear,
Ten pounds every year.
The fiddler's in the Canongate,[2]
The piper's in the Abbey,
Huzza! cocks and hens,
Flee awa' to your cavey. [chicken coop
[1] "Shelly coat: "A giant hobgoblin, who wore a coat of shells ....
Shelly-coat was named to children to frighten them into obedience."
(source: Charles Rogers, _Scotland Social and Domestic_ (London, 1869), p. 231.
[2] Canongate is in Edinburgh
File: GrD81640
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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
Partial text(s)
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
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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
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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
Partial text(s)
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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The Bold Privateer From a broadside in the Robert Waltz collection printed by Thomas M. Scroggy of Philadelphia. Date unknown but from the nineteenth century. THE BOLD PRIVATEER It's O my dearest Polly, You and I must part, I am going across the seas, love, I give to you my heart. My ship she lies in waiting, So fare thee well my dear, I am just a going on board Of the Bold Privateer. But O my dearest Johnny, Great dangers have been crossed, And many a sweet life By the seas have been lost; You had better stop at home, With a girl that loves you dear, Than to venture your sweet life On the Bold Privateer. When the wars are over, May Heaven spare my life, Then soon I will come back, To my sweet loving wife. Then soon I will get married, To charming Polly dear, And for ever bid adieu, To the Bold Privateer. Oh my dearest Polly, Your friends do me dislike, Besides you have two brothers Who'd quickly take my life. Come change your ring with me, my dear, Come change your ring with me, And that shall be our token, When I am on the sea.
File: LO32
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), p. 179. To the Lords of Convention, 'twas Claverhouse spoke, Ere the King's crown go down there are crowns to be broke. Then each cavalier that loves honour and me, Let him follow the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle my hoses, and call out my men; Unhook the west port, and let us gae free, For it's up wi' the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MBra179
Partial text(s)
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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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 405-406. From a chapbook apparently printed 1795. Over hills and high mountains, I have oftentimes been, Through hedges and broad ditches I wandered all alane. There is nothing that doth grieve me, Or troubles my mind, As the leaving of my sweetheart In Paisley behind. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Gre0032
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 149, October 21, 2021. From user cpg. I love the mountains I love the rolling hills I love the flowers I love the daffodils I love the fireside When all the lights are low Boom-de-yada Boom-de-yada Boom-de-yada Boom-de-yada
File: AverBoom
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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 Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 326-330. Based on a transcription by Denson. Let Carthage Queen be now no more The subject of our mournful song; Nor such old tales hich, heretofore, Did so amuse the teeming throng; Since the sad story which I'll tell, All other tragedies excel. Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; He courted Martha Railton, whose Repute for virtue did excel; Yet Forger's friends would not agree That he to her should married be. (21 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo326
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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 the Forget-Me-Not Songster, Nafis & Cornish (no date), pp. 22-23. Step forth, ye sons of freedom, Who strangers are to fear; Repair unto your quarters, And enter volunteers; Where you will be advanced Above all worldly store. Whilst we are under arms, Amid a loyal corps. We are the boys of Ohio. If our officers command us, We'll cheerfully obey; If the British and Indians stand us, We'll show then Yankee play; We'll rout them from their trenches With our bold musketeers, And we'll boldly let them know We're the gallant volunteers. We're the boys of Ohio. (2 additional stanzas)
File: CAFS2398
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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 James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #276, p. 285. No source indicated. The Catrine woods were yellow seen, The flowers decay'd on Catrine lee, Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, But nature sickened on the e'e. Thro' faded groves Maria sang, Herself in beauty's bloom the while, And ay the wild wood echoes rang; Fareweel the braes o' Ballochmyle. (1 additional stanza)
File: BrdBrBal
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From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 183-184. Tune is from Lyric Gems of Scotland; the text may be. Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad? Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O? Whare hae ye been saw braw, lad? Came ye by Killicrankie, O? An ye had been where I hae been, Ye wad-na been saw cantie, O; An ye had seen what I hae seen, I' the braes o' Killiecrankie, O. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MBra173
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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
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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
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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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From Neil Colquhoun, _Song of a Young Country: New Zealand Folksongs_, Reed, 1972, p. 29 [compare p. 49 in the 2010 edition] Spend it in the winder Or die in the ol. One a pecker, Tuapeka, Bright fine gold. CHORUS: Bright fine gold, Bright fine gold, One a pecker, Tuapeka, Bright fine gold. Some are sons of fortune And my man came to see, But the riches in the river Are not for such as he. (1 additional stanza)
File: BaRo055A
Complete text(s)
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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The Broom of Cowdenknows
From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume I, #69, p. 70.
No source indicated.
How blyth was I each morn to see
My swain come o'er the hill!
He leap'd the burn, and flew to me,
I met him wi' good will.
O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,
The broom of the Cowdenknows!
I would I were wi' my dear swain,
Wi' his pipe and my ewes.
I neither wanted ewe nor lamb,
While his flock near me lay;
He gather'd in my sheep at night,
And chear'd me a' the day.
(6 additional stanzas)
File: DTcowden
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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
Partial text(s)
As found in Robert Hoskins, Goldfield Balladeer: The Life and Times of the celebrated Charles R. Thatcher, William Collins, 1977, pp. 177-178 (with incorrect tune attribution). Most blackly looked the weather The showers down did gush As Joe and I together Were tramping to the rush; We slept beneath a tree, Our swags as wet as we could be, And there we lay Till next day On the road to Bryant's Ranges O. (3 additional stanzas) This should not be confused with another Thatcher composition, "Bryant's Ranges," to the tune of Bow Wow Wow/Guy Fawkes, which (as found in Hugh Anderson, Goldrush Songster, Rams Skull Press, n.d., pp. 50-51, begins Oh, what a curious world is this, So various in its changes; I'm now alluding to the rush, Down there on Bryant s Ranges, The diggers are all hastening there, As fast as they are able; With tent and pick, and puddling tub, And dish, and spade, and cradle. Bow Wow Wow, Tol de rol de ri-dy-i-dy, Bow Wow Wow. (6 additional stanzas)
File: AnSo035
Complete text(s)
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 Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 76. 1. (first tenor:) Oh! the bulldog on the bank, (first bass:) And the bullfrog in the pool, (first tenor:) Oh! the bulldog on the bank, (second bass:) And the bullfrog in the pool, Chorus: Oh! the bulldog on the bank, And the bullfrog in the pool, The bulldog called the bullfrog, A green old waterfool. Singing tra la la la la la la, singing tra la la la la la la, Singing tra la la la la la, singing tra la la la la la, Tra la la la, tra la la la, tra la la la la la. (6 additional stanzas.)
File: FSWB399B
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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 Martin Gardner, Famous Poems from Bygone Days, pp. 167-168. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam's misty light And the lantern dimly burning. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Moyl183
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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 Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 215-217. From a copy supplied by Ella Doten, who was probably related to the victims. Now all you good people of every degree, Come listen one moment with attention to me. A sorrowful story I'm going to relate Of a fatal disaster that happened of late. O, Calais did tremble at this awful stroke And consider the voice of Jehovah had spoke. To teach us we're mortals, exposed to death And subject each moment to yield up our breath. (8 additional stanzas)
File: FlNG215
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De Camp On De "Cheval Gris" The presumed original, from William Henry Drummond, M.D., The Habitant and other French Canadian Poems, Putnam, 1897, pp. 112-117. You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris, W'ere we work so hard all winter, long ago you an' me? Dere was fourteen man on de gang, den, all from our own paroisse, An' only wan lef' dem feller is ourse'f an' Pierre Laframboise. But Pierre can't see on de eye, Johnnie, I t'ink it's no good at all! An' it was n't for not'ing, you're gettin' rheumateez on de leg las' fall! I t'ink it's no use waitin', for neider can come wit' me, So alone I mak' leetle visit dat camp on de Cheval Gris. (15 additional stanzas)
File: Be073
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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
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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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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 389-392. Source not clearly indicated. In Canonmills there lived a Miller, Who lately came by a purse o' siller, How it fell out I'll planly show, But would not wish the like to you. O the canny miller. O the brave miller, O. One day the miller went from home, That day he left his wife alone, That night he was to watch hismill, And he was not long gone when his wife took ill. (23 additional stanzas)
File: GrD71459
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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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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 31-32. Immediate source not clearly stated. The muse with the hero's brave deeds being fired, -- For similar views had their bosoms inspired; -- For freedom they fought and for glory contend. The muse o'er the hero still mourns as a friend; Then oh! let the muse this poor tribute bequeath To a true British hero, the brave Captain Death. His ship was the Terrible, dreadful to see, Each man was as gallantly brave as was he; Two hundred and more were his good complement, But sure braver fellows to sea never went: Each man had determined to spend his last breath In fighting for Britain and brave Captain Death. (4 additional stanzas)
File: KiTu104
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From Douglas R. Burgess, Jr., _The Politics of Piracy: Crime and Civil Disobedience in Colonial America_, ForeEdge, 2014, p. 81. Excerpted from a text given by Joel Baer in Folk Music Journal 7, no. 1 (1995), p. 13. Come all you brave boys, whose courage is bold, Will you venture with me? I'll glut you with gold. Make haste unto Coruna: a ship you will find, That's called the Fancy, will pleasure your mind. Captain Every is in her, and calls her his own; He will box her about, boys, before he has done. French, Spaniard, and Portuguese, the heathen likewise, He has made a war with them until he dies.
File: BdCapEve
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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
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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
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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 Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, pp. 36-37. Credited to Sam Lucas, with arrangement by Herbert Hersey, and an 1875 copyright by John F. Perry & Co. 1. De possum meat am good to eat, Carve him to de heart; Yo'll always find him good and sweet, Carve him to de heart; My dog did bark, and I went to see, Carve him to de heart; And dar was a possum up dat tree, Carve him to de heart. Chorus. Carve dat possum, carve dat possum, children, Carve dat possum, carve him to de heart; Oh, Carve dat possum, carve dat possum, children, Carve dat possum, carve him to de heart. 2. I reached up for to pull him in, Carve him to de heart; De possum he began to grin, Carve him to de heart; I carried him home and dressed him off; Carve him to de heart; I hung him dat night in de frost, Carve him to de heart. 3. De way to cook de possum sound, Carve him to de heart; Fust par-bile him, den bake him brown, Carve him to de heart; Lay sweet potatoes in de pan, Carve him to de heart; De sweetest eatin' in de lan', Carve him to de heart.
File: R276
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 98, September 24, 2021, as posted by user Tess_W. Probably at least influenced by a school version. Come all you rounders if you want to hear A story about a brave Engineer. Casey Jones was the Rounders name On a six eight wheeler, boys, he won his fame. The caller called Casey at a half past four. He kissed his wife at the station door. He mounted to the cabin with his orders in his hand And he took his farewell trip to that promised land. Chorus (after every verse) Casey Jones! Mounted to the cabin Casey Jones with his orders in his hand. Casey Jones mounted to the cabin And he took his farewell trip to that promised land. Put in your water and shovel in your coal Put your head out the window watch them drivers roll I ll run her till she leaves the rail Cause I m eight hours late with that western mail. He looked at his watch and his watch was slow. He looked at the water and the water was low. He turned to the Fireman and he said We re going to reach Frisco but we ll all be dead. Casey said just before he died, There s two more roads that I d like to ride. Fireman said, What could that be? The Southern Pacific and the Santa Fe. Mrs. Jones sat on her bed a sighing Just received a message that Casey was dying Said to go bed children and hush your crying Cause you got another papa on the Salt Lake Line.
File: LG01
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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
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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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The Wandering Young Gentlewoman, or Catskin From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 335-342. Collated from three broadsides. You fathers and mothers, and children also, Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say The like's not been heard of this many a day. The subject which to you I am to relate, It is of a young squire of vast estate; The first dear infant his wife did him bear, It was a young daughter of beauty most rare. He said to his wife, 'Had this child been a boy, 'Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy, If the next be the same sor, I declare, Of what I'm possessed it shall have no share.' (53 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo335
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The Cowman's Prayer From Jim Bob Tinsley, He Was Singin' This Song, University of Central Florida, 1981, p. 108. Lord, please help me, lend me Thine ear, The prayer of a troubled cowman to hear. No doubt my prayer to you may seem strange, But I want you to bless my cattle range. Bless the roundups year by year; Please then don't forget the growing steer. Water the land with brooks and rills For my cattle that roam on a thousand hills. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FCW126
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From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #162, p. 170. No source indicated. There's cauld kail in Aberdeen ANd castocks in Strathbogie; Gin I hae but a bony lass, Ye're welcome to your Cogie. And ye may sit up a' the night; And drink till it be braid daylight; Gie me a lass baith clean and tight, To dance the Reel of Bogie. (4 additional stanzas)
File: BdCKAb3
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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
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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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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Charlie had a pigeon a pigeon a pigeon, Charlie had a pigeon a pigeon had he. It flew in the morning, it flew in the night, and when it came home it was covered in...
File: LTCSCHAP
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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
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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 LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Christmas is coming, the goose is getting fat, Please put a penny in the old man's hat; If you haven't got a penny a ha'penny will do, If you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you.
File: BGMG419
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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
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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
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, p. 375. Source not listed.
Quoth John to Joan, wilt thou have me?
I prythee now, wilt? and I'ze marry with thee,
My cow, my calf, my house, my rents,
And all my lands and tenements:
Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do?
I cannot come every day to woo.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo374B
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 389-390. Said to have been communicated by Sandys. The bonny month of June is crowned With the sweet scarlet rose; The groves and meadows all around With lovely pleasure flows. As I walked out to yonder green One evening so fair; All where the fair maids may be seen Playing at the bonfire. (4 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo389
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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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The Farmer's Son From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 366-368. Source not clear; perhaps the 1729 Vocal Miscellany. 'Sweet Nelly! my heart's delight! Be loving, and do not slight The proffer made, for modesty's sake: -- I honor your beauty bright. For love, I profess, I can do no less, Thou hast my favour won: And since I see your modesty, I pray agree, and fancy me, Though I'm but a farmer's son.' (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo366
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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
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 383-384. Source not listed.
God rest you, merry gentlemen!
Be not moved at my strain,
For nothing study shall my brain,
But for to make you laugh:
For I came here to this feast,
For to laugh, carouse, and jest,
And welcome shall be every guest
To take his cup and quaff.
Chorus: Be frolicsome, every one,
Melancholy none,
Drink about!
See it out,
And then we'll all go home,
And then we'll all go home!
(3 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo382
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
(No title in manuscript.) Text based on the manuscript, as transcribed in: A. P. J. P. Goldberg, editor, _Richard Scrope: Archbishop, Rebel, Martyr_, Shaun Tyas, 2007, Text on pp. 114-115 edited by Stephen K. Wright. B. Frederick J. Furnival, _Hymns to the Virgin and Christ, The Parliament of Devils, and other Religious Poems, chiefly from The Archbishop of Canterbury's Lambeth MS. #853_, Early English Text Society, Tuebner & Co., 1867, p. 128 C. Rossell Hope Robbins, _Historical Poems of the XIVth and XVth Century_, Columbia University Press, 1959, #31, p. 90 Where the transcriptions differ, I have adopted the majority reading (in 4:2-3, where all three differ, I take the reading most like Modern English). All variations in text are marked it with a * and a footnote and the end. Punctuation and capitalization are mine, and modern. U/v differences are not noted. Square brackets mark abbreviations that have been filled out, e.g. 2.3 w[i]t[h] for MS wt; these derive from A since the other two transcriptions silently expand Hay hay hay hay, thynke on* Whitsonmonday.* The bysshop Scrope that was so wyse, Nowe is he dede and lowe he lyse, To Hevyns blys yhit may he ryse Thurghe help of Marie that mylde may. Hay.... When* he was broght unto the hyll, He held hym* both mylde and styll; He toke his deth w[i]t[h] full gode wyll*, As I have herde full* trewe men say.j Hay.... He that shulde his dethe be, He kneled downe uppon* his kne, "Lord yo[ur] deth forgyffe it me Full* hertly here to yowe I pray." Hay.... "Here I wyll* the com[m]ende, Th[o]u* gyff me fyve strokys w[i]t[h] thy hende, And than* my wayes thou* latt me wende To Hevyns blys that lastys ay.' Hay.... Variations: Chorus/line 2: AC "on"; B "o§," i.e. "onn"? / AB: "Whitsonmonday"; C "Whitson monday" 2.1, AC "When"; B "When§," i.e. "Whenn"? 2.2, AC "hym"; B "hy ," i.e. "hymm"? 2.3, AC "full gode wyll," B "full[e] gode wyll[e]" 2.4, AC "full"; B "full[e]" 3.2, AC "uppon"; B "vppo§," i.e. "uponn"? 3.4, AC "Full"; B "Full[e]." 4.1C, A "wyll"; B "wyll[e] 4.2+4.3, A "Th[o]u"; B "yu," i.e. "Ëu," i.e. "Th[o]u"; C "Ëou," i.e. "Thou" 4.3 AC "than"; B "the§," i.e. "thenn"? Modernized version: Hey, hey, hey, hey, Think on Whitson Nonday. The bishop Scrope that was so wise, Now he is dead, and low he lies, To Heaven's bliss yet may he rise Through help of Mary that mild may [maid]. When he was brought unto the hill, He held him(self) both mild and still; He took his death with full good will, As I have heard full true men say. He that should he death be [i.e. presumably the executioner], He knelt down upon his knee, 'Lord, your death forgive it me, Full heartily here to you I pray." "Here I will you commend: You give me five strokes with your hand, And then my way you let me wend [go], To Heaven's bliss that lasts ay [always]."
File: MsDArScr
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 Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 164-166. From a manuscript in the Barry collection. What mournful sounds invade mine ear? What notes of anguish do I hear? Is it the voice of death? Ah! yes sweet blooming Lydia dies Her spirit seeks the heavenly skies Death stops her fickle breath. Like some fair flower with beauty crown'd That sheads its balmy fragrance round And withers ere tis noon: So fell this lovely blooming bride, Her Husband's joy, her Parents pride A rose bud croped too soon. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FlNG164
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
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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
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From Mellinger Edward Henry, Songs Sung in the Southern Appalachians, London, 1934, pp. 157-158. Originally taken down by Prof. Artus M. Moser, Harrowgate, Tennessee, in 1932. A very similar version is in Cambiaire. Once I courted a pretty little miss; I courted her for my own; But now I've lost my pretty little miss; She's taken her flight and she's gone, She's taken her flight and she's gone. I walked up and I waked down Just like a man in a maze; I hallooed and I whooped and I played on my flute; But my pretty little miss I could not find, But my pretty little miss I could not find. I looked east and I looked west As far as my eyes could discern And there I spied my pretty little miss; Locked up in another man's arms, Locked up in another man's arms. Oh, she gave me a smiling, kind look Just like she had seen me before; But I guess I passed her by and I never cast an eye; But I fetched out a mournful groan, But I fetched out a mournful groan. No you've got my pretty little miss, Be sure that you use her well; Be sure that you keep her close about your house; Or I'll walk with her once in a spell, Or I'll walk with her once in a spell.
File: Camb039
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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
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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
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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
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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
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 78, September 19, 2021, as posted by user John5918. My old man said follow the van, and don't dilly dally on the way. Off went the van wiv me 'ome packed in it, I followed on wiv me old cock linnet. But I dillied, I dallied, I dallied and I dillied, lost me way and don't know where to roam. You can't trust a special like the old time copper when you can't find your way 'ome...
File: LTCSDDDW
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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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
(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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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From (National Magazine), "Heart Songs," Chapple Publishing Company, 1909, pp. 222-223. Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming, Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer; Thou wert the star that mild beaming Shone o'er my path when all was dark and drear. Still in my heart they form I cherish, Ev'ry kind thought like a bird, flies to thee; Ah! never till life and mem'ry perish Can I forget how dear thou art to me; Morn, noon, and night, Where'er I may be, Fondly I'm dreaming ever of thee, Fondly I'm dreaming ever of thee. (1 additional stanza)
File: HeSo222
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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
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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
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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 John Ashton, Real Sailor-Songs, Leadenhall Press, London, 1891; reprinted by D. N. Goodchild, Philadelphia, 2006, #64. The ship was rocking in the offing, Jack could with Fan no longer stay, Some pitied him, and some were scoffing, As the bold tars got under weigh. His handkerchief in air was waving, Till he could see his love no more. Yet, as he went, all dangers braving, He thought upon his Fan ashore. (3 additional stanzas)
File: AshS064
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 349-357. Said to be from an "ancient MS." Ye men that will of aunters wynne, That late within this lande hath bin, Of on I will yow telle; And of a sewe that was sea strang, Alas! that ever scho lives sea long, For fell folk scho wele. Scho was mare than other three, The grizeliest beast that were mote bee, Her hede was greate and graye; Scho was bred in Rokebye woode, Ther war few that thither yoode, But cam belive awaye. (39 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo347
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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 124-126. Apparently from a broadside dated 1796; no publisher indicated. Ye females of every station, Give ear to my frolicksome song; The like was ne'er known in the nation, 'Twas done by a female so young. She bought her a horse and a bridle, With saddle and pistols also; Resolving not to remain idle, But on the highway she would go. She clothed herself in great splendour, Her breeches and sword she had on; Her body appeared mighty slender, 'Twas dressed like a pretty young man. (12 additional stanzas)
File: WT267
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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
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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
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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
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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
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 68, September 1, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY. Kumala, kumala, kumala vista No no no no no na vista Esameanie solameanie oowatu ollameanie. Esameanie solameanie oowatua E skidally oaten boaten bobo baditendotum-watum-totum Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
File: OpGa115
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As supplied by Dr. Kevin Bucknall, who reports collecting (learning it "back in 1967 when I moved to live next door to an ex war pilot in St. Albans, UK. "I can only remember two verses of the song that he sang -- OK, I am now in my eighties and it was a long time ago! And he and I were mostly drinking beer when he sang the song. Maybe there were only two verses plus two choruses. His version was slightly different but he always sang both verses as I recall.... (sometimeˇhe reversed the order and sang [the second versr] as the first verse; it did not seem to matter much) He said they used to sing it as a group in the Mess. He invariably ended the song with the statement: "There was I, upside down, nothing on the clock but the maker's name" VERSE The RAF were flying Lancasters at zero zero feet The RAF were flying Lancasters at zero zero feet The RAF were flying Lancasters at zero zero feet With their silver ammunition and a teeny-weeny bomb. ˇ CHORUS Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die Glory, glory what a hell of a way to die With their silver ammunition and a teeny-weeny bomb. ˇ SECOND VERSE The Yanks were flying Fortresses at fifty-thousand feet The Yanks were flying Fortresses at fifty-thousand feet The Yanks were flying Fortresses at fifty-thousand feet With their silver ammunition and a teeny-weeny bomb." repeat CHORUS
File: Hopk061
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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
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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
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Supplied by Joanna Ralston on July 22, 2011. She reports: Grandma, Thelma Ophelia Patterson Jones is 95 now. Her brother, during the Depression, took off hobo-ing and often brought back music for them to play, all of which was learned by ear. They were a musical family which lived all over Georgia and North Carolina. I don't know where-all he roamed. Once, they lived by a member of Gid Tanner's band, who taught them to play on his guitar when they were kids. I just went to see Grandma this morning. Her mind is a little faulty, but this is what we came up with between us: For seven long years I been married; I wish I'd lived an old maid. My husband, he drinks and he gambles and now he won't work at his trade. He promised me when we were married to dress me all stylish and gay. But now it's nothin' but trouble; my husband won't work at his trade. Once I had a fine milk cow; I fed her on sweet clover hay. My husband, he swapped her for whiskey one cold Christmas eve day. She didn't agree, but I think there was a line like "Now it's work, work, work in the morning" and some line about "now it's all work and no play". Pretty sure it ends with a line like, "Oh, girls, you'll never know trouble till you've tied yourself to a man."
File: RcFSLYBM
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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
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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
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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
Complete text(s)
The Frog's Courtship
Collected by Nancy Roeder from her mother in 1992-1993. You can find
information about this oral history project at https://bit.ly/2KQwyLQ.
A frog went a-courting, he did ride,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
With a sword and a pistol by his side,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
He rode right up to the mill house door,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
He rapped and he rapped till he made things roar,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
He said, "Lady Mouse, are you within?"
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
"Oh yes, kind Sir, I'm trying to spin,"
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
He took Lady Mouse on his knee,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
And whispered gently, "Will you marry me?"
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
"I cannot answer, Sir, to that,"
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
"Until I ask old Uncle Rat,"
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
Old Uncle Rat laughed and shook his fat sides,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
To think that his niece would be a bride
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
"Oh where shall our wedding supper be?
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
"Away up yonder in a hollow tree,"
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
"Oh what shall our wedding supper be?"
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
"A slice of bread and a cup of tea,"
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
The first that came was a an old gray mare,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
Her head was shaved and her tail was bare,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
The next that came was an old red cow,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
She came to dance but she didn't know how,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
The next that came was a little brown dog,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
He carried his whiskey in a little brown jug,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
The next that came was a bumble bee,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
He carried his banjo on his knee,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o
There's bread and cheese upon the shelf,
Tie lie loo fa laddie-o
If you want any more you can sing it yourself,
Talla fa loo fa laddie-o.
Also supplied by Nancy Roeder's mother. This version has exactly the same words in each stanza as Version A, except for the second and fourth lines. The first stanza is given as an example. Lines 2 and 4 are repeated, just as the alternative lines are repeated in Version A. Following each stanza is a four-line chorus, unlike Version 1, which may be repeated after each stanza as desired.
A frog went a-courting, he did ride,
Ring down body won't you kime-bo,
With a sword and a pistol by his side
Ring down body won't you kime-bo.
(Chorus)
Kime-bo, kim-bo, a-ro, ja-ro
A come a flap strap
Flamadoodle - yellow booger
Ring down body won't you kime-bo.
Kitty Along A third Roeder Family version. It's short enough that it might belong to several songs, but it has the basic "Frog" text, so I've filed it here. - RBW There was a frog lived in a well, Kitty along - Kitty along. There was a frog lived in a well, Kitty alo-o-ong. There was a frog lived in a well And in a mill a mouse did dwell, Kitty along - Kitty along. The frog went hopping up the lake, Kitty along - Kitty along. The frog went hopping up the lake, Kitty alo-o-ong. The frog went hopping up the lake, And he was swallowed by a snake, Kitty along - Kitty along. The snake went crawling up the brook, Kitty along - Kitty along. The snake went crawling up the brook, And this is the end of my little book, Kitty along - Kitty along.
File: R108
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 464-465. Source not indicated. Full merrily sings the cuckoo Upon the beechen tree; Your wives you well should look to, If you take advice of me. Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the morn, When of married men Full nine in ten Must be content to wear the horn. Full merrily sings the cuckoo Upon the oaken tree; Your wives you well should look to, If you take advice of me. Cuckoo! cuckoo! alack the day! For married men But now and then, Can 'scape to bear the horn away. (3 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo464
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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
Partial text(s)
No title.
From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems
from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan
Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #9,
pp. 5-6. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the
abbreviations not marked and obsolete letters modernized.
Nova, nove: Aue fitt ex Eva.
Ganriell of hygh degre,
He cam down from the trynyte,
From Nazareth to Galalye.
vt nova.
He mete a mayden in a place;
He kneled down be fore her face
He sayd: "Hayle, Mary, full of grace!"
vt nova.
When the maydyn sawe all this,
She was sore abashed, ywys,
Lest that she had done a-mys.
vy nova.
(5 additional stanzas)
File: Ricke030
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
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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
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
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
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 193, May 18, 2022. From user John5918. Believed to have been learned "nearly forty years ago." Wor Geordie's, lost his penker, wor Geordie's lost his penker, wor Geordie's lost his penker, doon the double raa. He's lost it doon the cundy (x3), doon the double raa. Wor Geordie couldna fetch it (x3), doon the double raa. Sae he went an' fetched a clathes prop (x3), doon the double raa. He RAMMED it oop the cundy (x3), doon the double raa. But still he couldna fetch it (x3), doon the double raa. Sae he went and fetched a terrier (x3), doon the double raa. He tied it to the clathes prop (x3), doon the double raa. He RAMMED it oop the cundy (x3), doon the double raa. But still he couldna fetch it (x3), doon the double raa. Sae he went and fetched some dynamite (x3), doon the double raa. He tied it to the terrier (x3), doon the double raa. He RAMMED it oop the cundy (x3), doon the double raa. Noo there's nee bloody cundy (x3), and nee double raa. Wor Geordie's foond his penker (x3), doon the double raa. Twas in his bloody pocket (x3), doon the double raa.
File: RcGLHP
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
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 421-422. Said to be based on a version in Notes and Queries; date not given. The stwons that built George Ridler's oven, ANd thany keam vrom the Bleakney quaar, And George he wur a golly old mon, And his yead it growed above his yare. One thing of George Ridler I must comment, And that wur vor a notable thing; He mead his brags avoore he died, Wi' any dree brooders his zons zshould zing. (7 additional stanzas, with equally affected spelling)
File: WT291
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
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Gin gang, goolie goolie goolie goolie watcha, Gin gang goo, Gin gang goo Heyla, heyla sheyla, Heyla sheyla, Heyla, ho! Heyla, heyla sheyla, Heyla sheyla, Heyla, ho! Shallywally, shallywally! Shallywally, shallywally! Oompah-oompah! Oompah-oompah!
File: LTCS04E
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)
From Fred High, Old, Old Folk Songs, p. 36. Text reproduced as printed.
Things keep breaking every day at some place on the farm
we boys lose lots of time that way & do a lot of harm
But some one makes the loss allright & pulls us from the mire
By mending things all most at sight by useing bailing wire.
Chorse
Good Old bailing wire, good old bailing wire
U can weld your chains away from home without expense or fire
the man that says it is no good he surely is a lier
For what on earth would we all do without our bayling wire
(3 additional stanzas. Probably, anyway -- given the orthography,
it's hard to tell....)
File: High036
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
Complete text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Goosey goosey gander, Whither shall I wander? Upstairs and downstairs And in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man Who wouldn't say his prayers, So I took him by his left leg And threw him down the stairs.
File: BGMG089
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)
No title.
From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems
from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan
Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #90,
pp. 106-108. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the
abbreviations not marked and obsolete letters modernized. (This
text uses both thorn and yogh, making it look older than most of
Hill's texts, hinting that he took it from an older manuscript or
printed source.)
Hoow, gossip myne, gossip myn,
Whan will we go to the wyne,
Good gossip[is myne?]
I shall you tell a full good sport,
How gossipis gader them on a sort,
Ther seke bodyes to comforte
Whan they mete
In lane or stret,
God gossipis myn.
But I dare not, for ther dissplesans,
Thell of thes maters half the substance,
But yet sum what of ther gouernance
As ferre as I dare,
I will declare,
Good gossipis myn.
(21 additional stanzas)
File: MSGosMee
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 407-408. Source not indicated. 'Tis Greenside wakes, we've come to the town To show you some sport of great renown; And if my old wife will let me begin, I'll show you how fast how well I can spin. Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell, O' 'Thou brags of thyself, but I don't think it true, For I will uphold thy faults are not a few; For when thou has done, and spun very hard, Of this I'm well sure, thy work is ill marred, Tread the wheel, tread the wheel, dan, don, dell, O.' (3 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo407
Complete text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
From John Ashton, Real Sailor-Songs, Leadenhall Press, London, 1891; reprinted by D. N. Goodchild, Philadelphia, 2006, #52 insert. 'Twas in the good ship ROver, I sail'd the world around, And for three years and over, I ne'er touch'd British ground. At length in England landed, I left the roaring main, Found all relations stranded, And went to Sea again. That time bound straight to Portugal, Right fore and aft we bore, But, when we'd made Cape Ortugal, A gale blew off the shore. (5 additional stanzas)
File: AshS052i
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
Complete text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, The Heritage Book of Ballads, 1967, pp. 182-183. Source not indicated. There was a rich Dutchman In New York did dwell; He had a fine daughter The truth for to tell. Her name was Katrina, As sweet as a rose, And she had a large fortune In the hands of old Mose. As Katrina was drinking buttermilk one day, Her father came to her thus he did say, "Now hurry up, Katrina, the parlor go to, There's a young man waits to go riding with you." (6 additional stanzas)
File: LeHe182
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 48-52. Said to be from "the Townsend MSS." You parents who have children dear To what I shall relate give ear In Barnet lived a happy pair A tender wife and husband dear When cruel death of life beguild He left his wife with but one child It was a daughter therefore she Was brought up very tenderly.... (128 additional lines, some lines lost, and either the song changed format or the lineation is defective.)
File: FlNG048
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)
Hardyknute or The Battle of Largs From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 221-230. Source not indicated. Stately stepp'd he east the wall. And statly stepp'd he west; Full seventy years he now had seen. With scarce seven years of rest. He lived when Britons' breach of faith Wrought Scotland meikle wae; And aye his sword tauld, to their cost, He was their deadly fae. High on a hill his castle stood, With halls and tow'rs a height. And goodly chambers fair to see, Where he lodged many a knight. His dame, sae peerless ance and fair, For chaste and beauty deem'd, Nae marrow had in all the land, Save Elenor, the queen. (40 additional stanzas)
File: MBra221
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 375-376. Source not listed. Harry courted modest Mary, Mary was always brisk and airy; Harry was country neat as could be, But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy. Harry when he first bespoke her, [Kept a dandling the kitchen poker;] Mary spoke her words like Venus, But said, 'There's something I fear between us.' (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo375
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
Complete text(s)
As copied down by Agnes EE Kemmerer, of Limeport, Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, on January 28, 1880. Copy of the manuscript provided to me by Timothy Warke. Transcribed as accurately as I can from a scan of an original that is a century and a quarter old -- the lack of apostrophes, e.g., is original, as is the lineation. 1. Oh, have you heard geography sung? For if youve not, its on my tongue. About the Earth in air[1] thats hung, All covered with green little islands. Oceans, gulfs, and bays, and seas; Channels and straits, sounds if you please; Great Arch- ipela-goes, too, and all these Are covered with green little islands. 2. All o'er the earth are water and land, Beneath the ships or where we stand; And far beyond the ocean strand are thousands of green little islands. Continents and capes(?) there are, Isthmus and then peninsula, Mountain and valley, and shore streatch- ing (sic.) far. And thousands of green little isla- nds. 3. All o'er the globe some[2] circles are found: From east to west they streatch (sic.) around, Some go from north to soundern bound Right over the green little islands. Great equator, tropics two, Latitude lines, longitude, too[3] bold polar circles and all these go thro' The thousands of green little islands. 4. Oh! don't you think 'tis pleasant to know About the sea and land just so? And how the lines, the circles, go, Right over the green little islands. Now you hear how we can sing; This is to-day, all we can bring. Come[?] again soon and then you shall here (sic.) sung The names[4] of the green little islands. [1] First hand reads "are"; corrected to "air" [2] First hand appears to read "sone," with "m" written above the "n" [3] Copy is difficult to read. Text might be "too," "two," or something else. [4] Text is corrected here, with neither text nor correction being clear. The intended word is probably "names"; the original appears to read "namer."
File: ScaSC075
Partial text(s)
A mery Ballet of the Hathorne tre to be song after donkin dargeson From Peter J. Seng, _Tudor Songs and Ballads from MS Cotton Vespasian A-25_, Harvard University Press, 1978, #38, pp. 82-83. Derived from folios 154-155 of London, British Library MS. Cotton Vespasian A.xxv (67), folios 154-155 It was a maide of my countre as she came by the hathornetre as full of flowers as might be seen se marveld to se the tre so grene At last she asked of this tre howe came this fresnes vnto the and every brance so fair & clene I marvaile that you grow so grene (11 additional stanzas)
File: LyCr104
Partial text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 297-298. From Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany. He that will not merry, merry be, With a generous bowl and toast, May he in Bridewell be shut up, And fast bound to a post: Let him be merry, merry there, And we'll be merry, merry here; For who can know where we shall go To be merry another year? (3 additional stanzas)
File: WT051
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
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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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From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #209, p. 218. No source indicated; tune said to be Highlander's Lament My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strade he on the plain; But now he's banishe'd far away, I'll never see him back again. Chorus: O for him back again, O for him back again, I wad gie a Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again. When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen; I set me down and greet my fill, And ay I wish him back again. O for him &c. O were some villains hangit high, And ilka body had their ain! Then I might see the joyfu' sight My Highlan Harry back again. O for him &c.
File: GrD1134
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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 Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 219-221. As recalled by Constance Upham of Andover, Vermont.
I call the attention of each merry blade.
Be still as a mouse and let nothing be said.
I'll sing you a song it will please you to hear,
How lately two men had a fray with a bear.
Chorus
Mush a tuther a-la,
Tuth-a-la, tuther-a-la.
Mush-a tuther-a-la.
It was one Tabor Coombs and Sam Esterbrooks,
They were not very handsome but quite clever folks.
'Twas on Turkey mountain, I think it was there,
They had such a terrible fray with a bear.
...
'Tis the nature of bears to slaughter for pelf,
But seeing two rivals look worse than himself,
He sprang to a hemlock and at them did stare,
Then with great dexterity, up went the bear.
(Stanzas 1, 2, 8 of 10)
File: FlNG219
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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 LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 82, September 21, 2021, as posted by user LadyLo. There is probably print influence. O give me a home where the buffaloes roam Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day Where the air is so pure and the zephyrs so free And the breezes so balmy and light That I would not exchange my home on the range For all of the cities so bright Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day How often at night when the heavens are bright With the light of the glittering stars I stand there amazed and I ask as I gaze Does their glory exceed that of ours? Home, home on the range Where the deer and the antelope play Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And the skies are not cloudy all day This post caused user John5918 to supply a parody he knew (post 84, September 22, 2021): "Home on the Range" is one of very many songs which were adapted by proponents of one side or other in Northern Ireland to promote their particular religious and political ideology. Most of the ones I know are Catholic/Republican, but this one was a Protestant/Unionist effort. While it might be offensive to some, it is less offensive and violent than many of these type of adaptations, and it is indicative of the strong feelings on both sides. Oh give me a home Where there's no Pope of Rome Where there's nothing but Protestants stay Where seldom is heard a discouraging word And flute bands play 'The Sash' every day No, no Pope of Rome No chapels to sadden my eyes No nuns and no priests No rosary beads Every day is the 12th of July...
File: R193
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Ballet From Peter J. Seng, _Tudor Songs and Ballads from MS Cotton Vespasian A-25_, Harvard University Press, 1978, #22, pp. 42-44. Derived from folios 154-155 of London, British Library MS. Cotton Vespasian A.xxv (67), folios 150-142. By west off late as I dyd walke in the pryme tyme of the day yt was my chaunce to here the talke of two yonge folks in say they had not been marred at the kyrke thre days then fully past the goodman bad hys wyffe to worke nay soft quot she no hast ffor now / I wyll quod she / not worke for the I make to god a vowe / (10 additional stanzas)
File: PJSe022
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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 James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #191, p. 199. No source indicated. Oh! what had I a do for to marry; My wife she drinks naithing but sack and canary; I to her friends complain'd right early: O gin my wife wou'd drink hooly and fairly hooly and fairly, hooly and fairly, O gin my wife wou'd drink hooly and fairly. (stanzas not indicated, but there appear to be eight more on this pattern)
File: McCST111
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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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(No Title) Collected by Pamela J. Chance, Raleigh, North Carolina, from her father, Winton Lewis Chance, Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan (born July 27, 1920). He learned it from his father, Floyd Alden Chance of Indiana. Transmitted to the Ballad Index on November 11, 2010. According to Winton Chance, his tune is not the same as the New Lost City Ramblers' version. Chorus: Hop along a PeeDee, Hop along a PeeDee, where you goin'? Where you goin'? Skunk's on the wall blowing his nose. Toad's in the grass wearing soldiers clothes. The old grey goose and the old gray nag, playing the banjo, rally 'round the flag. An additional verse uses the words "fox in the hole," but Mr. Chance cannot recall the full verse.
File: CSW104
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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 Margaret Bradford Boni, editor, _Songs of the Gilded Age_, with piano arrangements by Norman Lloyd and illustrations by Lucille Corcos, Golden Press, 1960, pp. 22-24. 'Twas on the good ship Cuspidor we sailed through Baffin's Bay; We tied her to the Ocean while the Bulwarks ate some hay, The Captain said "We'll tie the ship whatever else be-tied;" And he drank a pint of gasoline with whiskey on the side. He had lost his breath, but soon it was restored. It was midnight in the galley, it was one beside the dock, But by the starb'rd watch 'twas only half past nine o'clock. The first mate said, "Unhitch the mules, we're going thro' a lock," And then the Bo'sun went and put the larboard watch in "hock," For the good ship didn't have a cent aboard. CHORUS Avast! belay! hurrah for Baffin's Bay! We couldn't find the pole because the barber moved away. The boat was cold, we tho't we'd get the grip, So the painters put three coats upon the ship. Hip, hip, hip, hip, hurrah for Baffin's Bay (1 additional verse and chorus)
File: Harl230
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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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Printed in David C. Peterson, "Wisconsin Folksongs," chapter in _Badger History: Wisconsin Folklore_, State Historical Society of Wisconsin (Volume XXV, Number 2, November 1973), pp. 63-64, with a tune not by author William N. Allen. Originally printed in Luke S. Kearney, _The Hodag_, 1928. Presumably collected from the author. The leading question of today is argued ev'rywhere, About who'll be the lucky jay to fill the White House chair. Was Calvin nodding in the dark or was it just for fun That he should wire that cool remark, I DO NOT CHOOSE TO RUN. Now Calvin roams the northern wood on Lake Superior's shore If he meets a Hodag seeking food and hears his awful roar He'll throw away his fishing rod, his reel and fancy gun, And holler to himself, By Gosh, I THINK I CHOOSE TO RUN. (Stanzas 1, 6 of 6)
File: WHBD063
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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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Wooing Song of a Yeoman of Kent's Sonne
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 373-374, based on the version in Melismata, 1611.
Ich have house and land in Kent,
And if you'll love me, love me now;
Two-pence half-penny is my rent, --
Ich cannot come every day to woo.
Chorus: Two-pence half-penny is his rent,
And he cannot come every day to woo.
Ich am my father's eldest zonne,
My mother eke doth love me well!
For Ich can bravely clout my shoone,
And Ich full well can ring a bell.
Cho. For he can bravely clout his shoone,
And he full well can ring a bell.
(5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo373
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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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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 35, August 29, 2021, as posted by user John5918. A fragment. Sergeant John Brown was the pilot and the last to leave the plane... He jumped from forty thousand feet without a parachute... When he hit the runway he was going like a bomb... They scraped him off the tarmac like a dollop of strawberry jam... They put him in an envelope and sent him home to mum... She keeps him in a jam jar upon the mantel shelf...
File: Hopk123
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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 Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 57. 1. You may bury me in the East, You may bury me in the West; But I'll hear the trumpet sound, in the morning. Chorus. In that morning, my Lord, How I long to go, For to hear the trumpet sound, in the morning. (4 additional stanzas.)
File: ColS057
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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 LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 1, August 28, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY. I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up, then I shout: "Just tip me over and pour me out!"
File: Dolb161
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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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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 118, September 27, 2021. From user Tess_W. I'm Henry the VIIth I am, Henry the VIIIth I am, I am Wouldn't have a Willie or a John, no sir! It's Henry the VIIIth I am! (Each time we sang the song it was faster.) In post 119, John5918 remembered more: I'm 'enery the eighth I am, 'Enery the eighth I am I am, I got married to the widder next door, She'd been married seven times before, And every one was an 'enery, Never had a Willie nor a Sam, I'm 'er eighth old man called 'Enery, 'Enery the eighth I am" He adds, "I seem to recall Tommy Steele doing a good rendering of it. Eighth was of course pronounced eightf in true Cockney fashion."
File: LTCDHen8
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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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I'm o'er young to Marry Yet
From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #107, p. 110.
No source indicated.
I am my mammy's ae bairn,
Wi' unco folk I weary, Sir,
ANd lying in a man's bed,
I'm fley'd it make me irie, Sir,
I'm o'er young, I'm o'er young,
I'm o'er young to marry yet,
I'm o'er young, 'twad be a sin,
To tak me frae my mammy yet.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: GrD4900
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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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The Old Man's Song From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 460-461. Source not clearly indicated. If I live to grow old, for I find I go down, Let this be my fate in a country town: -- Ma I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate, And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate; May I govern my passions with absolute sway, And grow wiser and better as strength wears away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo460
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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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No title. From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #22, p. 12. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the abbreviations not marked and obsolete letters modernized (i.e. thorn becomes th). To blys God bryng vs all & sum, Christe redemptor omnium. In Bedlem, in that fayer cite, A chyle was born of owr Lady, Lord & prynce that he shuld be, A solus [ms. solis] ortus cardine. Chyldren were slayn grett plente; Jhesu, for the love of the, Lett vs neuer dampned be; Hostes Herodes ympie! (3 additional stanzas.)
File: MSIBitFC
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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 Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 22-23. 1. I'm gwine away by the light of the moon, Want all the children to follow me; I hope I'll meet you darkies soon, Halle, halle, halle, hallelujah! So tell the brothers that you meet, Want all the children to follow me; That I will travel on my feet, Halle, halle, halle, hallelujah! Chorus In the morning, morning by the bright light, Hear Gabriel's trumpet in the morning! (2 additional stanzas)
File: R304
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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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(No title.)
From the photographs in Edward Bliss Reed, editor, _Christmas Carols
Printed in the Sixteenth Century Including Kele's Christmas carolles
newely Inprynted reproduced in facsimile from the copy in the Huntington
Library_, Harvard University Press, 1932, pp. 36-37 [18-19].
Contractions and such have been silently modernized, but spelling is
retained and the (lack of) punctuation is not corrected.
Sygne Dyllum dyllum dyllum dyllum
I can tell you and I wyll
Of my ladyes water myll
It was a mayde of brentenars (sic.)
She rode to myll upon a horse
Yet was the mayden neuer the worse
Synge dyllum &c.
Layde she was upon a sacke
Stryke softe she sayd hurt not my backe
And spare not let the mylle clack
Synge dyllum &c.
Iwys the myller was full nyce
His mylstones hanged bothe by a byce
And wolde be walkynge at a tryce
Synge dyllum &c.
This mayd to myll ofte dyd resorte
And of her game made no reporte
But to her it was full great conforte
Synge dyllum &c.
Finis
File: STIWMBA
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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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From John Ashton, Real Sailor-Songs, Leadenhall Press, London, 1891;
reprinted by D. N. Goodchild, Philadelphia, 2006, #90 insert.
Here I am, poor Jack,
Come home a long voyage from sea,
With shiners in my sack,
Pray, what do you think of me?
Eight long years I have been,
Cruizing the wide world over,
Many droll sights I have seen,
But I wish the wars was over.
Fal lal la.
I have sail'd in many a flood,
Where cans of grog did pour,
Fought up to my knees in blood,
Where bullets stray in showers;
Where the French cry out, "Mare blue,"
And Dutch cry out percavi,
The Danes and Spaniards too,
When tumbling to Old Davy.
Fal lal la.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: AshS090i
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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
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As transcribed by Doris Chriswell of Palmyra, NY. From a copy in a family Bible. It was " written by John JamesˇJohnson Jan. 28th 1881." Johnson, Chriswell's great grandfather, "lived on the Ohio and Indiana frontier border and eventually farmed tobaccoˇat 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
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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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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 385-387. Immediate source not clearly stated. A hosier lived in Leicester, As I've heard many tell, He had a handsome witty wife, And loved her full well. And he was touched with jealosy, As often you shall hear, Which caused his handsome witty wife Many a bitter tear. Each night he got a drinking, And roving up and down, And often it was midnight Before he e'er came home. (15 additional stanzas)
File: Log385
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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 James Johnson, editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 reprint edition], p. 53, #52. No source indicated. O Saw ye Jenny Nettles; Jenny Nettles, Jenny Nettles? Saw ye Jenny Nettles, Coming frae the market; Wi' bag and baggage on her back, Her fee and bountith in her lap, wi' Bag and baggage on her back, And a baby in her oxter. (2 additional stanzas)
File: GrD81725
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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 Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 265-268. Reportedly from the Lincoln Intelligencer of Wiscasset, Main, June 25, 1825. Did y'ever go to a "Junket," A thing very common of late, The' the name for a while it was sunk -- it Now is fast coming to date. Then the boys and the girls meet together, Full of gaiety, gladness and glee, And they skip round as light as a feather, And never go home till 'tis three. The first thing the fiddle goes squeaking, And the beaux pull the girls on the floor In such a hury, that some fall a-shrieking, And some in a loud laughter roar. (17 additional stanzas)
File: FlNG265
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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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Jim Bludso of the Prairie Belle From Martin Gardner, Famous Poems from Bygone Days, pp. 85-86. Wall, no! I can't tell whar he lives, Becase he don't live, you see; Leastways, he's got out of the habit Of livin' like you and me. Whar have you been for the last three year That you haven't heard folks tell How Jimmy Bludsoe passed in his checks The night of the Prairie Belle? (6 additional stanzas)
File: Pet240
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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
Complete text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 149, October 27, 2021.
From user Crypto-Willobie, with observations about performance:
John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt
That's my name too! *
Whenever I go out
The people always shout
There goes John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt!
Da da da da da da da
We kids loved this song because it allowed us to shout.
The same verse would be repeated (endlessly almost) and the first
part would get quieter and quieter with each repeat, until it was
barely a whisper, while the Da da da da da da da got louder and
louder each time until we were bellowing fit to break the winders...
*{some versions give this line as 'his name is my name too'}
File: FSWB240B
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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
Complete text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Partial text(s)
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
Complete text(s)
"The Mariner's Glee"
As found in Sea Songs and Ballads by [Charles] Dibdin and Others
(London, 1863 ("Digitized by Google")), p. 185. "From 'Deuteromelia;
or, the Second Part of Musick's Melodie,' &c. 1609."
We be three poor mariners
Newly come from the seas;
We spend our lives in jeopardy,
While others live at ease.
Shall we go dance the round, around,
Shall we go dance the round?
And he that is a bully boy,
Come pledge me on the ground.
We care not for those martial men
That do our states disdain;
But we care for those merchant men
That do our states maintain.
To them we dance this round, around,
To them we dance this round;
And he that is a bully boy,
Come pledge me to the ground.
File: OpGa039
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)
No title.
From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems
from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan
Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #30,
pp. 16-18. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the abbreviations
not marked.
Can I not syng but hoy
Whan the joly sheperd made so mych joy.
I
The sheperd vpon a hill he satt,
He had on hym his tabard & his hat,
His tarbox, hys pype & and hys flagat;
Hys name was called joly, joly Wat;
For he was a gud herdis boy,
Vt hoy!
For in his pype he made so mych joy.
Can I not syng but hoy
Whan the joly sheperd made so mych joy.
The sheperd vpon a hyll wsa layd,
His doge to hys gyrdyll was tayd;
He had not slept but a lytill broyd,
But "Gloria in excelcis" was to hym sayd,
Vt hoy!
For in his pype he mad so myche joy.
Can I not syng but hoy
Whan the joly sheperd made so mych joy.
(8 additional stanzas)
File: OBB103
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 432-433. Source not indicated. Says Jone to his wife, on a hot summer's day, 'I'm resolved i' Grinfilt no lunger to stay; For I'll go to Owdham os fast os I can, So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan; A soger I'll be, un brave Owdham I'll see, Un I'll ha'e a battle wi' th' French.' 'Dear Jone,' then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried, 'Wilt be one o' th' foote, or tha meons to ride?' 'Odsounds! wench, I'll ride oather ass or a mule, Ere I'll kewer i' Grinfilt os black as te dule, Booath clemmink un starvink, un never a fardink, Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad. (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo432
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
Partial text(s)
From Margaret Bradford Boni, editor, _Songs of the Gilded Age_, with piano arrangements by Norman Lloyd and illustrations by Lucille Corcos, Golden Press, 1960, pp. 68-70. I'm in love with a sweet little girlie, only one, only one, I meet her each morning quite early, rain or sun, rain or sun, To work we go together, Just as gay as can be. We're truly two birds of a feather, Just one little girl and me. Chorus: Just one girl, only just one girl, There are otherss, I know, but they're not my Pearl. Sun or rain, She is just the same, I'll be happy forever with just one girl. (1 additional stanza)
File: R789
Partial text(s)
From Margaret Bradford Boni, editor, _Songs of the Gilded Age_, with piano arrangements by Norman Lloyd and illustrations by Lucille Corcos, Golden Press, 1960, pp. 113-115. 1. While strolling down the street one eve upon mere pleasure bent, 'Twas after business wories of the day, I saw a girl who shrank from me in whom I recognized My schoolmate in a village far away. "Is that you, Madge," I said to her, she quickly turned away. "Don't turn away, Madge, I am still your friend; Next week I'm going back to see the old folks and I thought Perhaps some message you would like to send." Chorus "Just tell them that you saw me," She said, "They'll know the rest. Just tell them I was looking well, you know, Just whisper if you get a chance to Mother dear, and say, I love her as I did long, long ago." (1 additional stanza)
File: Dean124
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
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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
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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
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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
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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 Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, p. 431-432. Apparently a version printed by Alex. Melbourne.
There was an old chap in the west country,
A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,
'Twas all about felling of five oak trees,
And building a house upon his own ground.
Right too looral, looral, looral -- right to looral la!
Now, this old chap to Lunnon would go,
To tell the king a part of his woe,
Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,
In hopes the king would give him relief.
(8 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo430
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 110-116, a version based on Percy's. On Trinity Monday in the morn, This sore battayle was doomed to be Where many a knight cried, 'Well-awaye! Alack, it was the more pity. Ere the first crowing of the cock, When as the king in his bed lay, He thought Sir Gawaine to him came, And there to him these words did say: (28 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo108
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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
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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.
Singing Game (King William was King James's Son) Collected by Nancy Roeder from her mother in 1992-1993. You can find information about this oral history project at https://bit.ly/2KQwyLQ. King William was King James's son, And from a royal race he sprung; Upon his breast he wore a star Of gold and silver, the sign of war. Go choose to the East, Go choose to the West, Go choose the one that you love best, And if she's (he's) not there to take your part Go choose another with all your heart. Down on this carpet you must kneel As sure as the grass grows green in the field. Salute your bridge and kiss her (him) sweet, And now you may rise up to 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
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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
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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
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 78, September 19, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Knees up Mother Brown, Knees up Mother Brown Under the table you must go, Ee-aye, Ee-aye, Ee-aye-oh If I catch you bending I ll saw your legs right off Knees up, knees up, don t get the breeze up Knees up Mother Brown...
File: Hopk017A
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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Lady Bothwell's Lament From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #130, pp. 135-136. No source indicated. Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep; It grieves me sore to hear thee weep: If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad; Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, Thy father bred me great annoy. Balow, balow, balow, balow, balow, balow, balow, lu lilli lu. Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak'st then sweetly smile: But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid, For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin'd me. Balow, balow &c. (11 additional stanzas)
File: GrD81560
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Taken by Pamela Reinagel from an anonymous singer in Boyne Falls, Michigan, USA, in July, 2013. The singer stated that she had originally learned it from printed matter, which may well have been Child (words) and Bronson (tune). In her version, however, most of the Scots dialect had been translated to her local dialect. "How bent is your brow, my Lady Elspat How golden yellow is your hair Of all the maids in fair Scotland There's none like Lady Elspat fair" "Perform your vows, Sweet William", she said "The vows that you have made to me, And at the back of my mother's castle This night I'll surely meet with thee" But woe be to her brother's foot page Who heard the words these two did say [He's] told them her lady mother Who brought Sweet William much woe For she has taken him, Sweet William, She's gone and bind him with his bow string 'Till the red red blood of his fair body From every nail on his hands did spring Oh it fell out upon a time That the Lord Justice came to town [Out?] has she taken him, Sweet William, Brought him before Lord Justice, bound. "And what's the crime, now, madam?", he said "That's been committed by this young man?" "Oh, he has broken my bonny castle, Which was well rigged with lime and stone" "And he has broken my bonny coffers Which was well [band ins'?] oak and beam, And he has stolen my rich jewels I know he has them, everyone" Then out it's spake her Lady Elspat As she sat by Lord Justice' knee "Oh you have told your tale, Mother, I pray Lord Justice, hear you me." "Oh he has not broken her bonny castle, It is well rigged with lime and stone; And he has not stolen her rich jewels -- I know she has them, everyone" "But though he was my first fair lover And though I'd sworn to be his bride, Because he had not a great estate She would this way our loves divide" Then out it's spake the good Lord Justice I saw the tear was in his eye: "I see no fault in this young man. So loose his bands and set him free!" "Take back your love, now, Lady Elspat, And my best blessing you both upon, For if he was your first fair lover, He is my eldest sister's son." ================= P.R. learned the song from this encounter and subsequently sang the song from memory, whereupon tune and words diverged slightly. PR notes an intentional change in the substitution of the final couplet with a generic ballad curse, acknowledging that this shifts the interpretation of the story's ending away from how it was likely historically understood, and toward an interpretation that she found preferable in current cultural context. As sung by Pamela Reinagel, San Diego, CA, USA, April 2018: "How bent your brow is, Lady Elsbet How golden yellow is your hair There is no maid in all fair Scotland Compares with Lady Elsbet fair" "Perform your vows then, Sweet William", she said "The vows that you have made to me And at the back of my mother's castle This night I'll surely meet with thee" But woe be to her brother's foot page Who heard all that these two did say For he has told her lady mother Who brought Sweet William much woe For she has taken him, Sweet William And had him bound in his bow string 'Till the red red blood of his fair body From every nail on his hands did spring And it fell out then upon a long time The good Lord Justice came to town And she has taken him, Sweet William, And brought him before Lord Justice, bound. "And what's the crime,then, madam?", he said "That's been committed by this young man?" "Oh, he has broken my bonny castle, That was well rigged in lime and stone" "And he has broken my bonny coffers That were well bound in oak and band And he has stolen my rich jewels I know he has them, everyone" But then out spake the Lady Elsbet As she sat by Lord Justice's knee "Oh you have heard my mother's story; I pray Lord Justice, now hear me." "For he has not broken her bonny castle, It is well rigged in lime and stone; And he has not stolen her rich jewels -- I know she has them, everyone" "But though he was my first true lover And though I'd sworn to be his bride, Because he has not a great estate She would this way our loves divide" And then out spoke the good Lord Justice I saw a tear was in his eye: "I see no fault in this young man. Unbind his hands and set him free!" "Take back your love then, Lady Elsbet, And my best blessings you both upon, And woe be to your cruel mother For this false deed that she has done" The April 2018 recording transcribed above was officially released as a Single on CDBaby 4/21/19 https://store.cdbaby.com/cd/pamelareinagel2
File: C247
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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
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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
Complete text(s)
From Thomas Moore, The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Complete in
One Volume (London: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans, 1845
("Digitized by Google")), pp. 107-108, "The Lake of the Dismal Swamp."
"They made her a grave, too cold and damp
"For a soul so warm and true;
"And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
"Where, all night long, by a fire-fly lamp,
"She paddles her white canoe.
"And her fire-fly lamp I soon shall see,
"And her paddle I soon shall hear;
"Long and loving our life shall be,
"And I'll hide the maid in a cypress tree,
"When the footstep of death is near."
Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds--
His path was rugged and sore,
Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds,
Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds,
And man never trod before.
And, when on earth he sunk to sleep,
If slumber his eyelids knew,
He lay, where the deadly vine doth weep
Its venomous tear and nightly steep
The flesh with blistering dew!
And near him the she-wolf stirr'd the brake,
And the copper-snake breath'd in his ear,
Till he starting cried, from his dream awake,
"Oh! when shall I see the dusky Lake,
"And the white canoe of my dear?"
He saw the Lake, and a meteor bright,
Quick over its surface play'd--
"Welcome," he said, "my dear one's light!"
And the dim shore echoed for many a night,
The name of the death-cold maid!
Till he hollow'd a boat of the birchen bark,
Which carried him off from shore;
Far, far he follow'd the meteor spark,
The wind was high and the clouds were dark,
And the boat return'd no more.
But oft, from the Indian hunter's camp,
This lover and maid so true
Are seen at the hour of midnight damp
To cross the Lake by a fire-fly lamp,
And paddle their white canoe!
File: BrE1021
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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
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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
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From Jim Bob Tinsley, He Was Singin' This Song, University of Central Florida, 1981, p. 220. An ancient longhorn bovine lay dying by the river, There was lack of vegetation and the cold winds make him shiver. A cowboy stood beside him with sadness on his face To see his final passing -- the last of all the race. The ancient eunuch struggled and raised his shaking head, Saying, "I do not care to linger when all my friends are dead. These Jerseys and these Holsteins, they are no friends of mine; They belong to the nobility who live across the brine." (6 additional stanzas)
File: FCW115
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 78, September 19, 2021,
as posted by user John5918. The chorus only:
Let's all go down the strand ('ave a banana)
Let's all go down the strand
I'll be leader, you can march behind
Come with me and see what we can find
Let's all go down the strand
Oh, what a happy land
That's the place for fun and noise
All amoung the girls and boys
So let's all go down the strand...
File: LTCSLAGS
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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
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From Martin Gardner, Famous Poems from Bygone Days, pp. 123-124. A life on the ocean wave, A home on the rolling deep, Where the scattered waters rave, And the winds their revels keep! Like an eagle caged, I pine On this dull, unchanging shore: Oh! give me the flashing brine, The spray and the tempest's roar! (2 additional stanzas)
File: SWMS087
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
Partial text(s)
Lips That Touch Liquor Must Never Touch Mine (by George W. Young) From Martin Gardner, Famous Poems from Bygone Days, pp. 70-71. You are coming to woo me, but not as of yore, When I hastened to welcome your ring at my door; For I trusted that he who stood waiting me then, Was the brightest, the truest, the noblest of men. Your lips, on my own when they printed "Farewell," Had never been soiled by "the beverage of hell;" But they come now to me with the bacchanal sign, And the lips that touch liquor must never touch mine. (5 additional stanzas)
File: R341
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
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From Margaret Bradford Boni, editor, _Songs of the Gilded Age_, with piano arrangements by Norman Lloyd and illustrations by Lucille Corcos, Golden Press, 1960, pp. 83-85. A winning way, a pleasant smile, Dress'd so neat but quite in style; Merry words your time to whole, Has little Annie Rooney. Ev'ry evening, rain or shine, I make a call 'twixt eight and nine On her who shortly will be mine; little Annie Rooney. Chorus: She's my sweetheart! I'm her beau! She's my Annie! I'm her Joe! Soon we'll marry, never to part! Little Annie Rooney is my sweetheart. (2 additional stanzas)
File: R774
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
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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)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 27, August 29, 2021, as posted by user bilblio. Early in the morning While I'm still asleep Comes a little chirping Comes a little tweet From a tiny birdie With a funny name It's the Eine kleine fleedle floodle alphabetical beedle boodle erna splitting louder boomer bird... now you!
File: LTCSLBSN
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.
The Little Cappender As found in William Henry Long, _Dictionary of Isle of Wight Dialect_ (1886), p. 119. From a scan supplied by Virgil Philpott to Lyle Lofgren. I'll zing you anew zong, that haletly has been maade, 'Tes of a little cappender, and of a pretty maade. I have a fancy vor you, you goos zo neat and trim; But oh, the little cappender, what wull become of him? The vust was a varmer, and he could plough and zow; He zed, 'My pretty fair maade, I'm come to let you know I have a fancy vor you, you goos zo neat and trim; But oh, the little cappender, what wull become of him?' The next was a wold man come hoppen in the dark, He zed, 'My dearest jewel, 'tes you have won my heart; I have a fancy vor you, you goos zo neat and trim; But oh, the little cappender, what wull become of him?' The next was a blacksmith that come vrom Newtown fair, He gid her his goold watch, and a little of his store, He gid her his silk handkercher all vor to putt it in, Saying, 'Oh, the little cappender, what wull become of him?' 'I'll work wi' my broad axe, as long as I can wag, And all the money I can git, I'll putt it in the bag, I'll put it in my bag, until Zadderday at night, And 'tes oh, my little cappender, you be my heart's delight.
File: DTLitCar
Complete text(s)
Little Things From Martin Gardner, Famous Poems from Bygone Days, p. 36. Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. So the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. So our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue, Far in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love, Help to make earth happy Like the heaven above.
File: MHAp242A
Complete text(s)
Matty Gru Recorded by Bronni Galin and Ben Schwartz in Harlem, New York City, February 1955, as sung by Mrs Childres and Mrs Daniels, two Crucian women discussing the St Croix King George play. Mrs Daniels recalled the Mrs Daniels verse; Lady Daniels is the heroine's name in many versions of Child 81 (see, for example, Davis-Ballads 23B). The tune and first two verses are very close to: Blinky (Sylvester McIntosh) and the Roadmasters, "Matty Gru" (on VIBlinky01) Rise up Matty Gru, rise up I say rise up Matty Gru rise up. Rise up Matty Gru, rise up It is time that you rise and go home. Any man, any man, any man Any man in another man's house, Any man in another man's house, Matty Gru It is time that you rise and go home. Mrs Daniels, Mrs Daniels, Mrs Daniels How did you like Matty Gru last night? How did you like Matty Gru last night? She says, I liked him better than you. The singers talked about their fancy outfits, with feathers. In the St Vincent versions (Abrahams) the "Any man" verse, at least, is sung by a parrot.
File: C081
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
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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
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, p. 467. A two-verse fragment supplied by "Mr. Birkbeck, of Threapland House, Lintondale, in Craven." Long Preston Peg to proud Preston went, To see the Scotch rebels it was her intent, A noble Scotch lord, as he passed by, On this Yorkshire damsel did soon cast an eye. He called to his servant, which on him did wait, 'Go down to yon girl who stands in the gate, That sings with a voice so soft and so sweet, And in my name do her lovingly greet.'
File: BeCo467
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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
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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
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A new caroll of our lady. From the photographs in Edward Bliss Reed, editor, _Christmas Carols Printed in the Sixteenth Century Including Kele's Christmas carolles newely Inprynted reproduced in facsimile from the copy in the Huntington Library_, Harvard University Press, 1932, pp. 44-46 [26-28]. Contractions and such have been silently modernized, but spelling is retained . Nowell Nowell Nowell Nowell This sayd the aungell Gabryell. Lordes & ladyes all by dene For your goodnes & honour I wyill you syng all of a quene Of all women she is the floure Nowell &c. Of Iesse [=Jesse] there sprange a wyght I say sayd by prophesy Of whome shall com a man of myght From dethe to lyfe he wyll us bye Mowell &c. (6 additional stanzas.))
File: EPLaLAB
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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, Lowlands,
In the Louisiana Lowlands, Lowlands,
The fire-bells are ringing, boys, there is a fire in town;
The hook-and-ladder company is first upon the ground;
The Phoenix she is ready, the volunteers are here,
The steamer she is left behind, and without her engineer. Cho.
This little boy had an augu-er that bored two holes at once,
This little boy had an augu-er that bored two holes at once,
And some were shuffling cards, and some were rattling dice --
This little boy turned his head around and he blew out all the lights. Cho.
File: CrNS129
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Lament for the Loss of the Ship Union As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 56-58. Source not clearly indicated. When I was young and in my prime, The seas I had to rove; My friends together did combine To part me from my love. To Belfast town they me conveyed, And without more delay In the Union my passage paid, Bound for America. (12 additional stanzas)
File: Leyd034
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 620-621. Sung by Patrick Rossiter, Fermeuse, October 1961. It's of a jolly sailor boy who plowed the ocean free, He dressed himself in tidy clothes his true love to go see, His pockets they were lined as good as any sailor's trade, To try the heart of Mary Ann, that lovely lowland maid. (7 additional stanzas)
File: Pea620
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 553-554. Sung by Jim Rice, Cape Broyle, July 1952. One evenin raging for recreation To view the state of this countery I beheld a fair maid in conversation With a bold hero of no mean degree. There is a flower that has more power Than any other of those you speak, And that's the laurel, that beauteous coral, And shy should I my true love foresake? (Stanzas 1, 6 of 12)
File: Pea553
Complete text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 24-25. Immediate source is not noted. This is listed as the "broadside version" of the song. The night that I was married and laid in my marriage bed, There came a bold sea captain and stood at my bed head; Saying, "Arouse, arouse you, married man, and come along with me To the lowlands of Holland to face your enemy." For Holland is a pretty place for nobles to dwell in, There is no place of harbour for seamen to remain; The sugar cane is plenty and the tea grows on its trees, And the Lowlands of Holland's between my love and me. I'll build my love a gallant ship a ship with noble sails, Twenty-four bold mariners to sail her on the main; Come all you ranting roving heroes! come now, boys, pull away! I wish I was with my true love although he's far away. One evening as I walked down by a river side, There came a bold sea captain and asked me to be his bride; "Your bride, your bride, young man," she says, "your bride I cannot be, I had in the world but one true love and pressed he was from me. "No scarf shall go o'er my shoulder nor comb go in my hair, Neither moonlight nor candlelight shall view my beauty fair; Nor no man will I marry until the day I die, Since the raging seas and stormy winds have parted my love and me." Says the mother to the daughter, "why do you thus lament? Is there not men enough in this world to pease your discontent." "There's not a man in all this world this night shall serve for me, May woe attend the captain that pressed my love away."
File: R083
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 46-47. A composite version. Oh, Lukey's boat is painted green, A-ha, me b'ys! Oh, Lukey's boat is painted green, The finest boat you've ever seen, A-ha, me riddle-I-day! Oh, Lukey's boat got a fine fore cutty, A-ha, me b'ys! Oh, Lukey's boat got a fine fore cutty, And every seam is chinked with putty, A-ha, me riddle-I-day! (6 additional stanzas)
File: FJ046
Complete text(s)
From Henry W. Shoemaker, _Mountain Minstrelsy of Pennsylvania_, as reprinted in George W. Korson, _Pennsylvania Songs and Legends_, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1949, pp. 350-351. Informant not specified. No tune. Now, boys, if you will listen, I will sing to you a song It's all about the shanty boys and how they get along. They are a jovial lot of boys, so merry and so fine, And spent the pleasant winter months in cutting down the pine. Some have left their homes and friends they love so dear, And to the lonely pine woods their pathway they do steer, There in the pine woods the winter will remain, And waiting for the spring days to return again. But spring will soon be here, and bright will be the day: Some will go to their dear homes, others far away, For farmers and for sailors, likewise mechanics too; For it takes all kinds of tradesmen to form a lumber crew. The choppers and the sawyers, they lay the timber low; The skidders and the swampers, they haul it to and fro; The comes the loaders, just at the break of day, A-loading up the teams, for the river haste away. Noontime rolls around; the foreman loudly screams: "Lay down your saws and axes and haste to pork and beans." Arriving at the shanty, the splashing does begin -- The rattling of the water pails and banging of the tin. "Hurry up there, boys, Dick, Tom, Ed, and Joe, Or you will have to take the pails and for the water go!" While they are all splashing, "To dinner!" they do cry. Oh! you should see them jump and run for fear they'll miss their pie. When dinner it is o'er, to the shanty they do go, They all load up their pipes and smoke till everything is blue. "'Tis time for the woods, boys," the foreman he does say. They gather up their mitts, for the woods they haste away. They all go out with cheerful hearts and well-contended minds, For the winter winds do not blow cold among the waving pines, And loudly make their axes ring until the sun goes down. "Shout hurrah! the day is done, for the shanty we are bound." They all reach the shanty, with cold and wet feet, "All hands off with your boot-packs, for your suppers you must eat." The cook calls for supper; they all rise and go, For it's not the style of one of the boys to miss his hash, you know. The boot-packs and rubbers are all laid aside, The gloves, mitts, rags, and socks are all hung up and dried. At nine o'clock or thereabouts into the bunks they climb, To dream away the lonely hours while working in the pine. At four in the morning the foreman loudly shouts, "Hurrah there, you teamsters, it's time that you are out!" Up jump the teamsters, all in fright and dismay, "Oh! where are my boot-packs? My socks have gone astray." The rest of the men get up; their socks they cannot find; They lay it to the teamsters and curse them till they're blind. If any of their acquaintance should happen to be there, They'd kill themselves a-laughing at the boys' wild career. When Sunday it is come, they all lounge about: Some reading novels, others writing to their fairs, For married men and single in the shanty you will find, Who've left their homes and dear ones to work among the pines. But spring will soon be here, and bright will be the day, "Lay down your saws and axes, boys, and haste to break the way." For when the floating ice is gone and business it will thrive, Five hundred able-bodied men are working on the drive. With their cant hooks and jam pikes, the men they nobly go To risk their lives on the Muskegon River, or West Branch, oh! Cold, frosty mornings, they shiver with the cold; So much ice on the jam pikes, they scarcely can them hold.
File: Doe210
Partial text(s)
When the Shantyboy Comes Down From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #44, p.159. Collected from Jim Doherty of Peterborough, Ontario, June 1957. When the shantyboy comes down, in his pocket fifty pound, He will look around some pretty girl to find. If he finds her not too shy, with a dark and rolling eye, The poor shantyboy is will pleased in his mind. (3 additional stanzas)
File: LxU051
Complete text(s)
McPherson's Farewell
(Robert Burns version)
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume II, #114, p.
117. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile).
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
McPherson's time will not be long,
On yonder gallows tree.
Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gae'd he.
He played a spring and danc'd it round
Below the gallows tree.
O what is death but a parting breath?
On many a bloody plain
I've dar'd his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.
I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife,
I die by treacherie:
I burns my heart I must depart
And not avenged be.
Now farewell, light, though sunshine bright,
And all beneath the sky.
My coward shame distain his name,
The wretch that dares not die!
From Peter Kennedy, "Folksongs of Britain and Ireland," #348,
p. 776. Collected 1956 from Davie Stewart, Dundee, Angus,
Scotland.
Farewell, farewell, Macpherson you,
The day is coming you mun dee
And curs-ed be yon English laws
That first condemneth thee
Sae wanton-ly, sae daunton-ly
Sae ranton-ly gaed he
He played a tune an' he danced aroon
Below the gallus tree
It was by a lady's treacherous hand
That I'm condemned to dee.
It was in below her window-sill
They threw a blanket over me.
The laird o' Grant, that highlan' Sa'nt
That first laid hands on me
He pleyed the cause o' Peter Broon
But he let Macpherson dee
Untie those bands from off my hands
And bring to me a sowrd
There's not a man in a' Scotland
But I'll brave him at his word
There's some come here tae see me hang
And some tae buy my fiddle
But before that I do pairt wi' her
I'll brak' her through the middle
He took the diddle into baith his hands
And he brak' it o'er a stane
There nae body will play on her
While I lay dead and gone
Fare thee well, my ain dear highlan' hame
Fare thee well, my wife an' my bairns
There's nae fa'nting at the hairt
While the fiddle was in my airms
The reprieve was coming o'er the brig o' Banff
When they stood on the Galla' Hill to see
They put the clock three-quarters fast
And hanged him tae the tree
File: K348
Complete text(s)
Lillumwham
From Furnivall, Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript [Volume 4], Loose
and Humorous Songs, pp. 96-98. Text from page 461 of the Percy Folio.
The: maid, she went to the well to washe,
Lillumwham, Lillumwham!
the mayd shee went to the well to washe,
whatt then? what then?
the mayd shee went to the well to washe,
dew ffell of her lilly white fleshe;
Grandam boy, Grandam boy, heye!
Leg a derry, Leg a merry, mett, mer, whoope, whir!
driuance, larumben, Grandam boy, heye!
White[1] shee washee, & white[1] shee ronge,
Lillumwham &c:
white[1] shee hangd o the hazle wand,
Grandam boy, heye &c.
There cam an old Palmer by the way,
Lillumwham &c.
sais, "god speed thee well thou faire maid!"
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"Hast either Cupp or can --
Lillumwham &c. --
to giue an old palmer drinke therin?"
Grandam boy, heye &c.
sayes, "I haue neither cupp nor Cann --
Lillumwham &c. --
to giue an old Palmer drinke therin."
Grandam boy, heye &c.
"Bat an thy Lemman came from Roome,
Lillumwham &c.,
Cupps & canns thou wold ffind soone."
Grandam boy, heye &c.
She sware by god & good St. Iohn,
Lillumwham &c.
Lemman had she neuer none;
Grandam boy, heye &c.
Saies, "peace, ffaire mayd! you are fforsworne!
Lillumwham &c.
Nine Children you haue borne;
Grandam boy, heye &c.
"They[2] were buryed vnder thy beds head; --
Lillumwham &c: --
other three vnder thy brewing leade;
Grandam boy, hey &c.
Other three on won play greene,
Lillumwham &c.
Count, maides, & there be 9."
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"But I hope you are the good old man --
Lillumwham &c. --
That all the world beleeues vpon;
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"Old Palmer, I pray three, --
Lillumwham &c. --
Pennaunce that thou wilt giue to me."
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"Penance I can giue thee none, --
Lillumwham &c. --
but 7 yeere to be a stepping stone;
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"Other seauen a clapper in a bell, --
Lillumwham &c. --
Other 7 to lead an ape in hell.
Grandam boy, hey &c.
"When thou hast thy penance done,
Lillumwham, Lillumwham,
when thou hast thy penance done,
whatt then? what then?
when thou hast thy penance done,
then thoust come a mayden home."
Grandam boy, Grandam boy, hey!
Leg a derry, Leg a merry, mett, mer, whoope, whirr!
driuance, Larumben, Grandam boy, heye!
[1] White: This is the reading of Furnivall, based on the actual
appearance of the manuscript; clearly "while" is meant.
[2] They: Read presumably "three"
File: C021
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #31, pp. 135-136. From the singing of Jared MacLean, Strathadam, 1948. In the dark tangles forest where the lumberjacks sing, And their saws and their axes, the music it springs, As I ceased from my labor at the close of the day, I heard with regret a young lumberjack say: "Oh, the nights they are weary and the days they are long, Though my comrades they cheer me with music and song, I'm tired and lonesome, and cold is my bed, And I long once again for the Maid from Tidehead. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi031
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #83, pp. 268-269. From the singing of Billy Price, Priceville, in 1960. It happened on a fine summer's evening When Phoebus most glorious did shine, And the nightingale warbled melodious And the dew it soon fell in the glen, It was down by yon grave where I wandered A while to condone in the shade, My destiny there for to ponder; It was there I beheld a fair maid. (5 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi083
Partial text(s)
The Maid of Sweet Gartheen From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 375-376. Sung by Mary Ann Galpin, Codroy, July 1960. Come all you gentle muses I pray now lend an ear While I relate the praises of a comelye maiden fair, 'Twas her cherry cheeks and her ruby lips that stole away my heart, And death I'm sure will be the cure if my love and I must part. The praises of that fair one I intend for to unfold, Her hair hung down in ringlets like links of shining gold, 'Twas the curling of her yellow locks that fractured quite my brain, And there is a road lies near her abode to the town of sweet Gartheen. (6 additional stanzas)
File: HHH594
Partial text(s)
Ye Maidens of Ontario From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), pp. 79-81. From A. C. Hannah of Bemidji, Minnesota. O ye maidens of Ontario, give ear to what I write, In driving down these rapid streams where raftsmen take delight. In driving down these rapid streams as raftsmen they must do, While these low and loafing farmers they stay at home with you. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Doe241
Complete text(s)
Scant of Love, Want of Love
As found in David Herd, editor, Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads,
etc. (facsimile of (Edinburgh,1776) with an "Appendix ... containing the pieces
substituted in the 1791 reprint for those omitted of the 1776 edition, &c.")
("Digitized by Google")), Vol II, Appendix pp. 63-64 [2-313], "Scant of Love,
Want of Love"
The auld man he courted me,
Scant of love, want of love;
The auld man he courted me
Thoughtless as I am.
And I, for sake of pelf,
Yielded to give myself
To the cauld arms of
The silly auld man.
The auld man did marry me,
Scant of love, want of love;
The auld man did marry me,
Wanton as I am.
The auld man did marry me,
And home did carry me:
Never, never, while you live,
Wed an auld man.
The auld man and I went to bed,
Scant of love, want of love;
The auld man and I went to bed,
Handsome as I am.
The auld man and I went to bed,
But he neither did nor said
What brides expect, when laid
By a gudeman.
The auld man soon fell asleep,
Scant of love, want of love;
The auld man soon fell asleep,
Left me as I am.
The auld man soon fell asleep,
Think you that I would weep?
Na, but I straight did creep
To a young man.
Where I lay all the night,
No scant, no want of love;
Where I lay all the night,
Who so happy then?
Where I lay all the night,
In raptures and delight;
So should all young wives treat
Fumbling auld men.
File: K207
Complete text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), #19, pp. 87-88. From Mr. W. H. Underwood of Bayport, Minnesota. I landed safe in Williamsport in a lumberman's rendezvous 'Twas there I hired with Jacob Brown as one of the winter's crew. We agreed upon the wages, as you shall plainly see, And the time of term it was six months to serve him faithfully. It would melt your heart with pity, it would make your blood run cold To see the work that Nature did in all her rudest mould, And to see those overhanging rocks along the ice-bound shore, Where the rippling waters fierce do rage and the cataracts do roar. There's the tomtit and the moose-bird and the roving caribou; The lucifee and pa'tridge that through the forests flew; And the wild ferocious rabbit from the colder regions came; And several other animals too numerous to name. So to conclude and finish, I have one thing more to say; When I am dead and in my grave, lying mould'ring in the clay, No artificial German text you can for me sustain, But simply say I'm a roving wreck right from Bangor, Maine.
File: Rick089
Partial text(s)
From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), pp. 117-120. From the singing of Captain Patrick Tayluer, New York, NY. Now, it's one cold and dreary morning in December When all my money I 'ad spent, Where it 'ad all gone to I don't remember, So I down to a shipping office went. Oh, now, that day there being a great demand for sailors, From London out to California 'n' back to France, Well, I shipped aboard of a Yankee ship, the Oxford, And I went upon the booze with my advance. Chorus Walk back, heave in the slack, Well-a heave away the capstan, heave a pawl, oh, heave a pawl! Oh, it's a-bout ship, stations, boys, be 'andy. All raise tacks, sheets, and mains'l haul. (4 additional stanzas, with varying forms and tunes)
File: Doe117
Partial text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 158-159. As supplied by Mrs. C. E. Ralling from Caroline
Newcomb of Shreveport, Louisiana.
Who all de time a-hidin'
In de cotton an' de corn?
Mammy's little boy,
Mammy's little boy,
Who all de time a-blowin'
Ol' Massa's dinner horn?
Mammy's little baby boy.
Chorus
An' he comes to his mammy,
An' she ketch him on her arm,
Mammy's little boy,
Mammy's little boy,
An' a bye-bye,
Mammy's little baby boy.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: ScaNF158
Partial text(s)
From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 195-196. From either "Mrs. Wheeler" or "Mr. W. Jenkins"; in either case, collected 1909. The man that lives must learn to die, Christ will not longer stay; Our time is short as near at hand To take our lives away. What is our lives that we must die, Or what's our carcase then? It's food for worms to feed upon -- Christ knows the time and when. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Leath195
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #292, p. 677. From Jewel Robbins, Montgomery County, North Carolina, c. 1923. 1 Here I stand in the jail house door, Here I'll stand no more. Goodbye to my mother And friends forevermore. 2 My mother she did warn me, She warned me when I 'as young, "I'll raise you up for the gallows; My son, you will be hung."
File: BrII292
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor,
Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 30-31. Collected by Helen
Creighton from William R. Riley.
No more auction block for me,
No more, no more,
No more auction block for me,
Many thousand gone.
Refrain:
Jesus died on Calvary
Oh yes, oh yes,
Jesus died to set me free,
Thank him forever more.
Similarly, No more pint of salt, etc.; No more peck of corn for me, etc.;
No more driver's lash for me, etc.
File: FJ030
Complete text(s)
Marching to Quebec From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #59, pp. 125, second text. From Massachusetts. We were marching to Quebec, The drums were loudly beating; America has gained the day, The British are retreating. The war is o'er, and they are turned back, For evermore departed; So open the ring, and take one in, For they are broken-hearted. Oh, you're the one that I love best, I praise you high and dearly; My heart you'll get, my hand I'll gice, The kiss is most sincerely.
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, #519, p. 297, the B text. Collected 1934 from Rena Smithers of Springfield, Missouri. We're marchin' down to New Orleans Where the drums are beatin' lively, The American boys have gained the day, An' the British soldiers retreating. The war's all over an' we'll turn back To the place where we first started, We'll open up the ring an' choose a couple in To relieve the broken-hearted. But every time I ride that road It looks so dark an' cloudy, An' every time I see that gal I stop an' tell her howdy.
File: R519
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1865 by Root & Cady
Title page inscribed
To Cousin Mary Lizzie Work Of New Washington, Indiana
G A
N T I
I H G
H R R
C O
R E G
A G H
M
SONG AND CHORUS
In Honor of Maj. Gen. SHERMAN'S FAMOUS MARCH "from Atlanta to the Sea."
WORDS AND MUSIC BY
HENRY CLAY WORK
1. Bring the good old bugle boys! we'll sing another song --
Sing it with a spirit that will start the world along --
Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong,
While we were marching through Georgia.
CHORUS.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! We bring the Jubilee!
Hurrah! Hurrah! The flag that makes you free!"
So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the sea,
While we were marching through Georgia.
2. How the darkeys shouted when they heard the joyful sound!
How the turkeys gobbled which our commissary found!
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,
While we were marching through Georgia.
3. Yes, and there were Union men who wept with joyful tears,
When they saw the honor'd flag they had not seen for years;
Hardly could they be restrained from breaking forth in cheers,
While we were marching through Georgia.
4. "Sherman's dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!"
So the saucy rebels said, and 'twas a handsome boast,
Had they not forgot, alas! to reckon with the host,
While we were marching through Georgia.
5. So we made a throroughfare for Freedom and her train
Sixty miles in latitude -- three hundred to the main;
Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain,
While we were marching through Georgia.
The Battle Cry of Freedom A composite version, with parts from this song and from "The Battle Cry of Freedom." From John Meredith & Hugh G. Anderson, Folk Songs of Australia [Volume 1], p. 34. From Ina Popplewell, of Darlington, Australia. Collected 1954. How the darkies gobbled when they heard the distant sound, And how the new potatoes they kept sprouting through the ground. And now we'll sing the chorus from the land unto the sea, Shouting the battle cry of freedom! CHORUS: Hurrah! Hurrah! We'll sound the jubilee. Hurrah! Hurrah! For the flag that sets us free. And now we'll sing the chorus from the land unto the sea, Shouting the battle cry of freedom! The Union for ever, then, hurrah, boys, hurrah! We will up with the traitor and down with the star, And we'll rally from the inside and we'll rally from the out, Shouting the battle cry of freedom.
File: MA034A
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 19-26. From Orlon, Merrill of Charleston, New Hampshire. Collection date not given. Fair the cabing (sic.) walls was gleaming ON that sunbeam golden glow, On that lovely April morning, It was a hundred years ago. As upon that humble threshold Stood the young wife, Margaret Gray, With her fearless blue eyes glancing Down the lonely forest way. (24 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr019
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #120, pp. 271-274.
From Mrs. S. T. Topper, Ashland, Ohio.
1. Attend, young friends, while I relate
In rustic verses Maria's fate;
A lovely girl of fifteen years,
In health and beauty she appears.
2. She was a mother's fond delight,
She was a charming beauty bright;
Who would have thought she could so soon
Be sent to moulder in the tomb?
3. Her cloudless sky appeared serene,
And not a cloud to intervene;
Her hopes were high of happiness,
She hoped to live and die in peace.
4. But oh, alas, her hopes soon fled;
A storm soon gathered around her head,
And burst upon her in her bloom,
Which sent her to the silent tomb.
5. In silent hours of the night,
He come to her bed with footsteps light;
"Maria, let me lay with thee,
From blood relations we are free."
6. Unto her father she did say,
"Return unto thy bed, I pray,
Nor let such thoughts as those arise,
Your maker's laws for to despise.
7. "If blood relations we are none,
You have adopted me your own;
How can you then my bed defile,
Since I am your adopted child?"
8. Unto Maria then he said,
"I will return unto my bed;
If you forever silent be,
I will come no more to trouble thee
9. Those solemn words he soon forgot,
His maker's laws regarded not;
He plunged himself in misery,
Ruined himself and family.
10. She told her mother her distress,
And of her father's wretchedness,
And that at home she could not stay,
That she had better go away.
11. Her neighbors did her then protect,
And kept him from this wretched act;
He through persuasion homeward went,
His wicked mind was not content.
12. In sin he was not satisfied;
He went and lay by the wayside,
Thinking she might pass that way
By midnight hours or bright of day.
13. He there in kind and gentle mood
Famed himself innocent and good;
He wished her to return again,
Her goods and clothing to obtain.
14. Her mother went to bring her home;
With fear and trembling she did come;
Her father met her at the gate
Where he did so deliberately wait.
15. "Maria, can't you stay with me?"
She answered, "No, that cannot be."
He from his pocket drew a knife,
He pierced her heart and took her life.
16. He pierced her heart, the blood did flow,
And with sarcastic smiles said, "Go;
You yesterday outwitted me,
Today I have outwitted thee."
17. Oh, cruel father, how could you
Your hands in innocence imbue?
How could you (send) so lovely a fair,
A blooming youth into the bar
18. Where you shall soon arranged (sic.) be
To answer for your iniquity;
Where you shall soon receive your doom
For murdering a fair innocent in bloom!
19. Maria Bewell was her name,
She was a girl deserving fame;
But, oh, alas, she met her end
By one that ought to have been her friend.
20. Ira West Gardner was the man
That formed this bare and wicked plan;
No fear of God before his eyes,
Defied the ruler of the skies.
21. Ye guardians and stepfathers, beware
Of those intrusted to your care;
Treat them with kindness and respect,
You will find a blessing in the act.
22. Yes, now, I must conclude my theme,
'Tis but a thought and not a dream;
It would take a nobler pen than mine
This horrid act for to combine.
File: E120
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #79, p. 206. "Sung by Peter Letto, Lance au Clair, July 1960." On the twenty-fourth of September in the year of ninety-five, 'Twill be a memorial day for us as long as we're alive. Early on that morning, a steamer ran on shore; There's a place called Grassy Point on gloomy Labrador. (3 additional stanzas)
File: LLab079
Complete text(s)
From Henry, Huntington, Herrmann, Sam Henry's Songs of the People, p. 501. Henry #701, printed May 1, 1937. From Harriet Brownlow of Ballylaggan, Cloyfin. I've been a married man this seven years and more, And blessed be the day I was married; I never had a word between my love and I, Though late in the ale-house we tarried. When I come home, not a word's to be said, She lights me a candle and puts me to bed, And lets me lie there till I settle my head, So, girls, mind you this when you marry. When I rise in the morning, to scold it's no use, For scolding it ne'er mends the matter, She makes me some tea or some chocolate hot Or something that I do like better. I slip her a kiss, to my work I do go, She never says, "Husband, why do you do so?" But like two doves we live and no sorrow we know, So, girls, mind you this when you marry. On Saturday night when the money runs short, We make the less do upon Sunday; He says, 'My dearest dead, I'll do better next week, I'll go early to work upon MOnday.' So all ye young women, your husbands adore, Be ye loving and kind, be they ever so poor, And God will always be increasing your store, So, girls, mind you this when you marry.
File: HHH701
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 286. "Sung in 1934 by Mr. Charles E. Meeker, Detroit." Come all ye hustling chanty boys, a lesson take from me; Work steady in the lumber woods and don't go on a spree, But save a stake and buy a farm and bring a biddie in, Then boys, like me you soon will see the comfort you will win. Chorus: Martin, Tim, and Dan, Barney, Pat, and Sam, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, and Paul, Susannar and Rosannar who pounds the big pianar, And Biddie says I'm daddy to them all. (1 additional stanza)
File: GC116
Partial text(s)
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #165,
pp. 829-832. Source not listed.
I
When captains courageous, whom death could not daunte,
Did march to the siege of the city of Gaunt,
They muster'd their souldiers by two and by three,
And the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree.
II
When brave Sir John Major was slaine in her sight,
Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
Because he was slaine most treacherouslie,
She vow'd to revenge him, did Mary Ambree.
(18 additional stanzas)
File: OBB165
Complete text(s)
From Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 61. Mary and a Martha's just gone 'long, Mary and a Martha's just gone 'long, Mary and a Martha's just gone 'long, To ring those charming bells; Crying, free grace and dying love, Free grace and dying love, Free grace and dying love, To ring those charming bells, Oh! way over Jordan, Lord, Oh! way over Jordan, Lord, Oh! way over Jordan, Lord, To ring those charming bells. 2. The preacher and the elder's just gone long, etc. To ring those charming bells; Cho.-- Crying, free grace, etc. 3. My father and mother's just gone 'long, etc. To ring those charming bells; Cho.-- Crying, free grace, etc. 4. The Methodist and Baptist's just gone 'long, etc. To ring those charming bells; Cho.-- Crying, free grace, etc.
File: ColS061
Partial text(s)
From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, #101, pp. 313-314. From John Ashton, Modern Street Ballads (1888). Of all the tales was ever told, I now will you impart, That cannot fail to terror strike To every human heart. The deeds of Mary Arnold, Who does in a jail deplore, Oh! such a dreadful tale as this, Was never told before. This wretched women's dreadful deed, Does everyone affright. With black beetles in walnut shells She deprived her child of sight. (5 additional stanzas)
File: PBB101
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #32, pp. 137-139. From the singing of Thomas W. Coughlan, South River Bend, in 1947. Come all you jolly lumbermen And listen unto me. I'll sing you of a pretty fair maid That lived in Merrimashee. Her name was Mary Mahoney, A sweet and come-lye maid, And the heart of many's the lumbermen I'm told she has betrayed. (7 additional stanzas plus a half-stanza)
File: MaWi032
Complete text(s)
Mary's Dream From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #37+38, pp. 38-39. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). The moon had climb'd the highest hill, Which rises o'er the sources of Dee, And from the eastern summit Shed her silver light on tow'r and tree: When Mary laid her down to sleep, Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea; When soft and low a voice was heard, Say, Mary weep no more for me. She from her pillow gently rais'd Her head to ask, who there might be. She saw young Sandy shiv'ring stand, With visage pale and hollow eye; 'O Mary dear, cold is my clay, 'It lies beneath the stormy sea; 'Far, far from thee, I sleep in death; 'So, Mary, weep no more for me. 'Three stormy nights and stormy days 'We tossed upon the raging main; 'And long we strove our bark to save, 'But all our striving was in vain. 'Ev'n then, when horror chill'd my blood, 'My heart was filled with love for thee: 'The storm is past, and I at rest, 'So, Mary, weep no more for me. 'O maiden dear, thyself prepare; 'We soon shall meet upon that shore, 'Where love is free from doubt and care, 'And thou and I shall part no more!' Loud crow'd the cock, the shadow fled, No more of Sandy could she see; But soft the passing spirit said, 'Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!'
File: LK20
Complete text(s)
From "The Dime Song Book #2" (1860), p. 28. It was on one cold winter's night, As the wind blew across the wild moor, When Mary came wandering home with her babe, 'Till she came to her own father's door; "Oh father! dear father!" she cried, "Come down and open the door, Or the child in my arms will perish and die By the wind that blows across the wild moor. "Oh, why dud I leave this dear spot, Where once I was happy and free? But now doomed to roam, without friends or home And no one to take pity on me!" The old man was deaf to her cries, Not a sound of her voice reached his ear, But the watchdog did howl, and the village bell toll'd, And the wind blew across the wild moor. But how must the old man have felt, When he came to the door in the morn! -- Poor Mary was dead, but the child was alive, Closely pressed in its dead mother's arms. Half frantic he tore his gray hair, And the tears down his cheeks they did pour, Saying, "This cold winter's night, she perished and died B the winds that blew across the wild moor." The old man in grief pined away, And the child to its mother went soon, And no on, they say, has lived there to this day, -- And the cottage to ruin has gone. The villagers point out the spot, Where the willow droops over the door, Saying, "There Mary died, once a gay village bride, By the wind that blows across the wild moor."
File: LP21
Partial text(s)
The Pride of the Shamrock Shore From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 630-631. Sung by Peter Ryan, Aquaforte, October 1961. A bold undaunted hero down by a shady grove did stray, 'Twas there he spied a squire conversing with a lady gay. He being neat, tall, and handsome, and costly robes the lady wore, She appeared to be my true love, young Mary the pride of the Shamrock Shore. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Pea630
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1861 by Miller & Beacham
Title page inscribed
MARYLAND! MY MARYLAND!
Crescite et multiplicamini
Written by
A Baltimorean in Louisiana
Music Adapted & Arranged by
C.E.
I. The despot's heel is on thy shore,
Maryland, My Maryland!
His touch* is at thy temple door
Maryland, My Maryland!
Avenge the patriotic gore
That fleck'd the streets of Baltimore,
And be the Battle Queen of yore,
Maryland, My Maryland!
II. Hark to a wand'ring son's appeal!
Maryland, My Maryland!
My mother state! to thee I kneel,
Maryland, My Maryland!
For life and death, for woe and weal,
Thy peerless chivalry reveal,
And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel,
Maryland, My Maryland!
3
Thou wilt not cower in the dust,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Thy beaming sword shall never rust,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Remember Carroll's sacred trust,
Remember Howard's warlike thrust --
And all thy slumberers with the just,
Maryland! My Maryland!
4
Come! for thy shield is bright and strong,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Come, for thy dalliance, does thee wrong,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Come! to thine own heroic throng,
That stalks with liberty along,
And give a new Key to thy song,
Maryland! My Maryland!
5
Dear mother! burst the tyrant's chain,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Virginia should not call in vain!
Maryland! My Maryland!
She meets her sisters on the plain --
"Sic semper" tis the proud refrain,
That baffles minions back amain,
Maryland! My Maryland!
6
I see the blush upon thy cheek,
Maryland! My Maryland!
But thou wast ever bravely meek,
Maryland! My Maryland!
But lo! there surges forth a shriek
From hill to hill, from creek to creek --
Potomac calls to Chesapeake,
Maryland! My Maryland!
7
Thou wilt not yield the vandal toll,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Though wilt not crook to his control,
Maryland! My Maryland!
Better the fire upon thee roll,
Better the blade, the shot, the bowl,
Than crucifixion of the soul,
Maryland! My Maryland!
8
I hear the distant thunder-hum,
Maryland! My Maryland!
The Old Line's bugle, fife and drum,
Maryland! My Maryland!
She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb --
Huzza! She spurns the Northern scum!
She breathes -- she burns! she'll come! she'll come!
Maryland! My Maryland!
* Most versions use the word "torch" here
File: RJ19130
Partial text(s)
The Master Watch As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 118. From the second (1940) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland, with the title changed from "The Master-Watch" to "The Master Watch." Three thousand men of the Viking breed Will sail for the north today; An eager throng fills the city streets, And loud from the crowded quay The answering cheer and the shrilly horn Proclaim where the ships delay. (9 additional stanzas)
File: Doy77
Complete text(s)
White Paternoster Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, p. 33. From Harry C. Ridlon of Bennington, Vermont, but perhaps influenced by John Jacob Niles. Collected 1945. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Bless the bed that I lie on. Four bright angels at my bed, Two at the bottom and two at the head, Two to hear me as I pray, and Two to bear my soul away
File: FO033
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 86-87. From Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports; collected in 1952 from Gordon Willis. Sit down while I sing you a ditty, Of the spring I was out in the Dan; Maurice Crotty was one of her sealers, A comical cure of a man. It was his first spring of ice hunting, Not a rope in the ship did he know, Not even to fold up a bunting, And awkward to lace up a tow. (Stanzas 1, 3, of 14)
File: Pea073
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 156-157.
Where hes te been, maw canny hinny?
An where hes te been, maw bonny bairn?
I was up an' doon, seekin' maw hinny;
Aw was throo' the toon, seekin' for maw bairn.
Aw went up the Butcher Bank an' doon Grindin' Chare,
Caw'd a the "Dun Cow," but aw cuddent find thee there.
Where hes te been? etc.
Where hev aw been! I can suen tell yet that.
Cummin' up the Kee aw met wi' Peter Pratt;
Meetin' Peter Pratt, we met wi' Tommy Wear,
And went te Hume's te get a gill o' beer.
That's where aw've been, maw canny hinny!
That's where aw've been, maw bonny lamb!
Was tu up an' doon seekin' for thee hinny?
Was tu up and doon seeking for thee lamb?
(Stanzas 1 and 7 of 8)
File: StoR156
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The Rural Dance about the Maypole From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 384-386. Source not clearly indicated. Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads, And away to the may-pole hie; For every he has got a she, And the minstrel's standing by; For Willie has gotten his Jill, And Johnny has got his Joan, To jig it, jig it, jig it, Jig it up and down. 'Strike up," says Wat; 'Agreed,' says Kate, 'And I prithee, fiddler, play;' 'Content,' says Hodge, and so says Madge, For this is a holday. Then every man did put Hit hat off to his lass, And every girl did curchy, Curchy, curchy on the grass. (6 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo284
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #133, pp. 288-290. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Long shall I remember one day last December, My fob lined with silver, my heart full of glee, Being out on a frolic, determined to travel, Intending great Halifx city to see. I crossed Taylor's Bay Harbour in very good order, From back to Pope's Harbour both up hill and down; I took into my noddle to get a full bottle, Oh, at the Brian's tavern, that hole of renown. (12 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS133
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #134, pp. 291-292.
"Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, South-East Passage."
It's Sergeant John McCafferty
And Corporal God Knows Who,
They'll make you march to the roll of the drums
And company army too.
Then it's forty hours a day me boys
(And being in the regular army too.)
Chorus.
A tor ror lol a lido
A tor ror a lol a ley.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS134
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As printed in Charles Sullivan, ed., Ireland in Poetry, p. 15. There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. (3 additional stanzas)
File: OCon054B
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 309-310. "From the Gernsey manuscript." Far distant friends will drop a tear When of this accident they hear. The mournful story will impart Affliction to the very heard. Remember, O this was the day, The twenty-second of July; I with ambitious girls sixteen Visited the school of Betsy Green. (6 additional stanzas)
File: GC126
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 217-224. From a Roxburghe broadside. Behold the touchstone of true love, Maudlin, the Merchant's Daughter of Bristow town, Whose firm affection nothing could move; This favour bears the lovely brown. A gallant youth was dwelling by, Which many years had borne this lady great good will; She loved him so faithfully, But all her friends withstood it still. The young man now, perceiving well He could not get nor win the favour of her friends, The force of sorrow to expel TO view strange countries he intends. (61 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo216
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 187-188. From Finlay's Scottish Ballads of 1808. To yon fause stream that, near the sea, Hides mony an elf and plum,* And rives wi' fearful din the stanes, A witless knicht did come. The day shines clear -- far in he's gane Whar shells are silver bright, Fishes war loupin' a' aroun', And sparklin' to the light. (7 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo186
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From the recording by Ernest Stoneman and his Blue Ridge Corn Shuckers
(Victor 21648). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren.
"It's nine times around," said the captain of the ship,
"And it's nine times around," said he.
"Nine times around, are we sinking in the deep,
While the landlord lies dreaming down below."
CHORUS:
Oh, the raging sea, how it roars,
And the cold chilly winds, how they blow,
And tonight us poor sailors are sinking in the deep,
While the landlord lies dreaming down below.
First on the deck was the captain of the ship,
And a fine looking fellow was he,
Saying, "I have a wife in Old Mexico,
And tonight she is looking for me."
Next on the deck was the lady of the ship,
And a fine looking lady was she,
Saying, "I have a husband in New Mexico,
And tonight he is looking for me."
Last on the deck was the sassy little cook,
And a sassy little cook was he.
He cared no more for his wife and his child
Than he did for the fish in the sea.
File: C289
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The Miller From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #123, p. 129. No source indicated. O Merry may the maid be That marries with the miller, For foul day and fair day, He's ay bringing till her. Has ay a penny in his purse, For dinner and for supper: And gin he please, a good fat cheese, And lumps of yellow butter. (4 additional stanzas)
File: GrD3453
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The Messenger Song (John Calhoun's Colt) From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #22, pp. 140-144. From the singing of Billy Price, Priceville, in 1960. Come all you lively horses, And listen unto me, I'll tell you of my noble stock, My life and destiny. I was reared on the Guimmick, And by a farmer, too, The farmer's name was Robert Kent, The truth I'll tell to you. My mother was a French mare, And from a foreign shore, My father was a Messenger, From Scotland he sailed o'er. She was both neat and handsome, Her equals they were rare, When I was young they used to say: "He looks just like the mare." (19 additional stanzas)
File: Doe266a
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From Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 68. The peculiar spelling is in the printed copy. 1. In Brooklyn city there lived a maid, And she was known to fame, Her mother's name was Mari Ann, And she was Mari Jane; And every Saturday morning She used to go over the river, And went to a market where she sold eggs, And sassages, likewise liver. Chorus. For oh!.. For oh!.. he was my darling boy, FOR he was the lad with the auburn hair, And his name was Michael Roy. (2 additional stanzas)
File: CSon068
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #74, p. 160. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. Oh Mick McGee from Ballymachree He once was a hold sailor O, But growing old as I am told He's turned a liquor dealer O. (parts of 2 additional stanzas)
File: HHH740
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The Midnight Train and the 'Fo' Day Train
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 240-241. Supplied by Mrs. Tom Bartlett; original source
not listed.
The midnight train and the fo' day train,
Run all night long!
The midnight train and the fo' day train,
Run all night long!
The midnight train and the fo' day train,
Run all night long!
They run until the break of day.
It's the same train carried your mother away;
Runs all night long.
It's the same train carried your mother away;
Runs all night long.
It's the same train carried your mother away;
Runs all night long.
It runs until the break of day.
File: San325
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 446-448. Said to be from a Roxburgh broadside titled "The Milkemaid's Life; or, a pretty wee ditty composed and penned, the praise of the Milking-pail to defend." You rural goddesses, That woods and fields posses, Assist me with your skill, that may direct my quill, More jocundly to express, The mirth and delight, both morning and night, On mountain or in dale, Of them who choose this trade to use, And, through cold dews, do never refuse To carry the milking-pail. (6 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo446
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Chiney Doll From the singing of Gail Heil on the Bob Bovee & Gail Heil album "Rural Route 2." Gail learned the song from Almeda Riddle. Mama, buy me a chiney doll, Mama, buy me a chiney doll, Mama, buy me a chiney doll, Please, mummy, do. Oh, what would it take to buy it with, And what would it take to buy it with, What would it take to buy it with? Please, mummy, do. We could take daddy's feather bed, Take daddy's feather bed, Take daddy's feather bed, Please, mummy, do. Then where would our daddy sleep, Where would our daddy sleep, Where would our daddy sleep? Please, mummy, do. He could sleep in the puppy's bed, Sleep in the puppy's bed, Sleep in the puppy's bed, Please, mummy, do. Then where would our puppy sleep, Where would our puppy sleep, Where would our puppy sleep, Please, mummy, do. He could sleep in the horsey's bed, Sleep in the horsey's bed, Sleep in the horsey's bed? Please, mummy, do. Then where would our horsey sleep, Where would our horsey sleep, Where would our horsey sleep? Please, mummy, do. He could sleep in the piggy's bed, Sleep in the piggy's bed, Sleep in the piggy's bed, Please, mummy, do. Then where would our piggy sleep, Where would our piggy sleep, Where would our piggy sleep? Please, mummy, do. He could root out in our front yard, Root out in our front yard, Root out in our front yard, Please, mummy, do. Then where would my children play, Where would my children play, here would my children play? Please, mummy, do. We could swing on the garden gate, Swing on the garden gate, Swing on the garden gate, Please, mummy, do. Yes, and get a spanking, too, Yes, and get a spanking, too, Yes, and get a spanking, too, Please, mummy, do.
Milking-pails From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #114, pp. 166-167. From English children in America. "Will you buy me a pair of milking-pails, Oh, mother! Oh, mother? Will you buy me a pair of milking-pails Oh, gentle mother of mine?" Where is the money to come from, Oh, daughter, Oh, daughter? Where is the money to come from, Oh, gentle daughter of mine?" [Presumably at least one verse, about selling father's bed, is missing at this point. See Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, volume I, pp. 376-386, for similar examples containing this verse.] "Where shall your father sleep?" "Sleep in the servant's bed." "Where shall the servant sleep?" "Sleep in the stable." "Where shall the pigs sleep?" "In the wash-tub." "Where shall we wash the clothes?" "Wash them in the river." "What if they should wash away?" "You can jump in and go after them."
File: R356
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(No title) From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number VI, pp. 23-24. No source listed. The lassie and the laddie Gaed out to wauk the mill, And waly was the weel made bed The laddie lay intil. The laddie gaed to bar the door, The lassie gaed wi' him, And aw it cam into her mind, Wi' him she wad lie doun. She's casten aff her petticoat, And sae has she her goun, Atween the laddie and the wa' I wat she did lie doun. Up gat the nakit fallow, And ran frae toun to toun, And there he spied his master, Was walking up and doun. "The cauld's taen me, master, The cauld has taken me, The hire-quean has tane my bed, And I am forc'd to flee. O I hae served ye seven lang years, And never sought a fee, And I will serve ye ither seven, And haud that quean frae me. It's up the loan o' Charltoun, And doun the water o' Dee, And oure the Cairn-'-mount, master, And farder I could flee."
File: KinBB06
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 152-153.
The miller's wife o' Blaydon,
The miller's wife o' Blaydon,
Sair she bang'd her ain gudeman
For kissing o' the maiden.
Yet aye the miller sings and swears
Tho' kissing he had plenty
For one kiss o' that bonny mouth
He'd freely give up twenty.
The miller's wife, etc.
Still though she band me neet and day,
I'll get another laid in,
For gin ye gang through every toon,
You'll niver band our maiden.
The miller's wife, etc.
File: StoR152
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Young Millman (The Tuplin Song) From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #50, pp. 195-196. From the singing of Willie MacDonald of Black River Bridge, 1947. Come roll down your curtain and move slowly on, I'll sing you young Millman, and the Tup-a-lin song. 'Tis a tale of deep sorrow and suffering grief, This crime was committed at a place called Margee. (Margate) On the eighteenth of June, on a calm summer night, The moon from the heavens shone a play ray of light, Little Maggie stepped out of her own father's door, Little thought she had gone to return there no more. (6 additional stanzas)
File: IvDC046
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), pp. 285-286. From the singing of Hebert Hinchey, Boiestown, New Brunswick. You tender hearted Christians, I pray you lend an ear To a sad and mournful story you air about to hear. 'Twas of a lovelye country girl, innocent and fair. Content and free she seemed to be, without one thought or care. This was the sin that turned the tide of Mary Cuplon's life, And truthfully she was to be a mother, not a wife. And him that she had trusted to protect her through the strife, TO hid his shame and save his name took this poor creature's life. (stanzas 1, 3 of 11)
File: Doe285
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Don't ask me where I learned this. I did, that's all I can say. The funny thing is, I grew up in Minnesota, and the Prairie Home Companion Folk Song Book is based largely on songs submitted by Minnesotans -- and it doesn't have my lines. Presumably I learned this some time between 1966 and 1970. - RBW Mine eyes have seen the glory of the burning of the school, We have tortured every teacher, we have broken every rule, We went into the office and we tickled the principal Our school is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah, Teacher hit me with a ruler. I bopped her on the bean with a rotten tangerine And she ain't gonna teach no more.
File: PHCFS100
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Miss Mary Jane
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
p. 117. As recalled from the singing of South Carolina slaves
by Dr. W. F. More.
Ridin' in the buggy,
Miss Mary Jane,
Miss Mary Jane,
Miss Mary Jane,
Ridin' in de buggy,
Miss Mary Jane,
I'm a long ways from home.
Chorus
Who moan for me?
Who moan for me?
Who moan for me, my darlin'?
Who moan for me?
(2 additional stanzas)
File: LoF259
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #91, pp. 232-234. "Sung by Martin Hocko, Pinware, August 1960." Come all ye poor women who work night and day, Making mats for the Mission for three dollars pay, But to tell you the truth the way it do seem, You'll get the milk skimmed and de relations de cream. (16 additional stanzas)
File: LLab091
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From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 173-174. Supplied by "Mr. Dowd" of Charleston, South
Carolina.
"Mister Rabbit, Mister Rabbit,
Yo' ears mighty long."
"Yes, my lawd,
Dey're put on wrong!
Every little soul must shine, shine, shi-ine,
Every little soul must shi-ine, shine, shine."
(3 additional stanzas)
File: LxU006
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 106-107. Young men when that they do arrive Between a score and twenty-five, There's scarcely one that you will find But's either more or less inclined To gang away a-wooing, a woo woo wooing, To gang away a-wooing, amang the maidens fair. (17 additional stanzas)
File: StoR106
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From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #98, pp. 313-314. Collected from Pat Frye of Yadkin County, North Carolina in 1945. 1 'Watch out, my darling, and don't say so, If you are forsaken to the wars don't you go.' 'I'm going, I'm going, I'm going away. You don't wish to marry; so why should I stay?' 2 A suit of men's clothing, her sword by her side, She zolved [sic.] herself in them and away she did ride. 3 Little Willie and his true love was riding along; Little Willie thought his true love was left back at home. 4 'Here's a glass of good old brandy and a bottle of good old wine, Here's a health to those ladies we have left back behind.' 5 'I love but the one woman, on land or on sea; Here's a health to little Mollie; I know she loves me.' 6 She was standing by my side and heared me say so. The tears from her eyes like the waters does flow. 7 'The' 's a sweet little Mollie has followed me here.' 'This is your own true love who loved you so dear.'
File: BrII098
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 96, September 23, 2021, as posted by user Robloz. Learned from her father. In Dublins Fair city, where the girls are so pretty, Where i first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone She pushed her wheelbarrow, through streets broad and narrow, crying cockles and mussels alive alive oh Alive alive oh Alive alive oh Singing cockles and mussles alive alive oh
File: FSWB124B
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 241-243. "Sung by Mrs Jennie Hardy Linscott of Waldboro, Maine." The monkey married the baboon's sister, Smacked his lips and then he kissed her, Kissed so hard he raised a blister, She set up a yell; The bridesmaid put on a stickin' plaster, Stuck so hard couldn't stick any faster. Wasn't that a sad disaster? But it soon got well. (2 additional stanzas)
File: San113
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #131, p. 307. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1938. Come all you booze fighters, if you want to hear, 'Bout the kind of liquor that they sell around here. It's made way back in the lonesome hills, Where there's plenty of moonshine stills. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Wa131
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 142-143. Apparently from the singing of Gilbert R. Combs. 1 I've been a moonshiner for seventeen* long years, I've spent all my money for whiskey and beers. I'll go to some holler, I'll put up my still, I'll make you one gallon for a two dollar bill. 2 I'll go to some grocery and drink with my friends, No women to follow to see what I spends. God bless those pretty women, I wish they were mine, Their breath smells as sweet as the dew on the vine. 3 I'll eat when I'm hungry and drink when I'm dry, If moonshine don't kill me, I'll live till I die. God bless those moonshiners, I wish they were mine, Their breath smells as sweet as the good old moonshine. * The spelling "seventeen" is used in the text; the text in the printed music spells it "sev'nteen."
File: San142
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From Guy Logsdon, "The Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing" And Other Songs Cowboys Sing, #3, pp. 39-41. From the singing of Riley Neal. Collected probably in 1968. A story, a story, a story I'll relate Concerning Archie Barber and his unlucky state; He lived till two an twenty, he lived a single life, When to his sad misfortune he got himself a wife. He married a farmer's daughter, most beautiful, they said, Who expected female sporting that night when she went to bed; When she found he had no hobo, she wrang her hands and cried; She threw her arms around him, she pressed him with her thighs. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Logs003
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From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 148-149. Apparently from Karpeles/Newfoundland. The pink, the lily, and the blooming rose Grow in the garden where my true love goes. The little birds they do rejoice When they think they hear my love Jimmy's voice. O James Machree, I do love you well; I love you better than tongue can tell; There's not one drop of the morning dew That's half so sweet as one kiss from you.
File: FJ148
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From Ralph Vaughan Williams and A. L. Lloyd, The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs, p. 71. Collected in 1906 from "Mrs. Ford," in Blackham, Sussex. 'Mother, mother, make my bed, And wrap me in a milk-white sheet, And wrap me in a cloak of gold, And see whether I can sleep. 'And send me the two bailies, Likewise my sister's son, That they may fetch me my own true love, Or I shall die before ever he can come.' (10 additional stanzas)
From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, pp. 138-139. Collected from Mrs. Charity Lovingood on Murphy, North Carolina. She called to her little page boy, Who was her brother's son. She told him as quick as he could go To bring her lord safe home. Now the very first mile he would walk, And the second he would run, And when he came to a [broken] bridge He bent his breast and swum. O no, your tower is not falling down, Nor does your bower burn, But we are afraide ere you return Your lade will be dead and gone. (Stanzas 1, 2, 5 of 10)
File: VWL071
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From "The Arkansas Woodchopper's World's Greatest Collection of Cowboy Songs with Yodel Arrangements, M. M. Cole, 1931 (?), pp. 10-13. Mem'ries of the golden west and friends I used to know: Take me back to that boarding house, Where I lived long ago. Ev'ry Friday evening we would gather in the hall, Waiting for the greatest treat of all. [Chorus] Won't you bring back, Won't you bring back, Misses Murphy's chowder. It was tuneful ev'ry spoonful made you yodel louder. After dinner uncle Ben Used to fill his fountain pen From a plate of Misses Murphy's chowder. Ice cream, cold cream, benzine, gasoline, Soup-beans, string-beans, floating all around. Sponge cake, beef-steak, mistake, stomach ache, Cream puffs, earmuffs, many to be found. (yodel). One additional stanza.
File: ArWo010
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The Mucking of Geordie's Byar
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #96, p.
97. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile).
As I went over yon meadow,
And carelessly passed along,
I listen'd with pleasure to Jenny,
While mournfully singing this Song.
The mucking of Geordie's Byar,
And the shooling the Gruip fo clean,
Has aft gart me spend the night sleepless,
And brought the salt tears in my een.
It was not my fathers pleasure,
Nor was it my mothers desire,
That ever I puddl'd my fingers,
Wi' the mucking o' Geordie's Byar.
Though the roads were ever so filthy,
Or the day, so scoury and foul,
I would ay be ganging wi' Geordie;
I lik'd it far better than School.
My brither abuses me daily
For being wi' Geordie so free,
My sister she ca's me hoodwinked,
Because he's below my degree.
But when I do like my young Geordie,
Altho' he was cunning and slee,
He ca's me his Dear and his Honey,
And I'm sure that my Geordie loos me[.]
File: DTMoGB
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 114-115. Transcribed in 1939 from a manuscript, probably of the nineteenth century, written by Louisa Nutting Bradley. Come all you good people of every degree; And listen with attention one moment to me, For a sorrowful story I mean to relate, Of a mournful disaster that happened of late. Oh Mulberry trembled at that awful stroke; Consider the voice of Jehoval (sic.) that spoke. To teach us we are mortal, and exposed to death; And subject each moment to yield up our breath. (13 additional stanzas)
File: FO114
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 172-173. From W. B. Morton, originally of Shelburne, Nova Scotia. Collected 1937. Come now, my friends, both old and young; Give your attention, ev'ry one. This murderous deed rings everywhere This happened in the County Claire. The first broke out was John Dugar. In his own hands he took the law. He throwed off coat and hat withmight And dared the other out to fight. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 11)
File: FO172
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From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 131-135. A horrible crime was committed Soon was brought to light; For parents to look on their headless girl, What a sad and terrible sight. The girl who was beheaded, Pearl Bryan was her name. It was done by dental students a studying for fame. (5 additional stanzas)
File: ThBa131
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #90, pp. 189-190. Collected from William Ireland, Elgin, N.B. Young men and tender maidens attend to what I saw, Pity me all in your minds, I hope you'll watch and pray, Do not do as I have done, the truth I will reveal, For the cruelty of my true love sends me to Lipper jail. She was a lady from her birth and that I can't deny, And I was but a poor man's son, her father's servant boy, And when I found she was in love with me 'twas her I did beguile, Six months or something better she was by me beguiled. (8 additional stanzas, slightly irregular in length)
File: CrSNB090
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 209.
"From singing of C. M. Moses."
My father's gone to view that land,
To view that land, to view that land,
My father's gone to view that land,
To sing that cheering song.
Refrain
It takes a saint to view that land,
To view that land, to view that land,
It takes a saint to view that land,
To sing that cheering song.
(5 additional stanzas)
File: Fus209
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The First Time I Saw My Love As printed in Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 225-226. From the journal of the bark Catalpa, sailing from New Bedford in 1856. The first time I saw my love happy was I For I knew not what love was nor how to deny For I made too much freedom of my love's company My generous lover you are welcome to me Happy is the maid that n'er loved a man She is free of all sorrows that we understand She is free of all sorrows and sad misery Oh my generous lover you are welcome to me My friends and relations they angry were all For to make free with you in younder fine hall But my friends and relations they angry may be My generous lover you are welcome to me And it's farewell my lassie since I must away For I in this country no longer can stay So it's keep your mind easy love keep your mind free And let no other man be sharers but me Oh this innocent creature she stood on the ground With her red rosy cheeks and the tears falling down Saying Jimmy dear Jimmy you're the first that wooed me My generous lover you are welcome to me
File: RcMGL
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From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 566-567. Sung by Arthur Nicolle, Rocky Harbour, August 1958. As I roved out one evening down Water street I took my way, In hopes to meet my own true love, for I had not long to stay; In crossing the wide ocean for money and for gain, It's now I'm told that he's returned to his own dear Mary Jane. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Pea566
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(No title) From the Richard Hill Manuscript, Balliol College MS. 354, copied c. 1504-1537. As transcribed in Roman Dyboski, Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book, Kegan Paul, 1907. Archaic symbols have been silently regularized. (Chorus:) "O my harte is wo!" Mary, she said so, "For to see my dere son dyr; & sonnes have I no mo." "When that my swete son was XXXti [thirty] wynter old, Than the traytor Judas wexed very bold; For XXXti plates of money, his master he had sold; But whan I it wyst, lord, my hart was cole. O, my hart is woo! ... mo. "Upon Shere Thursday than truly it was, On my sonnes death that Judas did on passe; Many were the fals Jewes that folowed hym by trace, & ther, beffore them all, he kyssed my sonnes face. O, my hart is woo! ... mo. [3 additional stanzas.]
File: MSOMHIWo
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From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #259, p. 268. No source indicated. Tune listed as Failte na miosg. My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands a chasing the deear; A chasing the wild deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go. Fare well to the Highlands, farewell to the north, The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth, Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. (1 additional stanza)
File: GrD3521
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #78, p. 300. From the singing of George Edwards. I want to see my mother, Oh, can't you call her here? It wouldn't seem so hard to die to have my mother near. My home is on the mountain, Oh, where the pine trees wave, It's there I heard the bugle a-calling for the brave. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FSC078
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I'm Goin' Back to North Carolina From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #124, pp. 297-298. From the singing of Frank Proffitt of North Carolina. Collected 1959. I'm goin' back to North Car'lina, I'm goin' back to North Car'lina, I'm goin' back to North Car'lina, I never expect to see you any more. I'm going to leave here Monday morning, I'm going to leave here Monday morning, I'm going to leave here Monday morning, I never expect to see you any more. How can I ever keep from crying, How can I ever keep from crying, How can I ever keep from crying, I never expect to see you any more. I'm going across the Blue Ridge Mountains, I'm going across the Blue Ridge Mountains, I'm going across the Blue Ridge Mountains, I never expect to see you any more.
I'm Going Back to North Carolina As recorded by Kelly Harrell, OKeh 40505, August 25, 1925. I'm a-going to take a train in the morning, I'm going to take a train in the morning, I'm a-going to take a train in the morning, For I never expect to see you any more. I'm a-going to cross the Rocky Mountains, I'm going to cross the Rocky Mountains, I'm going to cross the Rocky Mountains, For I never expect to see you any more. I'm going back to North Carolina, I'm going back to North Carolina, I'm going back to North Carolina, Lord, I never expect to see you any more. How she cried when Moxie left her, How she cried when Moxie left her, How she cried when Moxie left her, For she never expects to see him any more. One sweet kiss and I must leave you, One sweet kiss and I must leave you, One sweet kiss and I must leave you, For I never expect to see you any more. I'm a-going to spend my days with my momma, I'm going to spend my days with my momma, I'm going to spend my days with my momma, Lord, I never expect to see you any more.
File: Wa124
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, p. 192. My laddie sits ower late up, My hinny sits ower late up, My dearie sits ower late up, Betwixt the pint pot and the cup. Hey, Johnny, come hame to your bairn, Hey, Johnny, come hame to your bairn, Hey, Johnny, come hame to your bairn, Wiv a rye loaf under your airm. He addles three ha'pence a week, That's nobbut a farthing a day; He sits wiv his pipe iv his cheek, And fuddles his money away. My laddie is never the near, My hinny is never the near, And when I cry out, "Laddie, cum hame," He calls oot again for mair beer.
File: StoR192
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(No title) From the photographs in Edward Bliss Reed, editor, _Christmas Carols Printed in the Sixteenth Century Including Kele's Christmas carolles newely Inprynted reproduced in facsimile from the copy in the Huntington Library_, Harvard University Press, 1932, pp. 38-40 [20-22]. Contractions and such have been silently modernized, but spelling is retained (note e.g. the different spellings "hart" and "harte" for "heart." My harte of golde as true as stele, As I me lened to a bough In fayth but yf ye loue my well orde so Robyn lough My lady went to Caunterbury The saynt to be her nothe She met with cate of Malmesbery why wepyst thou in an apple rote My hart.&c Nyne myle to Mychelmas Our dame began to brew Mychell set his mare to gras Lorde fast it snew My hart.&c (6 additional stanzas)
File: EPMLWtCa
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #81, p. 306. From the singing of Mrs. Henry Terbusch. My Lord knows the way thru (sic.) the wilderness -- All I have to do is follow; My Lord knows the way thru the wilderness -- All I have to do is follow; Strength for today is mine all the way, And all I need for tomorrow; My Lord knows the way thru (sic.) the wilderness -- All I have to do is follow.
File: FSC081
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From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 7-9. From John C. Hall, Providence, Rhode Island. Collected 1945. My love is so pretty, So lively, so witty, None in town or city Her hand would disgrace. My lord of the woolsack His coachman would pull back To get a look full smack At her pretty face. Chorus With a fol di dol la diddy, Fol di dol la diddy Fol di dol la diddy Fol di dol day. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FO007
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My love she's but a Lassie yet
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume III, #225, p.
234. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile).
My love she's but a lassie yet,
My love she's but a lassie yet,
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet.
I rue the day I sought her O,
I rue the day I sought her O,
Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought her O.
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet;
Gae seek for pleasure whare ye will,
But here I never misst it yet.
We're a' dry wi' drinkin' o't,
We're a' dry wi' drinkin' o't,
The minister kisst the fidler's wife
He could na preach for thinkin' o't.
File: MCB226
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As recorded by the Carter Family, Victor V-40293, 1940. Transcribed by Robert B. Waltz. Oh my loving mother, when the world's on fire, Don't you want God's bosom to be your pillow? Hide me over in the rock of ages, Rock of ages, cleft for me. I'm going to heaven when the world's on fire And I want God's bosom to be my pillow. Hide me over in the rock of ages, Rock of ages, cleft for me. Oh my loving brother, when the world's on fire, Don't you want God's bosom to be your pillow? Hide me over in the rock of ages, Rock of ages, cleft for me. Oh my loving sinner, when the world's on fire, Don't you want God's bosom to be your pillow? Hide me over in the rock of ages, Rock of ages, cleft for me. Don't you want to go to heaven when the world's on fire, Don't you want God's bosom to be your pillow? Hide me over in the rock of ages, Rock of ages, cleft for me.
File: R637
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 124-125. "From singing of Polly Rains." On the banks of the noble Cumberland, I spent many happy hours, Wandering there with my Lula Lou, Kentucky's sweetest flower, Kentucky's sweetest flower Kentucky's sweetest flower, Wandering there with my Lula Lou, Kentucky's sweetest flower. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Fus124
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From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 378-379. No source
indicated, though Sandburg implies that the verses are only a selection
of those known to him.
1 My Lulu hugged and kissed me,
She wrung my hand and cried,
She said I was the sweetest thing
That ever lived or died.
2 My Lulu's tall and slender,
My Lulu gal's tall and slim,
But the only thing that satisfies her
Is a good big drink of gin.
3 If you go monkey with my Lulu gal,
I'll tell you what I'll do,
I'll carve your heart out with my razor,
I'll shoot you with my pistol too.
4 My Lulu gal's a daisy,
She wears a big white hat;
I bet your life when I'm in town
The dudes all hit the flat.
5 I ain't goin' to work on the railroad,
I ain't goin' to lie in jail,
But I'm goin' down to Cheyenne town
To live with my Lulu gal.
6 My Lulu she's an angel,
Only she aint (sic.) got no wings.
I guess I'll get her a wedding ring
When the grass gets green next spring.
7 My Lulu, she's a dandy,
She stands and drinks like a man,
She calls for gin and brandy,
And she doesn't give a damn.
8 Engineer blowed the whistle,
Fireman rang the bell,
Lulu, in a pink kimona
Says, "Baby, oh fare you well."
9 I seen my Lulu in the springtime,
I seen her in the fall;
She wrote me a letter in the winter time,
Says, "Good-bye, honey," that's all.
File: San378
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From W. Henderson, Editor, _Victorian Street Ballads_ Country Life, 1937, p. 123. Said my master to me, is it true? I am told Your name on the books of the Union's enroll'd. I can never allow that a workman of mine With wicked disturbers of peace should combine. * * * Says I to the master, it's perfectly true That I am in the Union, and I'll stick to it too, And if between Union and you I must choose I have plenty to win and little to lose. (4 additional stanzas)
File: PaPa017
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The Wexford Girl From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #92 pp. 194-195. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N.B. My name is Edward Gallovan, in Wexford I was born, For the murder of Mary Riley I die in public scorn, It is of a beautiful fair one who might have been my wife, But for the sake of cursed gold I took away her life. Those words that she had said to me would grieve your heart full sore, Before that I had murdered her and left her in her gore. She said, "Dear James here are my keys and in my box you'll find An order on the savings back for the sum of twenty pounds." (Stanzas 1, 3 of six plus a fragment)
File: CrSNB092
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 154, October 29, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY, who reported, "Doesn t really have a tune." My name is Yohn Yohnson. I come from Visconsin. I work in the lumberyard there. And every guy that I meet, as I walk down the street, says Hey dere, vhat s your name? And I tell him: (repeat)
File: xMNIYY
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My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night
From sheet music published 1853 (on five pages) by Firth, Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME, GOOD NIGHT*
FOSTER'S PLANTATION MELODIES
No. 20
As Sung By
Christy's Minstrels
No.18. FAREWELL MY LILLY DEAR
No.19. MASSA'S IN THE COLD GROUND
Written and Composed by
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home,
'Tis summer, the darkies are gay,
The corn top's ripe and the meadow's in the bloom
While the birds make music all the day.
The young folks roll on the little cabin floor,
All merry, all happy and bright:
By'n by Hard Times comes a knocking at the door,
Then my old Kentucky Home, good night!
CHORUS
Weep no more, my lady, oh! weep no more today!
We will sing one song
For the old Kentucky Home,
For the old Kentucky Home, far away.
2d. V.
They hunt no more for the possum and the coon
On the meadow, the hill and the shore,
They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon,
On the bench by the old cabin door.
The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart,
With sorrow where all was delight:
The time has come when the darkies have to part,
Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
Chorus.
3d. V.
The head must bow and the back will have to bend,
Wherever the darkey may go:
A few more days, and the trouble all will end
In the field where the sugar canes grow.
A few more days for to tote the weary load,
No matter 'twill never be light,
A few more days till we totter on the road,
Then my old Kentucky Home, good-night!
Chorus.
* On the interior page, the title is given as "My Old
Kentucky Home, Good-night!"
File: RJ19134
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From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #294, pp. 682-683. Received from Southgate Jones, Durham, North Carolina, in 1920. Printed as given in Brown, spellings and all. 1 My Warfair will soon be ended My trouble is almost don My warfair is almost ended And then I am going home. 2 God bless the Holy people The Presbetiran twoo, Those shoutain Meterdos And the prayin Babtis twoo. 3 My Warfair will soon be ended My trouble is almost don My warfair is almost ended And then I am going home. Presumed original: My warfare will soon be ended, My trouble is almost done. My warfare is almost ended And then I am going home. God bless the holy people, The Presbyterians too. Those shouting Methodists And the praying Baptists too. (Repeat first verse.)
File: BrII294
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From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #217, p. 226. No source indicated. My Wife's a wanton, wee thing, My wife's a wanton wee thing, My wire's a wanton wee thing, She winna be guided by me. She play'd the loon or she was married, She play'd the loon or she was married, She play'd the loon or she was married, She'll do it again or she die. She fell'd her coat and she drank it, She fell'd her coat and she drank it, She row'd her fell in a blanket, She winna be guided by me. She mind't na when I forbade her, She mind't na when I forbade her, I took a run and I claw'd her, And a braw gude bairn was she.
File: GrD71295
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The Rambling Beauty From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition), pp. 176-177. No source information given. All ye that follow the rambling beauty, I warn ye a' tak' special care, And not depend on false young women, They'll be sure to draw ye into a snare. A merchant's daughter called Nancy, Dressed in silks and satins fine, For her I had the greatest fancy I ever had for womankind. One day I went to pay her a visit, And offered her the wedding ring; How scornfully she did refuse it, And said she would have no such thing. She then went straight unto her father To let him this awful story know; His cruelty was worse than his daughter's, He bade me from his presence go. He swore that I had his daughter ruined, And into prison he did me throw; And there I loves upon bread and water Till my condition was very low. And now she's married to Prince Orai, A reckless youth in yonder town, Who neither loves nor yet regards her, But tries to trample her courage down. One day as I was out a-walking, My false lover I chanced to meet, She being in a poor condition And I myself in a thriving state. I put my hand into my pocket And took out guineas one, two, three, Says, "Take ye this, ye poor heartless woman, Dye mind how false ye were to me?" She wrung her hands and she fell a-weeping, Alas, her sorrows were fresh and green; Says, "Once I thought I had a heart a-keeping, But how unfortunate I hae been." Now all ye young women frae me take warning, And never throw your first love away; For oft a dark and a misty morning Turns out a bright and a bonnie day.
File: LP12
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From Frank Shay, American Sea Songs and Chanteys, pp. 170-171.
Source not indicated.
Of all the wives as e'er you know,
Yeo-ho! lads, ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho!
There's none like Nancy Lee, I trow,
Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho!
See there she stands and waves her hands upon the quay,
And every day when I'm away she'll watch for me,
And whisper low when tempests blow, for Jack at sea,
Yeo-ho! lads, ho! Yeo-ho!
Chorus
The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be,
Yeo-ho! We go across the sea;
The sailor's wife the sailor's star shall be,
The sailor's wife his star shall be!
(2 additional stanzas)
File: ShaSS170
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The Maid in Bedlam From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #46, pp. 46-47. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). One morning very early, one morning in the spring, I heard a maid in Bedlam, who mournfully did sing; Her chains she rattl'd on her hands, while sweetly thus sung she, I love my love, because I know, my love love me. Oh! cruel were his parents, who sent my love to sea; And cruel, cruel was the ship that bore my love from me, Yet I love my parents, since they're his, although they've ruined me, For I love my love, &c. (6 additional stanzas)
File: ShH41
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #36, pp. 156-157. From the singing of Arthur MacDonald of Black River Bridge, 1948. All you true Napan heroes, come listen to me, I'll sing you the praises of Robert Sweezey, Who's lately been challenged to fight till he dies, To fight Frank Russell from old Pointy Car. (4 additional stanzas)
File: IvNB061
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I'm a Nachel-Bawn Reacher
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 232-233. Supplied by Mrs. M. L. Riddle; the ultimate source
is not listed but was probably from east Tennessee.
De white man say de times is hahd,
Nigger never worries, 'case he trust in de Lawd.
No matter how hahd de times may be,
Chickens never roost too high foh me.
Chorus
I'm a nachel-bawn reacher,
Jus' a nachel-bawn reacher,
Jus' a nachel-bawn reacher,
Dat's no lie.
Once I knew a man by de name of Freeze,
Among de gals he was all de cheese.
He was twice as frosty as his name,
He never lacked de letter dat never came.
(1 additional stanza plus variant chorus)
File: ScNF232B
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Threading the Needle From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #29, p. 91. From Massachusetts. The needle's eye That doth supply The thread that runs so true; Ah! many a lass Have I let pass Because I wanted you.
File: R545
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From W. K. McNeil, Southern Folk Ballads, Volume II, pp. 82-83. Collected in May 1927 from Bessie Wesctorr Midgett of Manteo, North Carolina. On the twentieth of November, A day we remember well, A handsome girl was coldly murdered, Of her story I will tell She had scarce passed sixteen summers With eyes of blue and sunny curls, Perfect were each handsome feature, With red lips shutting over pearls. One night the lover called to see her, But they hardly spoke a word, FOr they'd had a lover's quarrel, So the neighbors all had heard. (Stanzas 1, 3, 4 of 10)
File: MN2082
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Nell Cropsey, II From Louis W. Chappell, _Folk-Songs of Roanoke and the Albemarle_, #62, pp. 110-111. Collected in 1934 from Mrs. L. A. Spencer of Edenton, NC. Oh, swift flowing river, A secret you hold, Way down in the depths -- Of the water so cold. Won't you stop for a while, AS onward you flow, And tell us, Oh River, The secret you know? The fair girl whose story So sad has been told, Stole away in the night Like a lamb from the fold. The treacherous hand dealt The villaineous blow (sic) That secret, Oh River, You surely must know. (Stanzas 1, 2, 5, 6 of 10)
File: ChFRA062
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From Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 49. The song is listed as being in copyright and used by permission, but no author or copyright holder is listed. 1. Down on the Mississippi floating, Long time I trabbel o'er the way; All night the cottonwood I's toting, Singing for my true lub all the day; Nellie was a lady, last night she died; Toll de bell for lubly Nell, my dark Virginia bride. Oh, Nellie was a lady, last night she died; Toll de bell for lubly Nell, my darkie bride. Oh, Nellie was a lady, last night she died; Toll de bell for lubly Nell, my darkie bride. (1 additional stanza plus a modified chorus for the final verse.)
File: Dean122
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Nelson's Glorious Victory at Trafalgar As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 67-69. Immediate source is not noted. Arise, arise, brave Britons! Perform your loudest lays; And join me in a chorus, To sing Britannia's praise. Once more the hero of the Nile Did seek to make Britannia smile With another victory on the file -- O brave Nelson! October, on the twenty-first, It being a glorious day, The combined fleets of France and Spain Were just off Cadiz Bay; Their ships, in number thirty-three -- And Nelson, when he did them see, Said, "Twenty then there is for me." O brave Nelson! The signal made for fighting, Cannon began to roar; Our ships, in number twenty-seven, We shook the Spanish shore; And Nelson on the deck so high, Aloud unto his men did cry, "We'll conquer them, my lads, or die." O brave Nelson! He broke their line of battle, And struck the fatal blow; He blew some up into the air, And some he sent below. But, when with victory on his side A fatal ball his life destroyed, He in the midst of glory died. O brave Nelson! When the hero brave was dying, And with his parting breath, He pray'd for England's glory, Till the moment of his death. "Farewell, my lads, my glass is run, This day must be my setting sun; But Providence, thy will be done," O brave Nelson! The battle it being over, Which was a bloody fray; We twenty of their finest ships, From them did take away. Now Bonaparte! boast no more, To land upon our native shore, Lest you in pieces should be tore, Through brave Nelson. May Collingwood's and Hardy's, Like Nelson's fame resound, And all our force by land and sea, With good success be crown'd; May Britain's trade and wealth increase, All wars and tumults ever cease, And may we have a lasting peace Through brave Nelson.
File: LJ17
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 119. Reprinted from Leach, Folk Ballads and Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast. "Sung by Henry White, Sandy Cove, June 1960." The Neptune, rule of the Sea, she rides in court today, Filled up with white-coats to the hatch and her colors flying gay. They killed and panned a heavy load with flags on every pan, While bats did rattle on their heads, the murder then began. (2 additional stanzas)
File: LLab081
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #116, pp. 228-229. Collected from Williams Wilson, Ratter's Corner, N.B. Oh it's come all you New Ireland lads, Come listen to my song. I'll sing you a few verses Concerning Tom Long. Chorus And sing right fol the dey, dol the dol dey, To laddie to laddie sing right fol the dey. Our business being there it's to get some rum, Then Johnny he swore that it couldn't be done. Our clergy gave orders and we must obey Not to sell whisky upon a Sunday. (7 additional stanzas)
File: CrSNB116
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #12, p. 54-57. Collected from Joe Thibadeau, Bobcaygeon, Ontario, October 1964. Now we left our own homes, for the woods we were bent -- The first night in Bobcaygeon with pleasure we spent. We put up at Harve Thompson's that night for a time Who was hiring teams for the New Limit Line. (14 additional stanzas)
File: FowL12
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #166, pp. 607-608. As sung by George Edwards. Come listen, kind friends, [And] I'll sing you a song, It's only a short one, It won't keep you long. Refrain: Says right! fal the diddle daddle, Whack! fal the diddle daddle, Right! fal dee-day. I went walking to Newburgh, I was thinking no harm, When up steps old Morgan, Takes me by the arm. (Stanzas 1, 5, of 13)
File: FSC166
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 190-191. Newcassel is my native place, Where my mother sighed for me, I was born in Rewcastle Chare, The centre of the Kee; Where in early youth I sported, Quite free from care and pain! But, alas! those days are gone and past, They'll never come again. Now like another married man I have with care to fight, So let all joy and happiness Among us reign to-night; And with a bumper in each hand, Let every heart proclaim, That happy may we separate, And happy meet again. (Stanzas 1, 6 of 6)
File: StoR190
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 94-95. From Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports; collected in 1960 from Joshua Osborne. We often read of heroes bold and noble deeds they done, Some on the field oof battle Victoria Crosses won, The British tars and officers who walked the quarter-deck Oft la'nched a life-boat in a storm to take men from a wreck. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Pea967
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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 320-322. Based on a broadside which is said to be based on Herd. I chanced to meet an airy blade, A new made pulpiteer, laddie, With a cocked up hat and powdered wig, A black coat and cuffs fu' clear, laddie, A long cravat at him did wag, And buckles at his knees, laddie, Says he, my heart, by Cupid's dart, Is captivate to thee, lassie. (6 additional stanzas)
File: GrD4872
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(Find the Ring) From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume I, p. 121. From Sheffield. O the grand old Duke of York He had ten thousand men, He marched them up the hill ago (sic.) And he marched them down again. And when they were up they were up, And when they were down they were down, And when they were half-way up the hill They were neither up nor down.
File: FSWB390B
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 114-115. From the third
(1955) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland.
There's a noble fleet of sealers,
Being fitted for the "ice."
They'll take a chance again this year
tho' fat's gone down in price.
And the owners will supply them
as in the days of old,
For in Newfoundland the Sealing VOyage
means something more than gold.
Chorus
For the ice is drifting "suddard"
It's getting near the Funks,
And men will leave their feather beds
to sleep in wooden bunks.
Tho' times are getting hard again
our men have not gone soft.
They'll haul their tows o'er icy floes
or briskly go aloft.
(5 additional stanzas)
File: FMB162
Partial text(s)
The Awful Wedding From Cecil Sharp & Maud Karpeles, English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians. Vol. I1 (1932 edition). Item #105, p. 83. Collected 1909 from "Mrs. Moore" of Rabun, Georgia. I'll tell you of an awful wedding Where two true lovers proved unkind She begin to reflect on her former studies And her old true love run strong in her mind. They were all seated round the table And every one should sing a song And the very first one was her old true lover And this is the song that he sung to the bride If any one should ask the reason Why I put on my strange attire I'm crossed in love, that is the reason I've lost my only heart's delight But I'll put on my strange attire And I will wear it for a week or two -------------------- Till I change my old love for the new But how can you lie with your head on another man's pillow When you proved your love so late to me? To bear it any longer she was not able And down at her bridegroom's feet she fell There['s] one thing I do desire Perhaps you all will grant me That is this night to lie by my mother And all that love me lie with thee And this request being soon was granted With watery eyes they went to bed So early, so early, as they rose in the morning They found the young bride lying dead
File: LP31
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #171, p. 389. From the singing of Sue Thomas of North Carolina, 1939. Nobody knows how heavy my load, Nobody knows how throny (sic.) my road. Nobody cares if I'm troubled on the way, How dark the night, how dark the day. Chorus Nobody knows, nobody cares, My heavy burden nobody shares. My only comfort, my only stay, Jesus is walking by my side always. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa171
Partial text(s)
From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II, pp. 195-196 (second text). The rarest girl I ever saw, I saw down south in Arkansaw, She could saw wood to beat her Maw, And faster than her Paw could chaw. Hurrah, hurrah! For her I saw, Who could outsaw Her Paw and Maw. See-saw, hee-haw! I sing a saw Of maid I saw In Arkansaw! (4 additional stanzas)
File: FORA195
Partial text(s)
From Frank Shay, American Sea Songs and Chanteys, pp. 172-177.
Source not indicated.
Our topsails reef'd and filled away,
All snug aloft we know,
Despite the storms we'll still be gay,
Among our friends below.
Come gather round and listen, then,
With spirits warm and true;
Here's a health to all the Norfolk girls,
And Portsmouth maidens, too.
Here's a health to all the Norfolk girls,
And Portsmouth maidens too,
Here's a health to all the Norfolk girls,
And Portsmouth maidens too.
(6 additional stanzas)
File: ShaSS172
Complete text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 32-34.
Stanza 1.
A shepherd sat him under a thorn,
He pulled out his pipes and began for to play,
It was on a midsummer day in the morn,
In honour of that holiday.
A ditty he did chant along,
That goes to the tune of "Cater Bordee,"
And this was the burden of his song,
"If thou wilt pipe, lad, I'll dance to thee;
To thee, to thee, derry, derry, to thee;
To thee, to thee, derry, derry, to thee;
And this was the burden of his song,
"If thou wilt pipe, lad, I'll dance to thee."
And while his harmony he did make,
A country damsel from the town,
A basket on her arm she had,
A gathering rushes from the down;
Her bongrace was of wended straw,
From the sun's beams her face to free,
And thus she began when she him saw --
If thou wilt pipe, lad, I'll dance to thee;
To thee, to thee, etc.
File: StoR032
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #29, pp, 101-103. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1940. I'll tell to you a story that was told to me A good old story, Gramachree. When my mother she was dying, "My lad," says she, "Nothin's too good for the Irish!" When we come over, me and my brother Dan, Says I, "We will do the best we can." They made me a copper, and him an alderman Nothin's too good for the Irish. Chorus Dutchmen were made for to carry coal and shovel snow, Italians for organs, the Englishmen to mash, Chinese for washing, the Japs for a juggling show, Negroes to whitewash, the Jews were made for cash, Cubans for cigarettes, the Portugese sail the seas, Scotchmen for bakers, the French were made for style, Rooshians for mining, Americans for liberty, But men made for bosses are sons of Erin's isle! Hip hip hurrah! Erin go bragh! Nothin's too good for the Irish. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa029
Complete text(s)
Thorneymoor Fields
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #53, pp. 154-155.
From Mrs. Robert Cox, Steubenville, Ohio.
1. Thornymoor Fields in Nottinghamshire,
Fol-the dol-lay, sing rightful add-a-day,
There there ranged some good fat deer,
Fol-the-dol lar-a-lee,
The keepers' houses stood three square,
About a mile apart they were,
And their orders were, to look after the deer,
Fol-the-dol lar-a-lie-day.
2. Me and me dogs went out one night,
The moon shone clear and the stars shone bright;
Over hedges, ditches, gates, and stiles,
With me two dogs close after me heels,
To catch a fat buck in Thornymoor fields.
3. We roamed the woods and the groves that night,
We roamed the woods till it broke daylight;
The very first game I ever had found
Was a good fat buck lying dead on the ground,
Where one of me dogs gave him his death wound.
4. I out wi' me knife and I cut the buck's throat,
I out wi' me knife and I cut the buck's throat;
You'd laughed to see poor limpin' Jack,
He going home with a buck on his back,
For he carried it like a Yorkshireman's pack.
5. I hired a butcher to skin the game,
I and another to sell the same;
The very first game we offered for sale
Was to an old woman who sold bad ale,
And she lodged us three poor lads in jail.
6. The sessions are coming, and we're to be tried,
The sessions are coming, and we're to be tried;
The gentlemen laughed them all to scorn
And said this old woman should be foresworn;
I cried, "In pieces she ought to be torn!"
7. The sessions are over and we're all free,
The sessions are over and we're all free;
(Released with reprimand.)
File: E053
Complete text(s)
Text as supplied by Kit Plunkett, December 2010, "as sung to me by my father." This would probably be in the late 1950s or shortly after. Kit supplies the following background: "My father [John C. Plunkett] (1931-2003) sang this song to me (with a few differences) as a lullaby when I was a child. After my own son was born thirty-one years ago, I sang it to him. I had asked my father then where the song had originated. Although he didn't know the exact origins, he told me that his father [Richard Plunkett] (1900-1964) had sung it to him and his seven siblings when they were children.ˇˇMy grandfather was born from an Irish immigrant (a fisherman from the Dublin area who died in 1903) and a widow from the Boston area. Theyˇall lived and died in Boston, Massachusetts. It could beˇpuzzling as to where and how my grandfather heard this song originally except for the fact that he was a Merchant Seaman for many years and could have picked up the song during his years on the sea." When I was a little lad, Me mother tucked me in. But now I am a big boy And fit to serve the Queen. I can fire a musket And I can smoke a pipe. And I can kiss a pretty girl At ten o'clock at night.
File: R358
Complete text(s)
From the Alan Lomax Collection: Lomax,World Library of Folk and Primitive Music: Scotland CD: Rounder CD 1743, 1998. From a recording of Scottish children, as transcribed by Paul J. Stamler Now the war is over, Mussolini's dead, He wants to go to heaven with a crown upon his head, The Lord says no, he's got to stay below, All dressed up and no where to go.
File: DTwarovr
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #137, p. 300. From Helen Hobart, Medina, Ohio. 1. Oh, the nurse pinched the baby just to tease it, There's something wrong, and everybody sees it; And along with all the women in Ohio, Mother's gone down to the beer saloon to pray. 2. Oh, she caught the rage from that old Doctor Dye-o, Who neither drinks whiskey, tea, nor rye-o, And along with all the ladies from Ohio, Mother's gone down to the beer saloon to pray.
File: E137
Partial text(s)
The Not-Browne Mayd From Percy/Wheatley, Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Volume II, pp. 35-47. Derived from the edition in Richard Arnold's 1521 Chronicle, but touched up. Be it ryght, or wrong, these men among On women do complayne; Affyrmynge this, how that it is A labour spent in vayne, To love them wele; for never a dele They love a man agayne: For late a man do what he can, Theyr favour to attayne, Yet, yf a new do them persue, Theyr first true love than Laboureth for nought; for from her thought He is a banyshed man. (29 additional stanzas)
File: OBB069
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #175, p. 393. From the singing of J. B Sutton of North Carolina, 1941. I don't like no farmer's rule, says, "Get up in the morning With the dog-goned mule." O Bud, Bud, Bud, Bud, O Bud. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa175
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 16-17. Oh! I hae seen the roses blaw, The heather bloom, the broom and a' The lily spring as white as snaw, With all their native splendour. Yet Mary's sweeter on the green, As fresh and fair as Flora's queen, Mair stately than the branching bean, Or like the ivy slender. (4 additional stanzas)
File: StoR016
Complete text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 195. As remembered by Fuson himself. O Kings, you've heard the sequel Of what we now describe; It isn't just and equal To tax this wealthy tribe.
File: Fus196D
Partial text(s)
Gaudeamus synge we in hoc sacro tpe (tpere, sic) Puer nobis natus en ex Maria virgine From the photographs in Edward Bliss Reed, editor, _Christmas Carols Printed in the Sixteenth Century Including Kele's Christmas carolles newely Inprynted reproduced in facsimile from the copy in the Huntington Library_, Harvard University Press, 1932, pp. 49-51 [31-33]. Contractions and such have been silently modernized, but spelling is retained and the (lack of) punctuation is not corrected. Mary moder come and se Thy sone is nayled on a tre Hande and fote he may not go His body is wrapped all in wo Upon a tre nayled he is To brynge us all to heuen blyss For Adam that dyde mysse For an aple that was so fre From his heed unto his too His skynne is torne and fleshe also His body is bothe wanne and blo And nayled he is on a tre (8 additional stanzas)
File: Gree044
Complete text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, p. 103.
O, the bonny fisher lad
That brings the fishes frae the sea;
O, the bonny fisher lad,
The fisher lad gat haud o' me.
On Bamboroughshire's rocky shore,
Just as you enter Bowmer Raw,
There lives the bonny fisher lad,
The fisher lad that bangs them a'.
O, the bonny fisher lad, etc.
My mother sent me out one day
To gather cockles frae the sea;
But I had not been lang away
When my fisher lad fell in wi' me.
O, the bonny fisher lad, etc.
A sailor I will never marry,
Not soldier, for he's got ne brass;
But I will have a fisher lad,
Because I am a fisher's lass.
O, the bonny fisher lad, etc.
File: StoR103
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1864 by Septimus Winner.
Title page inscribed
To E. F. Dixey Esq.
DER
DEITCHER'S DOG
Comic Ballad
BY
SEP. WINNER.
Oh where, O where ish mine little dog gone;
Oh where, Oh where can he be.
His ears cut short und his tail cut long:
Oh where, Oh where ish he.
CHORUS
Tra la la la la la la la la la la,
la la la la la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la.
2
I loves mine lager 'tish very goot beer,
Oh where, Oh where can he be.
But mit no money I cannot drink here.
Oh where, Oh where ish he.
3
Across the ocean in Garmanie
Oh where, Oh where can he be.
Der deitchers dog ish der best companie
Oh where, Oh where ish he.
4
Un sasage ish good, bolonie of course
Oh where, Oh where can he be.
Dey makes um mit dog und dey makes em mit horse,
I guess de makes em mit he.
File: RJ19057
Complete text(s)
O'er the hills, and far away
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume I, #62, pp.
62-63. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain,
given the state of the facsimile). The text in "Pills to Purge
Melancholy" is almost identical (except for punctuation and spelling
differences), except in the second verse.
Jocky met with Jenny fair,
Aft by the dawning of the day;
But Jocky now is fu' of care,
Since Jenny staw his heart away.
Altho' she promis'd to be true,
She proven has, alake! unkind;
Which gars poor Jockey often rue
That e'er he lov'd a fickle mind.
And it'd over the hills, and far away
over the hills, and far away
over the hills, and far away
The wind has blawn my plaid away.
Now Jocky was a bonny lad
As e'er was born in Scotland fair;
But now poor man! he's e'en gane wood,
Since Jenny has gart him despair;
Young Jocky was a Piper's son,
And fell in love when he was young;
But a' the springs that he could play.
Was o'er the hills, and far away.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
He sung -- When first my Jenny's face
I saw, she seem'd sae fu' of grace,
With meikle joy my heart was fill'd,
That's now, alas! with sorrow kill'd.
Oh! was she but as true as fair,
'Twad put an end to my despair.
Instead of that she is unkind,
And wavers like the winter wind.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Ah! cou'd she find the dismal wae
That for her sake I undergae,
She cou'd nae chuse but grant relief,
And put an end to a' my grief.
But, oh! she is as fause as fair,
Which causes a' my sighs and care;
But she triumphs in proud disdain,
And takes a pleasure in my pain.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Hard was my hap, to fa' in love
With ane that does so faithless prove;
Hard was my fate, to court a maid,
That has my constant heart betray'd.
A thousand times to me she swore,
She wad be true for evermore.
But, to my grief, alake, I say;
She staw my heart and ran away.
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
Since that she will nae pity take,
I maun gae wander for her sake,
And, in ilk wood and gloomy grove,
I'll sighing, sing, Adieu to love;
Since she is fause whom I adore,
I'll never trust a woman more;
Frae a' their charms I'll flee away
And on my pipes I'll sweetly play,
And it's o'er the hills, &c.
File: Arn017
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1850 by Oliver Ditson.
Title page inscribed
NEW AND IMPROVED VERSION
THE
OCEAN BURIAL
A
Favorite and touching Ballad
THE MUSIC COMPOSED & AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO HIS
SISTER
BY
GEORGE N. ALLEN
"O! bury me not in the deep, deep sea;"
The words came low and mournfully,
From the pallid lips of a youth who lay,
On his cabin couch at the close of day.
He had wasted and pined 'till o'er his brow,
The death-shade had slowly passed, and now,
Whene (sic.) the land and his fond loved home were nigh,
They had gathered around him to see him die.
"O bury me not in the deep, deep sea,
Where the billowy shroud will roll over me,
Where no light will break through the dark, cold wave,
And no sunbeam rest upon my grave.
It matters not, I have oft been told,
Where the body shall lie when the heart is cold,
Yet grant ye O! grant ye this boon to me,
O! bury me not in the deep, deep sea."
3
"For in fancy I've listened to the well known words,
The free, wild winds, and the songs of the birds;
I have thought of home, of cot and bower,
And of scenes that I love in childhood's hour.
I had ever hoped to be laid when I died,
In the church-yard there, on the green hill-side;
By the bones of my fathers' my grave should be,
O! bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
4
"Let my death slumbers be where a mother's prayer,
And a sister's tear shall be mingled there;
O! 'twill be sweet, ere the heart's throb is o'er,
To know when its fountains shall gush no more,
That those it so fondly hath yearned for will come
To plant the first wild-flower of spring on my tomb;
Let me lie where those loved ones will weep over me,
O! bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
5
"And there is another; he rears would be shed,
For him who lay far in an ocean bed;
In hours that it pains me to think of now,
She hath twined these locks, and hath kissed this brow,
In the hair she hath wreathed, shall the sea snake hiss!
And the brow she had pressed, shall the cold wave kiss!
For the sake of that bright one that waiteth for me,
O! bury me not in the deep, deep sea.
6
"She hath been in my dreams" -- his voice failed there;
They gave no heed to his dying prayer;
They have lowered him slow o'er the vessel's side,
Above him has closed the dark, cold tide;
Where to dip their light wings the sea-fowls rest
Where the blue waves dance o'er the ocean's crest;
Where the billows bound, and the winds sport free;
They have buried him there, in the deep, deep sea.
File: FR437
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #136, pp. 297-298. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Was in the winter season, all in the frost and snow, We left our noble harbour and down to Georges go, Where winds do loudly whistle, blow heavy on our sail, As we go off a-spouting just like a frightened whale. (5 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS136
Complete text(s)
As recorded by Evo and Jemmy Bluestein (on "Shut Up and Sing," a Bluestein Family Sampler, Greenhays GR70720), based on the singing of Bessie Jones. Transcribed by Robert Waltz. It will be evident that not all the lines were clearly enunciated. The version is a mixture of a sung chorus and spoken/chanted lines. How long? How long? How long? God showed Norah [i.e. Noah] How long? The rainbow sign. How long? Said no more water How long? But the fire next time. How long? Chorus: And before this time another year, I may be gone, In some lonesome graveyard, Oh, Lord, how long? God showed Gabriel [or "God chose Gabriel?"] How long? Behind the altar [?] How long? Pick up your trumpet How long? And begin to blow it. How long? I want you to blow it How long? At my command, How long? One foot on the sea, How long? One foot on the land. How long? I want you to blow it How long? Nice and easy, How long? Pick up my children, How long? Lay down there sleepin'. How long? I want you to blow it How long? As loud as thunder; How long? Wake up those children. How long? That are rollin' under. How long? Wake up my deacon, How long? Lay down there sleepin', How long? Wake up my preacher, How long? Lay down there weepin', How long? Wake up my members, How long? That's down there tremblin', How long? And before this time another year.... When I get to heaven, How long? Gonna sit right down, How long? I know King Jesus How long? Give me my crown. How long? And I looked all around me, How long? All around does shine, How long? I'm gonna feel happy How long? 'Cause I may live dyin' [?] How long? And before this time another year.... Gonna go on, brother, How long? Gonna see my mother, How long? Gonna go a bit further, How long? Gonna see my brother. How long? Gonna talk to the Father, How long? Gonna talk to the Son. How long? Tell 'em 'bout the world How long? I just come from. How long? And before this time another year.... Saying, "Oh, Lord, How long? Troubles is over, How long? I thank you Jesus How long? I made it over." How long? Then no more cryin', How long? And no more dyin'." How long? I thank you Jesus How long? I'm free at last.
File: R615
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1848 by C. Holt Jr. This printing
is reported to have been unauthorized. Title page inscribed
MUSIC OF THE
ORIGINAL
CHRISTY
MINSTRELS
THE
OLDEST ESTABLISHED BAND
in the
United States
AS ARRANGED AND SUNG BY THEN WITH DISTINGUISHED SUCCESS
at all their
CONCERTS
Edwin P. Christy.
I came from Alabama
wid my banjo on my knee,
I'm g'wan to Lousiana
My true love for to see,
It rain'd all night the day I left,
The weather it was dry,
The sun so hot I froze to death;
Susanna, dont you cry.
CHORUS.
Oh! Susanna, Oh! don't you cry for me,
I've come from Alabama, wid my banjo on my knee.
2
I jumped aboard de telegraph,
And trabbelled down de riber,
De Lectric fluid magnified,
And killed five hundred Nigger
De bullgine bust, de horse run off,
I realy thought I'd die;
I shut my eyes to hold my breath,
Susanna, dont you cry.
Oh! Susanna -- etc.
3
I had a dream the odder night
When ebery ting was still;
I thought I saw Susanna,
A coming down de hill.
The buckwheat cake war in her mouth,
The tear was in her eye,
Says I'm coming from de South,
Susanna, dont you cry.
Oh! Susanna -- etc.
4
I soon will be in New Orleans,
And den I'll look all round,
And when I find Susanna,
I'll fall upon the ground.
But if I do not find her,
Dis darkie 'I surely die,
And when I'm dead and buried,
Susanna dont you cry.
Oh! Susanna -- etc.
File: RJ19152
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #127, pp. 287-288.
From Mrs. James Robertson, Perrysville, Ohio.
1. Among the pines that overlook
Stone River's rocky bed,
Ohio mourns many a son
That's numbered with the dead.
2. As night closed down the bloody scenes,
Returning o'er the dead,
I heard the pitiful mourns of one
Laid low by mortal wounds.
3. I filled his canteen from a spring
Below Stone River's banks;
I built a fire of cedar wood,
The night being cold and damp.
4. They set me down to ask of him
If he did wish to send
Some last request of parting words
To mother, sister, friend.
5. "I have some words," the boy replied,
"Which they would like to hear.
...
...
6. "Tell sister that I've read with care
The holy ties in dear,
The Bible mother gave me
Before I volunteered.
7. "I'm very tired of talking now,
Please raise me up some high,
And fold my blankets close around,
And build a larger fire."
8. But oh, he died that stormy night,
No friends, no kin drew near,
To wipe death's damp from o'er his brow,
Or shed affectionate tear.
File: E127
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 180-183. Percy's text, based upon broadsides.
An old song made by an aged old pate,
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate;
Like an old courtier of the queen's,
And like the queen's old courtier.
With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages,
They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belonged to coachmen, footmen, nor pages,
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges;
Like an old courtier, &c.
(12 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo180
Partial text(s)
From (National Magazine), "Heart Songs," Chapple Publishing Company, 1909, pp. 270-271. I love it, I love it, and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm chair? I've treasured it long as a holy prize, I've bedew'd it with tears, and embalm'd it with sighs; 'Tis bound by a thousand bonds to my heart, Not a tie will break, not a link will start! Would ye learn the spell? A mother sat there, And a sacred thing is that old arm chair. (2 additional stanzas)
File: HeSo270
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1860 by Firth, Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
Foster's Melodies
No. 49
OLD BLACK JOE
SONG
Written and Composed by
STEPHEN C. FOSTER
Gone are the days when my heart was young and gay,
Gone are my friends from the cotton fields away,
Gone from the earth to a better land I know,
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
CHORUS.
I'm coming, I'm coming, for my head is bending low,
I hear those gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
II.VERSE.
Why do I weep when my heart should feel no pain
Why do I sigh that my friends come not again,
Grieving for forms Now departed long ago?
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
III.VERSE.
Where are the hearts once so happy and so free?
The children so dear that I held upon my knee,
Gone to the shore where my soul has longed to go.
I hear their gentle voices calling "Old Black Joe."
File: RJ19156
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 159. No source given. 1 Circle to the left, Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling. 2 Swing oh swing, Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling. 3 Promenade home, Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling. 4 Shoddish up and down, the Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling. 5 Break and swing, Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling. 6 Promenade around the Old Brass Wagon, You're the one, my darling.
File: San159
Partial text(s)
My Old Brown Coat and Me 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), #26, pp. 190-192. From Floyd Brooks Cox, Morgantown, May 8, 1918. I toiled upon my father's farm Till I was twenty-one, And then I took a farm myself And manhood's life begun. I wore a coat of homespun brown, It wasn't fair to see, And all the maidens in the town Laughed at my coat and me. (6 additional stanzas)
File: R791
Partial text(s)
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #170,
pp. 843-845. Source not listed.
I
This winter's weather it waxeth cold,
And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
She said unto me quietlye,
'Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life.
Man, put thine old cloak about thee!'
(7 additional stanzas)
File: OBB170
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1843 by Chas. H. Keith.
The cover of the sheet music is generic:
OLD DAN EMMIT's
ORIGINAL BANJO MELODIES
EMMIT, BROWN, WHITLOCK, PELHAM
The interior page is headlined
The Original
OLD DAN TUCKER
As sung by the Virginia Minstrels
Words by Old Dan. D. Emmit
I come to town de udder night,
I hear de noise an saw de fight,
De watchman was a runnin roun, cryin
Old Dan Tucker's come to town, So
Gran' Chorus.
get out de way! get out de way!
get out de way! Old Dan Tucker
your to late to come to supper.
2
Tucker is a nice old man,
He used to ride our darby ram;
He sent him whizzen down de hill,
If he had'nt got up he'd lay dar still.
Get out, &c.
3
Here's my razor in good order
Magnum bonum -- jis hab bought 'er;
Sheep shell oats, Tucker shell de corn,
I'll shabe you soon as de water get warm.
Get out, &c.
4
Ole Dan Tucker an I got drunk,
He fell in de fire an kick up a chunk,
De charcoal got inside he shoe
Lor bless you honey how de ashes flew.
Get out, &c.
5
Down de road foremost de stump,
Massa make me work de pump;
I pump so hard I broke de sucker.
Dar was work for ole Dan Tucker.
Get out, &c.
6
I went to town to buy some goods
I lost myself in a piece of woods,
De night was dark I had to suffer,
It froze de heel of Daniel Tucker.
Get out, &c.
7
Tucker was a hardened sinner,
He nebber said his grace at dinner;
De ole sow squeel, de pigs did squal
He 'hole hog wid de tail and all.
Get out, &c.
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 109, September 27, 2021. Supplied by user Tess_W. I suspect interference from print or pop recordings. Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man Washed his face with a fryin' pan Combed his hair with a wagon wheel And died with a toothache in his heel Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker You're too late to get your supper Get out the way, Old Dan Tucker You're too late to get your supper
File: R521
Complete text(s)
Old Folks at Home
From sheet music published 1851 by Firth, Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
OLD FOLKS AT HOME
ETHIOPIAN MELODY
As Sung by
Christy Minstrels
WRITTEN AND COMPOSED BY
E.P.CHRISTY
Way down upon de Swanee Ribber,
Far, far away,
Dere's wha my heart is turning ebber,
Dere's wha de old folks stay.
All up and down de whole creation,
Sadly I roam,
Still longing for de old plantation,
And for de old folks at home.
CHORUS.
All de world am sad and dreary,
Ebrywhere I roam,
Oh! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home
2d. Verse.
All round de little farm I wandered
When I was young,
Den many happy days I squandered,
Many de songs I sung.
When I was playing wid my brudder
Happy was I
Oh! take me to my kind old mudder,
Dere let me live and die.
CHORUS.
3d. Verse.
One little hut among de bushes,
One dat I love,
Still sadly to my mem'ry rushes,
No matter where I rove
When will I see de bees a humming,
All round de comb?
When will I hear de banjo strumming,
Down by my good old home?
CHORUS.
File: RJ19163
Complete text(s)
As printed in Richard M. Dorson, Buying the Wind: Regional Folklore in the United States, University of Chicago Press, 1964, pp. 413-414. Based on Neely. From B. F. Towery of Marion, Illinois, by way of his daughter Hazel Towery of Olney, Illinois. There was an old girl who lived in Cairo town, And I wish to the Lord that she was dead. She puts so many notions into my girl's head That we can't get along, we can't get along, We can't never get along no more. REFRAIN: Great God ain't that hard? Me to love a girl who don't love me. Coe all the way from Cairo town, And I never had but one dime to spend. All the money I ever had I done spent it on that little girl of mine, Spent it on that little girl of mine, Done spent it on that little girl of mine.
File: RDBW413
Partial text(s)
As printed in Robert Waltz, editor, The Minnesota Heritage Songbook, p. 9. From the version collected by Bessie Mae Stanchfield from Elma Snyder McDowell of Saint Cloud, Minnesota; Stanchfield's various transcriptions are in the Minnesota Historical Society archives. Old Granny she rose in the morning so soon She slipped on her petticoat, apron, and gown Saying, "Very bad news last night came to me, They're wronging my children that's o'er the sea." Old Granny then mounted her gelding in haste, And to fair London city -- it was her first place, As she was prancing up fair London street 'Twas there with Lord Cornwall she chanced for to meet. "Noble Granny," says Cornwall, "Come tell me in haste Have you any good news from the east or the west?" "Oh, bad news," says Granny, "that [makes?] me complain They're wronging my children that's o'er the main." (14 additional stanzas)
File: DTgrnwl2
Partial text(s)
Indian Song (2) From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #121, pp. 262-263. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." An Indian sits in his open canoe And paddles o'er the waves and waters so blue, And thinks of the time when the land was his own Before the pale faces among them were known. When first the red men was lord of the soil They lived at their ease, free from sorrow and toil, They hunted the otter, the beaver and deer, And roamed the wild wood with nothing to fear. (8 additional stanzas)
File: Wa030
Partial text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 71-72. From Reverend J. G. Dickinson of Evergreen, Alabama.
One cold an' frosty mornin'
Just as de sun did riz,
De possum roared, the raccoon howled,
'Cause he begun to friz.
He drew hisse'f up in a knot
Wid his knees up to his chin,
An' ev'rything had to cl'ar de track,
When he stretched out agin,
Chorus
Old Jesse was a gemman
Among de olden times.
Nigger never went to free school,
Nor any odder college
An' all de white folks wonder whar
Dat nigger got his knowledge.
He chawed up all de Bible
An' den spat out de Scripter,
An' when he 'gin to arger strong,
He were a snortin' ripter.
(1 additional stanza)
File: ScaNF071
Complete text(s)
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #79, p. 285. Supplied by Hilary G. Richardson; collected by 1917. Reportedly sung by Nancy McAtee. 1 Old Joe Camp when he came to town, He enlisted under Captain Brown; Brown swore him on the very first slap, And sent him off to Manassas Gap. 2 Brown he was a-walking around, He found Joe sleepin' on the ground; Brown said to Joe, "It is your lot, We'll take you out and have you shot." 3 Said Joe to Brown, "Fightin' was not my intent, . . . . . . . . . . And now I can't do you no dirt, Fur I 'low to desert." 4 The ammunition gittin' thin, They wound Joe up and poked him in; They fired him off at the very first round, And fired him back to Captain Brown.
File: JHCox079
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 25-27. From Dr. David Matteson, Lafayette, Rhode Island. Collected 1945. Give kind attention, one and all, And listen to my tale. I will warble you a ditty About the crooks at Kingston Jail. I know it will amuse you To hear about the stars And the doing time at Kingson Jail Behind those iron bars. Chorus: It's old Kingston Jail, We're longing for the time For Wilcox to unlock the doors And tell us all to climb. We'll jump into our hats and coats And travel off by rail And bid farewell to the white-washed cell We had at Kingston Jail. (7 additional stanzas or chorus)
File: FO025
Complete text(s)
Old Taffyham
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #42, p. 132, Text A.
From Joseph Jennings, Loudonville, Ohio.
1. A little old man came over the sea,
Hey, hi, old Taffy ham,
He came, he came a-courting me,
And his old gray beard needed shaving.
2. My mammy she told me to open the door; etc.
I opened the door, and he bowed to the floor, etc.
3. My mammy she told me to hang up his hat;
I hung up his hat, and he looked like a rat.
4. My mammy she told me to hang up his coat;
I hung up his coat, and he looked like a goat.
5. My mammy she told me to set him a chair;
I set him a chair, and he did nothing but stare.
6. My mammy she told me to get him a stool;
I got him a stool, and he looked like a fool.
7. My mammy she told me to get him a pie;
I got him a pie, and he winked his eye.
8. My mammy she told me to get him a knife;
I got him a knife, and he called me his wife.
9. My mammy she told me to light him to bed;
I lit him to bed, and he asked me to wed.
or
My mammy she told me to light him to bed;
I lit him to bed, and he kicked the clothes over his head.
Variations in the text of this song are myriad but inconsequential (all involve performing some service for the visitor, which causes him to seem even less appealing than before). Variations in the chorus lines are, however, myriad: Ah ha, but I wouldn't have him, With his old shoes and leggings. (Cazden et al) Heigh-O, but I won't have him! Heigh-O, but I won't have him! (Cox) Hey, hi, old Taffy ham, And his old gray beard needed shaving. (Eddy A) Ah ha, but I won't have him, With his old boots and leggins. (Eddy B) Oh, but I won't have him, With his old gray beard a hanging. (Eddy C) Um ha, I won't have him, With his old gray beard just newly shaven. (Eddy D) Ho ho ho but I won't have him, With his long beard so newly shaven. (Fowke/Johnston) Ha, ha, but I would nae hae him, Wi' his grey beard newly shaven. (Kennedy) An' I won't have him, An' his old gray beard kept a-shakin'. (Randolph A) But oh, I wouldn't have him, Shoes, boots an' leggins. (Randolph B) I hope that I won't have him, With his old gray beard a-shinin'. (Randolph C) Oh, the girls wouldn't have him, With his old gum boots and his leggings. (Assorted recordings; cf. Older) Eh, but I'll not have him, With his old grey beard just newly shaven. (Vaughn Williams/Lloyd)
File: R066
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published at an uncertain date (there is no
copyright claim) by Oliver Ditson & Co.
Title page inscribed
THE OLD OAKEN
BUCKET
Scotch Air
Words by Woodsworth Music by Kiallmark
1. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view,
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And ev'ry love' spot which my infancy knew.
The wide spreading stream, the mill that stood near it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house by it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
2. The moss-cover'd bucket I hail as a treasure,
For often at noon when return'd from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of health overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
3. How soon from the green, mossy rim to receive it,
As pois'd on the curb it inclined to my lips,
Not a full flowing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Tho' fill'd with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell;
As fancy reverts to my father's, plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well.
File: RJ19167
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fowke, Alan Mills, and Helmut Blume, Canada's Story in
Song (undated), pp. 165-166. Listed as being from Doyle (presumably
the third edition).
There's a noble fleet of whalers a-sailing from Dundee,
Manned by British sailors to take them o'er the sea,
On a western ocean passage we started on the trip,
And we flew along just like a song in our gallant whaling ship.
REFRAIN: For the wind was on her quarter and the engines working free,
There's not another whaler that sails the Arctic Sea
Can beat the old Polina, you need not try, my sons,
For we challenged all, both great and small, from Dundee to St. John's.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: FMB165
Complete text(s)
Bumpy Was Dead and Lay In His Grave
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #65, pp. 176-177, Text B.
Source not listed, but this version seems more typical than her A text.
1. Bumpy was dead and lay in his grave,
Lay in his grave, lay in his grave,
Oh, Bumpy was dead and lay in his grave,
Lay in his grave.
2. An apple tree grew right over his head, etc.
3. The apples were ripe and ready to fall, etc.
4. And old woman came and picked them up, etc.
5. Bumpy jumped up and gave her a kick, etc.
6. She hopped till she came to a mulberry bush, etc.
7. And for all that I know she is still hopping yet, etc.
8. If you want any more you can sing it yourself, etc.
File: R569
Partial text(s)
From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 138-140. Collected from H. H. Chamberlain of Round Pond, Maine. Come listen unto me a while And I will tell you then The hardships and the misery Of life on a merchantman. At four o'clock in the morning The mate will turn you to To wash and scrub the paint work, If there is nothing else to do. At seven bells the watch is called, Our Captain comes on deck; Then his is growling at the mate If the stu'nsails are not set. Then reeve your tack and halyards, Your sail now hoist away, Or else you may expect no peace The remainder of the day. (7 additional stanzas)
File: Colc138
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 464. "Communicated by Mrs. William Durfee, Ypsilanti." Old sheep went to sleep And left the lambs a-feeding; Little mouse jumped over the house And set his nose a-bleeding. Old goose broke loose, Had a tearing frolic; Little chick was taken sick And died of bilious colic. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 4)
File: GC191
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 18-19. Reprinted from James Murphy, Songs Sung by Old Time Sealers of Many Years Ago. We'll sound the hardy sealers praise, a wild and cheerful strain, Who coast each creek and shore along or cross the billowy main; Nor winter's storm nor seas alarm can daunt his daring mind, Unknown to fear away he'll steer, old Neptune's place to find. (7 additional stanzas)
File: RySm018
Complete text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #63, pp, 178-179. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1940. The times are bad and want curing, They're getting past all enduring, Let us turn out old Martin Van Buren, And put in old Tippecanoe. Chorus So the best thing we can do Is to vote for old Tippecanoe! We've had of their humbug a-plenty, Now all of our pockets are empty, We've not one dollar now where once we had twenty, So we'll vote for old Tippecanoe. He was born in a humble log cabin, Was raised up on hoe cake and bacon, But the spirit of valor still dwells in The heart of old Tippecanoe! Chorus Our daring and dauntless brave rider, His fame's growing deeper and wider, Let us drink with a glass of hard cider To the health of old Tippecanoe!
File: Wa073
Partial text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #75, p. 191. From Benjamin Bourland, Cleveland, Ohio. Oh, Uncle Noah built him an ark, Hurrah, hurrah! Oh, Uncle Noah built him an ark, Hurrah, hurrah! Oh, Uncle Noah built him an ark, He built it out of hemlock bark, And we all felt gay when Noah went into the ark. (3 additional stanzas)
File: E075
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 102-103.
"From singing of P. J. Moses."
Allen says, "Ma, bring here a pry,
I think Old Yellow's a-going to die."
Refrain
Walk jawbone, oh, jing-a-ling,
Walk jawbone, oh, jing-a-ling.
Louis says, "What'll I eat with bread,
For they tell me that Old Yellow is dead."
(9 additional stanzas)
File: Fus102
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published at an uncertain date (probably between
1830 and 1835, but there is no copyright) by J. L. Hewitt & Co.
Title page inscribed
ZIP COON
A favorite Comic Song
Sung by
Mr. G.W. Dixon
O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
O ole Zip Coon he is a larned skoler,
Sings possum up a gum tree an coony in a holler.
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
possum up a gum tree, coony on a stump,
Den over dubble trubble, Zip coon will jump.
CHORUS.
O Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden duden duden duden day.
O Zip a duden duden duden duden duden duden day.
Zip a duden duden duden zip a duden day.
2
O its old Suky blue skin, she is in lub wid me
I went the udder arter noon to take a dish ob tea;
What do you tink now, Suky had for supper,
Why chicken foot and posum heel, widout any butter.
3
Did you eber see the wild goose, sailing on de occean,
O de wild goose motion is a bery pretty notion;
Evry time de wild goose, beckens to de swaller,
You hear him google google google google gollar.
4
I went down to Sandy Hollar t other arternoon
And the first man I chanced to meet war ole Zip Coon;
Ole Zip Coon he is a natty scholar,
For he play upon de Banjo "Cooney in de hollar."
5
My old Missus she's mad wid me,
Kase I would'nt (sic) go wid her into Tennessee
Massa build him a barn and put in de fodder
Twas dis ting and dat ting one ting or odder.
6
I pose you heard ob de battle New Orleans,
What ole Gineral Jackson gib de British bearns;
Dare de Yankee boys do de job so slick,
For dy cotch old Packenham an rowed him up de creek.
7
I had many tings to tork about, but dont know wish come first,
So here de toast to old Zip Coon before he gin to rust;
May he had pretty girls, like de King ob ole,
To sing dis song so may times, 'fore her turn to mole.
File: RJ19258
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy
(1926), #36, p. 134. From Flo Hastings, Laramie, Wyoming.
I just come down from Minnesota,
I've been in this country three years.
When I got off at the depot,
Oh, how the people they cheer!
They say, "Here comes Ole from Norway!
He's been on a visit up there,
His sister she lives in Dakota,
And his father has got light hair."
Chorus
And they call me Ole and Ole,
But Ole is not my name.
Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole just the same.
They say I'm a Norsk from Norway,
Som lever po Lutfisk ock Sil.
They say I'm a rat and I better go back to Norway.
(1 additional stanza)
File: Be008
Complete text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 174-175. Supplied by Wirt Williams of Mississippi, from
the singing of Anna Gwinn Pickens.
Ole Mister Rabbit,
You're in a mighty habit,
Gwine in mah garden,
Cuttin' down mah cabbage.
Um-hum -- um-hum.
Ole Mister Rabbit,
Your hair look brown,
You'se gwine so fas',
You'se hittin' de groun'.
Um-hum -- um-hum.
File: ScaNF174
Partial text(s)
From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, #6, p. 29. From Gillington's Songs of the Open Road; said to be from a Gypsy. In Dessexshire as it befel A farmer there as I knew well On a Christmas day as it happened so Down in the meadows he went to plough. As he was ploughing on so fast Our Savior Christ went by at last; He said, O man, why dost thou plough So hard as it do blow and slow? (3 additional stanzas)
File: PBB006
Partial text(s)
'Twas on de Bluff From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 72. From Virginia Stait, but with no indication of origin beyond that. 'Twas down on de bluff, in de state of Indiana, Dat's where I uster lib, chick up in de banner, Every mornin' nearly, my marster gib me liquor, An' I took a little boat an' pushed out de quicker. Oh, 'twas up de river drif' an' 'twas in er little skiff, An' I caught as many cat-fish as any nigger lif'! (3 additional stanzas plus 2 additional choruses)
File: ScaNF072
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #21, pp. 102-103. From the singing of George Edwards. Many homes were filled with sorrow and with sadness, Many hearts were torn with anguish and with pain. And our nation were drooped in deepest mourning For the heroes of our battleship, the "Maine." Some were sleeping in the waters of the harbor, Some were sleeping in a bed of Spanish clay; And our spirits, they cry aloud for vengeance On the shores of Havana, far away. Refrain: Oh, the moon shines tonight down on the water Where our heroes of the "Maine" silent lay; May they rest in peace, where their loved ones are sleeping On the shores of Havana, far away. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC021
Partial text(s)
From Lester A. Hubbard, Ballads and Songs from Utah, #230, pp. 429-430. The "A" text, collected from William R. Palmer. No date given. Once I lived in Cottonwood and owned a little farm. When I was called to Dixie it did me much alarm. To how the cane and cotton I right away must go. The reason why they called on me, I'm sure I do not know. I yoked up Jim and Bally, all for to make a start; To leave my house and garden, it almost broke my heart, To leave my house and garden and all my friends behind, For the rocks and sand of Dixie kept rolling through my mind. [9 additional stanzas]
File: Hubb230
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 6, August 28, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY. Once there was a Chinaman, his name was Chicka Chalucha Pan. His teeth were short and his nails were long, and this is the way he went along: Chicka Chalu, Chalu chaPan, Ollipy Ollipy, Chicka Chalollipy; Chicka Chalu, Chalu chaPan, Ollipy Ollipy Chinaman. When this poor old man did die, in his coffin he did lie. They shipped his coffin to Japan, and this the way he went along: Chicka Chalu, Chalu chaPan, Ollipy Ollipy chickachalollipy, Chicka Chalu, Chalu chaPan, Ollipy Ollipy chinaman.
File: LTCSOWAC
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 241. "Communicated in 1916." My father was a farmer gay, With beef and corn in plenty, I hoed, I mowed, I held the plow, And I longed for one and twenty. I lost my leg, the foe came on; They had me in their clutches. I starved in prison until peace came, And hobbled home on crutches. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 4)
File: GC096
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 35, August 29, 2021, as posted by user John5918. I include the text with his comments: A simple one that I've participated in in the north of England envisages a Viking raid on the British coast. The Vikings are focused on the potential loot and chant: One bottle of beer, two bottles of beer, three bottles of beer, four, Five bottles of beer, six bottles of beer, seven bottles of beer, MORE! The upper-middle-class home-owners sing that haunting lament well known to all English suburban dwellers who sense strangers in their neighbourhood: You can't put your muck in our dustbin, our dustbin, our dustbin, You can't put your muck in our dustbin, our dustbin's full. Meanwhile the ordinary poor working class folk are focused only on their next meal, chanting: Fish and chips and vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, Fish and chips and vinegar, vinegar, vinegar.
File: DTpopbot
Partial text(s)
From Harold Nestler, "Songs from the Hudson Valley" (article in _New York Folklore Quarterly_, Volume V, #2, Summer 1949), p. 92. One fine summer's evening as I walked along, Down by a clear river I heard a fine song. She sang it so sweet and her voice low and clear, Saying, "How happy I would be if my true love is near." In a few moments after, her true love passed by, With his red rosy cheeks and his rolling brown eye. He embraced her with kisses and compliments sweet, Hoping next evening again for to meet. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Nes092
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 55, August 31, 2021, as posted by user Helenliz. One man went to mow went to mow a meadow One man and his dog, Spot went to mow a meadow Two men went to mow, went to mow a meadow, two men, one man and his dog, Spot, bottle of pop, went to mow a meadow Three men went to mow went to mow a meadow Three men, two men, one man and his dog, Spot, bottle of pop, ham sandwich, went to mow a meadow The last line keeps adding and the last line I can remember with any degree of certainty is ... his dog, Spot, bottle of pop, ham sandwich, sausage roll, old man Riley and the girl next door went to mow a meadow.
File: ShH100
Complete text(s)
From Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 215-216. From the
1847 journal of the William Histed of the Cortes. Anne and Frank
Warner, in Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne &
Frank Warner Collection, #143, p. 331, note a single stanza
collected from the singing of C. K. "Tink" Tillett of North
Carolina (collected 1940); the variants in this text are noted
after the Huntington text.
One night sad and languid I went to my bed
And had scarcely reclined on my pillow
When a vision surprising came into my head
And methought I was crossing the billow
I thought as my vessel sped over the deep
I beheld that rude rock that grows craggy and steep
Where the willow (the willow) is now seen to weep
O'er the grave of the once famed Napoleon
Methought as my vessel drew near to the land
I beheld clad in green his bold figure
With the trumpet of fame he had clasped in his hand
On his brow there shone valor and rigor
He says noble stranger you have ventured to me
From that land of your fathers who boast they are free
If so then a tale I will tell unto thee
'Tis concerning that once famed Napoleon
You remember the day so immortal he cried
When we crossed o'er the Alps famed in story
With the legions of France whose sons were my pride
As I marched them to honor and glory
On the fields of Marien lo I tyrany hurled
Where the banners of France were to me first unfurled
As a standard of liberty all over the world
And a signal of fame cried Napoleon
Like a hero I've borne both the heat and the cold
I have marched to the trumpet and cymbal
But by dark deeds of treachery I now have been sold
Though monarchs before me have trembled
Ye princes and rulers whose station ye bemean
Like scorpions ye spit forth venom and spleen
But liberty all over the world shall be seen
As I woke from my dream cried Napoleon
Variations found in the Warner/Tillett text of stanza 1:
1.1 One ] Oh, one | languid ] lonely | I went to me ] he lied on his
1.2 had scarcely reclined on my ] his head had declined on his
1.3 When ] Oh | my ] his
1.4 And methought I ] He thought he | billow ] billows
1.5 I thought as my vessel sped ] He dreamed as his vessel dashed
1.6 I ] he | that grows ] so
1.7 Where the willow (the willow) is now seen ] The place where the
willows do now seem
1.8 of the ] of that
File: SWMS215
Complete text(s)
As recorded by John Greenway on "Australian Folksongs and Ballads."
(Folkways FW 8718.) From the collection of A. L. Lloyd. Greenway's
sung text differs in several particulars from the text in the
Folkways booklet; these variants are noted below the text.
I'm one of the has-beens, a shearer, I mean;
I once was a ringer, I used to shear clean.
I could make the wool roll off like the soil from the plow,
But you may not believe it, because I can't do it now.
For now I'm awkward as a new chum, I'm used to the frown
That the boss often shows me, saying "Keep them blades down."
I've shore with Pat Hogan, Bill Bright, and Jack Gunn,
Charlie Fergus, Tommy Layton, and the great Roaring Dunn;
They brought from the Lachlan the best they could find,
But not one among them could leave me behind.
But now I'm awkward as a new chum, I'm used to the frown
That the boss often shows me, saying "Keep them blades down."
Well, there's no use complaining, I'll never say die,
Though the days of fast shearing for me have gone by;
I'll take the world easy, shear slowly and clean,
And I merely have told you just what I have been.
For now I'm awkward as a new chum, I'm used to the frown
That the boss often shows me, saying "Keep them blades down."
Variant Readings:
CHORUS: Booklet shows only one form of the chorus:
I'm awkward as a new-chum, I'm used to the frown
That the boss often shows me, saying "Keep them blades down."
3.1: there's no use: booklet "it's no use"
File: FaE156
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Oranges and lemons Say the bells of St Clement's You owe me five farthings Say the bells of St Martin's When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey When I grow rich Say the bells of Shoreditch And when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney Oh I do not know Say the great bells of Bow Here comes a candle To light you to bed And here comes a chopper To chop off your head.
File: BGMG640
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 106-107. Copy supplied by Professor Leon Denny Moses. "No home, no home," pleads a little orphan girl, At the door of a Prince's hall, As she trembling stood on the parlour steps, And leaned against the parlour wall. Her clothes were thin, and her feet were bare, And the snow had covered her head, "Oh, give me a home," she feebly said, "A home and a piece of bread." The rich man sleeps on his velvet couch And dreams of his silver and gold, While the poor little girl, on her bed of snow, Lies murmuring, "Cold, so cold." (Stanzas 1, 2, 6 of 7)
File: R725
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The Orphan Girl From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 147. "From singing of Mrs. C. M. Moses." Come, listen to my dreadful story, All my friends are dead and gone; And here I stay, away among strangers, While an orphan left alone. Brothers and sisters have I none, For they are all dead and gone; And here I stay, away among strangers, While a poor orphan left alone. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Beld278
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From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #141, pp. 306-307.
From a manuscript book in the handwriting of Esther E. Skelley of
Hopedale, Ohio.
1. See those cherries how they cover
Yonder sunny garden wall,
Had they not that network over,
Thieving birds would eat them all.
2. So guard our ancient posts and pensions,
Ancient sages wove a net,
Through whose holes of small dimensions
Only certain knaves can get.
3. Shall we then these networks widen,
Shall we stretch these sacred holes?
Through which even already slide in
Lots of small, dissenting souls?
4. "God forbid," old Testy crieth,
God forbid, so echo I;
Every ravenous bird that flieth
Then would to our cherries fly.
5. Ope but half an inch or more,
And behold what bevies break in,
Hear some cursed old popish crow
Stick his long and lickerish beak in.
6. Here sly Arian's flock unnumbered,
And Socinians, slim and spare,
Who with small belief encumbered
Slip in easy everywhere.
7. Methodists, of birds the aptest,
Where there's pecking going on,
And that waterfowl, the Baptist,
All would share our fruits anon.
8. "God forbid," old Testy snivels,
God forbid, I echo too,
Rather than a thousand divils
Seize the whole voracious crew.
9. If less costly fruits won't suit them,
Hips and haws and suchlike berries,
Curse the cormorants, stone 'em, shoot 'em,
Anything to save our cherries!
File: E141
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #117, pp. 228-229. Collected from author John Guptill, Castalia, Grand Manan. I'm off to Dark Harbour where everyone knows, Out to Dark Harbour where the sea breezes blow, I'm off to pick dulse on the rocks down the shore, Then it's off to Eastport where we always go. (one additional stanza plus a half-stanza)
File: CrSNB117
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To Pad the Road wi' Me From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 78-79. Supplied by W. Malcolm of Arbroath. Says I, "My dearest Mollie, Come let us fix the time When you and I will married be, And wedlock us combine. When you and I get married, love, Right happy we will be, For ye are the bonnie lassie That's to pad the road wi' me." "To pad the road wi' you, kind sir; Cauld winter's coming on, Besides my aged parents Have ne'er a girl buy one; Besides, my aged parents Have ne'er a girl but me, So I'm no the bonnie lassie That's to pad the road wi' thee." "Oh, never mind cauld winter, love, The spring will follow soon; Come sit ye down beside me, And I'll sing you a nice song. I'll sing you a nice song, While I diddle you on my knee, For ye are the bonnie lassie That's to pad the road wi' me." Saw she has donned her hose and shoon, And to the kirk they've gaen, And lang, ay lang ere morning That couple were made ane. And lang, lang ere the morning Her troubles were set free, For she's the bonnie lassie That's to pad the road wi' me."
File: Wa032
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Johnny Bull, Irishman, and Scotchman From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #72, pp. 156-157. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. Johnny Bull he was an Englishman and went to tramp one day With threepence in his pocket for to take him a long way. He travelled on for many a mile yet no one did he see, Till he fell in with an Irishman whose name was Paddy McGee. Said the Irishman, "I've been dreaming an awful big great dream, I dreamt I was in a haystack by the side of a purling stream, I dreamt that you and Scotty were there, as true as I'm am oaf, By the powers I dreamt I was hungry so I got up and ate the loaf. (Stanzas 1, 8 of 8)
File: OCon099
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(Untitled -- filed as the first of five "Fragments of Irish Songs")
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #153, pp. 318.
From Mrs. Robert R. Cox, Steubenville, Ohio.
1. Paddy Whack it is me name,
I come from sweet Tipperary, too,
And there's never a flitter on me back,
You see I'm light and airy, too.
2. Me father sent me to a school
To larn for to read and write,
But soon I learned the Golden Rule
To kick and cuff and box and fight.
3. There was cannons roaring, bullets flying,
Horses prancing, soldiers dying,
But when it came to the grand attack,
"Whoo! Fire away!" says Paddy Whack.
File: E153A
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From Douglas Gilbert, Lost Chords, pp. 311-312. A fair-haired boy in a foreign land At sunrise was to die. In a prson cell he sat alone, From his heart there came a sigh. Deserted from the ranks, they said, The reason none could say. They only knew the orders were That he should die next day. And so the hours glided by... A messenger on wings did fly To save this boy from such a fate -- A pardon -- but it came too late. Chorus: The volley was fired at sunrise, Just after break of day. And while the echoes lingered, A soul had passed away Into the arms of his Maker; And there to hear his fate. A tear, a sigh, a sad goodby -- The pardon came too late. And 'round the campfire burning bright, The story then was told, How his mother on a dying bed Called for her son so bold. He hastened to obey her wish, Was captured on the way -- She never saw her boy so fair; He died at break of day. And when the truth at last was known, His innocence at once was shown. To save from such an unjust fate A pardon sent -- but 'twas too late.
File: R709
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #78, pp. 166-168. Collected from Scott Stuart, St. Andrews, N.B. In a town that's not far from the sea where Paddy in midsummer came, And prudence between you and me prevents me from telling his name, A gauger he soon did espy, the keg on his napper he bore, Six gallons of whisky or nigh, now where is the nob can bear more? Chorus Rum the diddle orral die orral, Die rum the diddle orral die aye. Rum the diddle orral die orral die, Paddy was met by the gauger. (4 additional stanzas plus spoken interludes)
File: CrSNB078
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #42, pp. 122-123. "Sung by Ned Odell, Pinware, July 1960." My name is Pat O'Donnell from the county of Donegal; I am, you know, a deathly for to traitors one and all. For killing of James Kerry I was tried in London town, And on that fateful scaffold, all my life I did lay down. (7 additional stanzas plus a final half stanza)
File: LLab042
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 404. "[S]ung in 1916 by Mr. John Laidlaw, Ypsilanti." "O come in, man, and let's hear your cracks; I heard ye was o'er at the wedding." "O aye, man, indeed I was that, And I lent them a hand at the bedding." Right-talepha-rally-a, right-talepha-addy, Right-talepha-rally-a, right-talepha-addy, (four additional stanzas were printed; one was expurgated)
File: GC166
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 73-81. From "an old chap-book... professing to be translated out of Italian." A noble marquess, As he did ride a hunting Hard by a forest side, A fair and comely maiden, As she did sit a spinning, His gentle eye espied. Most fair and loverly, And of comely grace was she, Although in simple attire: She swung full sweetly, With pleasant voice melodiously, Which set the lord's heart on fire. The more he looked, the more he might; Beauty bred his heart's delight, And to this comely damsel Then he went: -- 'God speed,' quoth he, 'thou famous flower, Fair mistress of this homely bower, Where love and virtue Dwell with sweet content.' (12 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo073
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Paul Jones the Pirate As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, p. 38. Immediate source not stated. A noble frigate called Percy by name, Mounted guns forty-four, out of L'Orient they came For to cruise in the channel of old England's fame, With their brave commodore, Paul Jones was his name. We had not cruised above days two or three, Than (sic.) a man from a mast-head a sail he did see; A sail he did see, being a large forty-four: He convoy stood in for the old Yorkshire shore. At length the proud Richards came up along side, With a loud speaking trumpet, "from whence come?" he cried, "Come answer me quickly, I have hailed you before, Or else a broadside I will in to you pour." WE received the broadside from the proud Englishmen, But soon our brave Yankies returned it again, Broadside for broadside, -- five glasses we run When the undaunted flag of the Richards came down. Our gunner being frightened, to Paul Jones he came, Saying, "our ship's making water, and is likewise in flame;" Paul Jones, with a smile to the gunner replied, "If we can do no better we will sink alongside." Now, my brave boys, we have taken a prize, A large forty-four, with a twenty likewise; With twenty-five merchantmen loaded with store, So we'll alter our course to the American shore.
File: LA04
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Robin Spraggon's Auld Grey Mare From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 52-53. The miller of Ogle bred me, as I have heard them say, And gallantly he fed me with the best of corn and hay; For meal and malt I wanted not when in his custody, But now I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! Our thrifty dame, Mally, she rises soon at morn, She goes and tells the master I'm pulling up the lorn; He clucks up the oxen gad and sair belabours me, For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, ae how he's guided me! There's Tallyho Trevillian, he hunts upon the hill, I'll leave to him my carcase to be his dogs a fill, To make them hunt sly Renny until the day they dee, For I'm Robin Spraggon's auld grey mare, aw how he's guided me! (Stanzas 1, 4, 6 of 12)
File: FVS311
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A Fatal Acquantance
The Fort Thomas Murder
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #105, Text A, pp. 241-242.
From Mrs. Rozetta Lozier of Perrysville, Ohio.
1. In Greencastle, Indiana, a fair young maiden dwelled
Beneath a mother's loving care, a father's lavish wealth,
A mother's pride, a father's joy, by many friends esteemed,
From out of her young handsome face the pure innocence gleamed.
2. One day she met a lover gay, she thought him kind and true;
"My love," she said, "I'd rather die than live away from you."
She loved him with a love that mothers give her only babe,
She saw him midst her sweetest dream, and thought of him awake.
3. The maiden soon of him did plead a great wrong for to right,
"I thought now you will not, dearest, leave me in my present plight;"
He only smiled and answered her, "Young girl, you loved too true,
I leave you now, farewell, we part, adieu, part, love, adieu."
4. Rather than face her many friends, she followed in his path;
He led her to a lonely spot, and awful was his wrath;
But little did he think that far above in the blue sky
A witness there who sees a crime with an all-seeing eye.
5. All night a headless body lay aside a lonely street,
Suspicion points to three young men as having done the deed;
The evidence does plainly implicate all three of them,
For more atrocious crime no man did ever hang.
6. This crime does teach a lesson true, young girls, I pray take heed,
Your mother is the truest friend you'll find in times of need;
The story will be often times told by friends from time to time,
Of Scott Jackson along a Walling, Will Wood, and poor Pearl Bryan.
File: E105
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #37, pp. 158-159. From the singing of Jared MacLean, Strathadam, 1948. Come all ye jolly lumbermen That lumber in the west, Never hire a brindle feaster, For the darkey, he's the best. Chorus 1: And hurray, hurraw for lumbermen, Hurray, hurraw, hurreye, Hurray hurraw for lumbermen, For Peelhead, he's the boy. He bought a horse from Whit-en-ey, Another from Bob Waye, And bought his sleds from Gabby Steward All on that very day, And he started for the lumber woods To cut a hell of a shine, But all the kind o' logs they got Was small rough saplin' pine. (3 additional stanzas, 1 additional chorus)
File: MaWi037
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Hop, Old Squirrel From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, pp. 133-134. Supplied by John Stone, apparently from Virginia. Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Hop, old squirrel, eidle-dum-dee. Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum, eidle-dum, Catch the old squirrel, eidle-dum-dee. (1 additional stanza plus some related lyrics)
File: ChFRA119
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From "The Dime Song Book #2" (1860), p. 45. My song is of a nice young man Whose name was Peter Gray, The state where Peter Gray was born Was Penn-syl-va-ni-a.. This Peter Gray did fall in love All with a nice young girl; The name of her I'm positive Was Lizzy-Anna-Querl. When they were going to be wed, He father he said "No!" And brutally did send her off Beyond the O-hi-o. When Peter found his love was lost, He knew not what to say, He'd half a mind to jump into The Sus-que-han-ni-a. A trading he went into the west, For furs and other skins, And there he was in crimson drest By bloody In-ji-ins. When Lizzy Anna heard the news, She straightway went to bed And never did get off of it Until she was di-i-ed! Ye fathers all a warning take, Each one as has a girl, And think upon poor Peter Gray And Lizzy-Anna-Querl.
File: FSWB240C
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #9091 pp. 1191-193. Collected from William Ireland, Elgin, N.B. It was in the early, the early spring, Before the little small birds began to sing, In a village close down by the way A fair girl's life had passed away. It was on this Nova Scotia shore This fair one lived with plenty more, But at this time she was all alone Her parents being away from home. Now Peter Wheeler was a man Who from his native country ran, And he landed on this foreign shore, He lived close by little Annie's door. (Stanzas 1-3 of 15)
File: CrSNB091
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 39-40. Stanza 1. Quite soft blew the wind from the west, The sun faintly shone in the sky, When Lukey and Bessie sat courting, As walking I chanced to espy; Unheeded I stole close beside them, To hear their discourse was my plan; I listen'd each word they were saying, When Lukey his courtship began. (6 additional stanzas)
File: StoR039
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Plains of Baltimore From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #5, pp, 53-54. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1941. It's of a rich merchant's daughter in London did reside. She vowed and swore she loved me and wished to be my bride. She knew the night I was going away, she wrung her hands and cried, "O Willie, are you going away for to leave your love behind?" "This very night I am ready, along with you to go, If it's even through the Chiney seas or Greenland's hills of snow. I am ready to adventure with you while Atlantic billows roar." And she smiled on fortune's cruelties in the land of Baltimore. It was early next morning, just as the dawn did appear, Our journey we pursued it, me and Eliza dear. In silk my love was dressed, most rare to behold, And in her belt her fortune took, ten thousand pounds in gold. When we arrived in Belfast, some hours before it was day, My true love she got ready our passage for to pay. We paid our passage from Belfast, bid adieu to the shamrock's shore, And with a swift and gentle gale we sailed for Baltimore. When we arrived in Baltimore, we took up on some plains, We cleared the timber from the land and soon we made it pay. And now we drink good coffee and tea, both brandy, ale, and wine, And here's success to old Ireland and the girls we left behind. I wrote my father-in-law a letter, as you shall plainly see, That if her was not satisfied, his money I'd send back to him. He wrote me back an answer and this to me did say, Five thousand more you will receive on you first son's birthday. Now to conclude and to finish, my pen I will lay down. Here's a health to all good-hearted girls through city or through town -- Here's a health to all good-hearted girls with riches and money in store -- May they prosper now I've finished, on the plains of Baltimore.
Jamie, Lovely Jamie From Same Henry, Gale Huntington, Lani Herrmann, Sam Henry's Song's of the People, p. 482. Henry #H553. Collected from Alexander Thompson. Printed 1934. When first in Ireland I was born, it was in Armagh town, I own my parents they were poor and fortune on us frowned, The farm we had was rather small, with taxes burdened sore, Which now compels me for to leave my native Irish shore. There was a wealthy merchant in Armagh did reside, He had one only daughter, who longed to be my bride, When she heard that I was going away, the tears her eyes did blind, Saying, 'How can you sail across the main and leave your love behind? 'Oh Jamie, lovely Jamie, along with you I'll go To the scorching sands of the burning east or Greenland clad with snow, My parents they'll be angry, for they are both proud and high, But I will follow my farming lad until the day I die.' The morning we left Ireland the weather was calm and clear, I took ship in the Immediate with my Eliza dear, In silks my darling she was dressed, most glorious to behold, And in her stays her fortune laced, five hundred pounds in gold. We wrote a letter to Ireland and in it did explain. My father-in-law was not content I'd pay him back again, He wrote to me an answer and this to me did say, 'Five hundred pounds I will put down on your first son's birthday. 'And may you ever prosper, I hope you will do well, Although you took my only child to a foreign land to dwell.' We took a farm in Baltimore and the trees we cleared away, And for our toil and labour it did us soon repay. Come all ye brisk young farmer lads has go the heart and means To sail unto America to Baltimore's fair plains, For there you can drink strong brandy, come from a foreign clime, So adieu to dear old Ireland and the girls we left behind.
File: Wa005
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Battle of Waterloo As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 107-109. Immediate source not listed. On the 16th day of June my boys, in Flanders where we lay, The bugle did the alarm sound before the break of day; The British, Belgians, Brunswickers, and Hanoverians too, They Brussels left that morning for the plains of Waterloo. By a forced march we did advance, till three in the afternoon, Each British heart with ardour burned to pull the tyrant down, Near Quatre-Bras we met the French, their shape to us seemed new, For in steel armour they were clad, for the plains of Waterloo. Napoleon to his soldiers said, before that they began, "My heroes, if we lose the day, our nation is undone; The Prussians we've already beat, so we'll beat the British too, And display victorious eagles on the plains of Waterloo." Our immortal leader Wellington no speech to us did make, We were Peninsular heroes, and oft had made them shake, -- At Vittoria, Salamanca, Toulouse, and Burgos too; -- They beheld their former conquerors on the plains of Waterloo. In bright array Britannia stood, and viewed her sons that day, Then to her much loved hero went, and thus to him did say, -- "If you the wreath of laurel twist from your opponent's brow, Through ages all you shall be called the Prince of Waterloo." The bloody fight it then began, and the cannons they did roar, We being short of cavalry, they pressed us full sore, Three British cheers we gave them, with volleys not a few, Which made them wish themselves in France, and far from Waterloo. This day both armies kept their ground, when scarce a shot was fired, The French did boast a victory gained, because we had retired; This noble act of generalship them from their strongholds drew, When we got some share, by fighting fair, on the plains of Waterloo. On the 18th, in the morning, both armies did advance, On this side stood brave Albion's sons, on that the pride of France; The fate of Europe in our hands, each man his sabre drew, And "Death or Victory!" was the word on the plains of Waterloo. Upon our right they did begin, Prince Jerome led the van, With Imperial Guards and Cuirassiers, thought nothing could withstand: But British steel soon made them yield, though our numbers were but few, We prisoners made, but more lay dead, on the plains of Waterloo. Then to our left they bent their course, in disappointed rage, The Belgian line fought for a time, but could not stand the charge! Then Caledon took up her drone, and loud her chanter blew, Played Marshal New a new strathspey to the tune of Waterloo. Here's a health to George our Royal King, and long my he govern, Likewise the Duke of Wellington, that noble son of Erin! Two years they added to our time for pay and pension too, And now we are recorded as men of Waterloo.
File: LJ03
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As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 106-109. Immediate source not listed On the 16th day of June my boys, in Flanders where we lay, The bugle did the alarm sound before the break of day; The British, Belgians, Brunswickers, and Hanoverians too, They Brussels left that morning for the plains of Waterloo. By a forced march we did advance, till three in the afternoon, Each British heart with ardour burned to pull the tyrant down, Near Quatre-Bras we met the French, their shape to us seemed new, For in steel armour they were clad, for the plains of Waterloo. (10 additional stanzas)
File: LJ03A
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From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 167-18. From the singing of "Uncle Jeff." You can't do me lak you done po' Shine, Paid off evuhbody an' you didn't pay Shine. We worked all summer an' all the Fall, Got to take Christmas now in his overalls. "Captain, captain, is my money come?" "Be here today, or tomorry one." "Partner, partner, oh whar you goin'?" "I'm goin' down the country whar they do pay mo'." "Shine, you ought to be here when the captain paid off, I got mo' money than the walkin' boss." They ain't but one man that I do fear, Big Jack Johnson, an' he ain't 'lowed here. You can't do me lak you done po' Shine, You taken his money, but you can't take mine."
File: MWhee017
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The presumed original, from William Henry Drummond, M.D., The Habitant and other French Canadian Poems, Putnam, 1897, pp. 37-43. 'Poleon Dore A Tale of the Saint Maurice You have never hear de story of de young Napoleon Dore? Los' hees life upon de reever w'en de lumber drive go down? W'ere de rapide roar lak tonder, dat's de place he's goin' onder, W'en he's try save Paul Desjardins, 'Poleon hese'f is drown. All de winter on de Shaintee, tam she's good, and work she's plaintee, But we're not feel very sorry, w'en de sun is warm his face, W'en de mooshrat an' de beaver, tak' some leetle swim on reever, An' de sout' win' scare de snowbird, so she fly some col'er place (18 additional stanzas)
File: Be074
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #118, pp. 448-449. From the singing of George Edwards. I'm a poor chronic man from the town of Athlone, I'm sad to my heart that I ever left home. I went down to Belfast, my cousin to see, I fell in with a slasher and got on a spree. Refrain: Ral-di-fal-di-diddle die dow, toddle-i-day. She says, "Cousin Pat, you are going astray, And now, if you'll follow, I'll show you the way!" We walked down through Wilsdom, she carried my coat, And we traveled like lightning down to the steamboat, (8 additional stanzas)
File: FSC118
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(No title) From Arthur Palmer Hudson, Folksongs of Mississippi and Their Background, p. 293. Source not listed. The variation between "little" and "leetle" is found in Hudson. Po' little kitty puss, po' leetle ffeller, Po' little kitty puss died in the cellar. Don't you hear them wolves a-holwing? Po' leetle kitty puss in the woods a-yowling.
File: Br3108
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne &
Frank Warner Collection, #117, pp. 288-289. From the singing of
Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1964.
I worked all the wintertime,
I worked through the spring,
I planted my corn and 'taters
Then it wouldn't rain.
There's not a thing for a poor man
In this world.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: Wa117
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 48-49. From the children of Dr. and Mrs. Frank Allen Hubbard. Poor Mary sits a-weeping, A-weeping, a-weeping, Poor Mary sits a-weeping All on a summer's day. Pray, Mary, choose a sweetheart, A sweetheart, a sweetheart, Pray, Mary, choose a sweetheart All on a summer's day. (Stanzas 1, 5 of 6)
File: Lins047
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 60-61.
My clothing once was linsey-woolsey fine,
My hair unlinkt, and my coat it did shine;
But now in open fields I'm forced for to go
To face the cold winter, and the hailstorm and snow.
Crying, "Poor old horse, O poor old horse."
My bait it once was of the best of hay
That ever grew in fields or in meadows gay;
But now no such comfort I can get at all;
I'm forced to crop the short grass that grows upon the wall.
Crying, etc.
My days are near an end, and now I must die,
And at some lownd dike back my weary bowk may lie;
I do not greatly mind, for I'm clean done anyhow,
And my master does not care, for I'm worse than useless now.
Crying, etc.
My skin unto the huntsmen I freely do give,
My flesh unto the hounds I also bequeath,
Likewise my body stout, that's gone so many miles
Over hedges, over ditches, over gates and over stiles.
Crying, etc.
File: ShH85
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The Po' Ole Slave From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, p. 118. No background information given. The po' ole slave is dead an' gone, We know that he is free. Disturb him not, but let him rest Away down in Tennessee. The po' ole slave is gone to rest, No master does he fear, Disturb him not, but let him rest Away down in Tennessee.
Poor Old Slave The Digital Tradition version, contributed by Susan Friedman. No source is listed, but her keyword tags imply that she (or someone) learned it as a camp song. The poor old slave has gone to rest We know that he is free. His bones, they lie, disturb them nay. Way down in Tennessee. The poor, poor old slave, slave has gone, gone, to rest, rest We know, know that he, he is free, free, free His bones, bones, they lie, lie dis-turb, -turb them nay, nay Way down, down in Tenn-, Tennessee, see, see The pop-poor old slop-slave has gop-gone to rop-rest We knop-know that hop-he is free, free, free His bop-bones they lop-lie dis-top-turb them nop-nay Way dop-down in Top-Tennesee, see see. The piggily-poor old sliggily-slave has giggily-gone to riggily-rest We kniggily-know that higgily-he is free, free, free His biggily-bones they liggily-lie dis-tiggily-turb them niggily-nay Way diggily-down in Tiggily-Tennessee, see, see.
File: MWhee118
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From Braxton Craven (writing as Charlie Vernon), _The Story of Naomi Wise_, The Greensville Patriot, 1874; republished in (Rotary Club of Randleman), _The Story of Naomi Wise and The History of Randleman_, 1944; reissued with a new Foreword 1962 (the earliest known version), p. 20 NAOMI WISE Come all you good people, I'd have you draw near. A sorrowful story you quickly shall hear; A story I'll tell you about N'omi Wise, How she was deluded by Lewis's lies. He promised to marry and use me quite well, But conduct contrary I sadly must tell, He promised to meet me at Adams' Springs, He promised me marriage and many fine things. Still nothing he gave me but flattered the case, He says we'll be married and have no disgrace, Come get up behind me, we'll go up to town, And there we'll be married, in union be bound. I got up behind him and straightway did go To the banks of Deep River, where the water did flow; He says, Now, Naomi, I'll tell you my mind, I intend to drown you, and leave you behind." O! pity your infant and spare me my life; Let me go rejected and no be your wife. "No pity, no pity," this monster did cry, "In Deep River's bottom your body shall lie." The wretch then did choke her, as we understand, And threw her in the river, below the milldam. But it [sic.] murder or treason, Oh! what a great crime To murder poor Naomi and leave her behind. Naomi was missing, they all did well know, And hunting for her to the river did go; And there found her floating in the water so deep, Which caused all the people to sigh and to weep. The neighbors were sent for to see the great sight, While she lay floating all that long night, So early next morning the inquest was held, The jury correctly the murder did tell.
File: LF04
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Death of Parker As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 62-64. Source not clearly indicated. Ye gods above, protect a widow! And with pity look on me. Help, O help me out of trouble; Out of sad calamity! It was, by the death of Parker, Fortune prov'd to me unkind; And though hung for mutiny, Worse than he were left behind. (5 additional stanzas)
File: BrII117
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(no title) From Dorothy Scarborough, A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, p. 73. Collected from Mrs. J. G. Stikeleather, Asheville, North Carolina Hark, sinner hark, whilst I relate What happened in Kentucky state. A nice young lady late have died, Falling from all her wealth and pride. Come, father, mother, sister, too Now I must bid you all adieu. They closed her eyes, her nails turned blue, And thus she bid them all adieu.
File: Br3063
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #132, p. 308. From the singing of Frank Proffitt of North Carolina. Collected 1959. All out in the snow they are tonight, Far away from kin and home. God help the ones who fight for the right, And them who are done gone on. Poor soldier, hungry and cold. Poor soldier, hungry and cold. It's well I recollect when he bid me farewell, He went with head held high, Away to fight for the Stars and Stripes, Perhaps away to die. Poor soldier, hungry and cold. Poor soldier, hungry and cold. I know not where he is tonight, God alone only knows. Keep him safe and sound from all harm, Protect him from all his foes. Poor soldier, hungry and cold. Poor soldier, hungry and cold.
File: Wa132
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Two Strangers in the Mountains Alone From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #59, pp. 270-271. Collected from Miss Grace Etchison of Hatton, Arkansas, December 30, 1929. Is I went out a-welkin' one mornin' in Spring To hear th' birds whistle, pretty nightingales sing, I spied a fair damsel a makin' her moan, Sing I am a stranger an' far from my home. I stepped up beside her an' made a longee, (sic.) An' ask her forgiveness for bein' so free, I had to take pity on hearin' you moan, For I too am a stranger, an' far from my home. (5 additional stanzas)
File: R059
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From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, p. 63, text III. From Nairn. There was a poor widow left alone, And all her children dead and gone. Come, choose you east, Come, choose you west, Take the man you love best. Now they're married, I wish them joy, Every year a girl or boy, I hope this couple may kiss each other.
Here's a Poor Widow From Henry, Huntington, Herrmann, Sam Henry's Songs of the People, p. 11. Henry #48d, printed Oct. 11, 1924. No source listed. Here's a poor widow, she lies her lone, She lies her lone, she lies her lone, Here's a poor widow, she lies her lone, She wants a man and canny get none. She may go round and choose her own, And choose her own, and choose her own, She may go round and choose her own, And choose a good one or else choose none.
File: HHH048f
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #103, pp. 387-388. From the singing of Aaron Van De Bogart, Sr. Don't think by my dress that I came here to beg, Though the sharp pangs of hunger I feel; The cup of misfortune I've drained to the dregs, Though poor, I'm a gentleman still. (Seven additional stanzas, one partly forgotten)
File: FSC103
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Pop Goes de Weasel
From sheet music published 1853 by Stepehn T. Gordon.
The above is the spelling on the interior page; the
title page is inscribed
Pop goes
the weazel
SONG
Arranged by
Chas. Twiggs Esq.
When de night walks in, as black as a sheep,
And de hen and her eggs am fast asleep,
Den into her nest with a sarpent's creep,
CHORUS.
"Pop goes de Weasel."
Oh all de dance dat evver was plann'd
To galvanize de heel and de hand,
Dar's none dat moves so gay and grand As
CHORUS.
"Pop goes de Weasel."
De lover, when he pants t'rough fear,
to pop de question to his dear,
He joins dis dance, den in her ear,
CHORUS.
"Pop goes de Weasel."
2
John Bull tells, in de ole cow's hum,
How Uncle Sam used Uncle Tom,
While he makes some white folks slaves at home,
By "Pop goes de Weasel!"
He talks about a friendly trip
To Cuba in a steam war-ship,
But Uncle Sam may make him skip
By "Pop goes de Weasel!"
He's sending forth his iron hounds
To bark us off de fishin'-grounds --
He'd best beware of Freedom's sounds
Ob "Pop goes de Weasel!"
3
De Temperance folks from Souf to Main,
Against all liquor spout and strain,
But when dey feels an ugly pain
Den "Pop goes de Weasel!"
All New York in rush now whirls
While de World's Fair its flag unfurls,
But de best World's Fair am when our girls
Dance "Pop goes de Weasel!"
Den form two lines straight as a string,
Dance in and out, den three in a ring --
Dive under like de duck, and sing
"Pop goes de Weasel!"
As printed in Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, pp. 63-64. The first verse is from Earls Heaton, the second from "A. Nutt." Half a pound of tup'ny rice, Half a pound of treacle; Mix it up and make it nice, Pop goes the weasel. Up and down the City Road, In and out the Eagle, That's the way the money goes, Pop goes the weasel.
As printed in Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, pp. 368-369. Randolph's #556, the A text. Collected 1926 from Mrs. Marie Wilbur of Pineville, Missouri. All around the countin' house The monkey chased the weasel, The merchant kissed the farmer's wife, Pop goes the weasel! A nickel for a hank of thread, A penny for a needle, The peddlar kissed the merchant's wife, Pop goes the weasel! Fifteen cents for calico, An' ten cents more for needles, That's where all my money goes, Pop goes the weasel!
Fragment from Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods, chapter 5. The setting is not historical; the Ingalls family did not in fact live in Wisconsin when Laura was the age described in the book. The piece must therefore be regarded as undated, though a date of 1871/2 is claimed. A penny for a spool of thread, Another for a needle, That's the way the money goes -- Pop! Goes the weasel! All around the cobbler's bench, The monkey chased the weasel, The preacher kissed the cobbler's wife -- Pop! goes the weasel!
Civil War version printed in [H. M. Wharton], War Songs and
Poems of the Southern Confederacy, p. 387.
King Abraham is very sick,
Old Scott has got the measles,
Manassas we have now at last --
Pop goes the weasel!
All around the cobbler's house
The monkey chased the people,
And after them in double haste
Pop goes the weasel!
When the night walks in as black as a sheep,
And the hen on her eggs was fast asleep,
When into her nest with a serpent's creep
Pop goes the weasel!
Of all the dance that ever was planned
To galvanize the heel and the hand,
There's none that moves so gay and grand
As pop goes the weasel!
Version learned from my father, Frederick M. Waltz, circa 1965. Loosely remembered. I'm quite sure the second line of the final verse was his own invention. All around the cobbler's bench The monkey chased the weasel. The monkey thought 'twas all in fun; Pop! goes the weasel. A penny for a spool of thread, A nickel for a needle, That's where all the money goes; Pop! goes the weasel. A penny for a loaf of bread, A nickel for a beagle, That's where all the money goes; Pop! goes the weasel.
File: R556
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #9, pp. 43-44. Collected from "the Gavin manuscript copy"; in existence before 1966. Come all you jolly shantyboys wherever you may be, I hope you pay attention and listen unto me. It is all about Tom Poupore and his jovial shanty crew . . . . . . On the twenty-eighth of October in 1994 His jovial crew of shantyboys Black River did cross o'er. Some of them Black River boys, some of them from Sheen, Some from the Island and more from Nepean. (8 additional stanzas)
File: FowL09
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Chanty Song
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #57, pp. 115-116.
"Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, South-East Passage."
Chorus.
Soon we'll be in England town,
Heave, me lads, heave ho,
To see the king with a golden crown,
Heave, me lads, heave ho,
Heave ho, on we go,
Heave, me lads, heave ho.
Little powder monkey Jim handing up the powder
From the magazine below,
When he got struck with a ball
That laid him so low,
Heave ho, on we go,
Heave, me lads, heave ho.
File: CrNS057
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 444-446. Source not listed. In praise of a dairy I purpose to sing, But all things in order, first, God save the King! And the Queen, I may say, That every May-day, How many fair dairy-maids all fine and gay. Assist me, fair damsels, to finish my theme, Inspiring my fancy with strawberry cream. (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo444
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No title.
From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems
from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan
Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #19,
p. 11. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the abbreviations
not marked and obsolete letters modernized (e.g. th for thorn).
Pray for vs to the prince of peace,
Amice Crysty, Johannes.
To Crystis own derlyng,
The whyche was mayd both old & yong,
My hart ys set, a songe to syng,
Amice Christi Johannes.
For he was so clene a mayd,
On Crystis brest a slepe he layd
The prophettis of bevyn to hym sayd:
Amice Christi Johannes.
Whan Cryst before Pylat was browght,
Thys clene mayd for-soke hym nowght,
To dye with hym was all his thowght,
Amice Christi Johannes.
Crystis moder was hym be-take,
A mayd, to be a-noder make;
Pray we to hym that he vs not forsake,
Amice Christi Johannes.
File: BrR3776
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From Louise Pound, American Ballads and Songs, #105, pp. 216-217. From a manuscript copy made by "Mrs. Hinshaw" from the singing of N. C. Johnson, circa 1879. O, if poor sinners did but know How much for them I undergo, They would not treat me with contempt, Nor curse me when I say "Repent." Give credit now to what I say, And mind it till the judgment day, Of God I'm sent, to you I call, The invitation is to all. My loving brethren think it strange That I should leave my dearest friends; My sisters wonder where I am, That I do not return to them. My parents' house I bid adieu, And on my journey I pursue, To distant climes I now repair To call poor sinners far and near. Through storms of wind and rain and snow Both day and night I have to go To attend the appointments I have made, Or find some place to lay my head. Sometimes in open houses sleep Or in some little place I creep, I cannot sleep for want of clothes, Smothered in smoke and almost froze. I ofttimes with false brethren meet Whose heart is full of vain deceit. They seem quite pleasant at the first, But of all friends they are the worst. The roaring tempest beat with force, And ofttimes drives me from my course. But he who hears the sparrows' care Protects and drives away my fear. Sometimes with hunger I grow faint, But travel on till almost spent, Without a friend and helper nigh But he who hears the ravens' cry. When lo, I hear a glorious voice, Saying, "Arise, in me rejoice! Go to the earth's remotest bounds, I'll be thy friend while foes surround." And when my work is done below, I hope to glory I shall go; I'll take my lofty distant flight To dwell with saints in endless light, With all the happy pilgrims there, And in God's kingdom have a share. We'll shout and sing, our suffering o'er, Where Christian friends will part no more.
File: LPnd216
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #115, pp. 284-285. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1941. As pretty a fair widow As ever has been seen, Was staying at the home Of a man named Jim McGeen. All the men would raise their hats Every time they saw That handsome fair young widow That was known as Lillie Shaw. (16 additional 4-line stanzas)
File: Wa115
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Moll Boy's Courtship As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 348-349. Immediate source is not noted. Noble Sir Arthur a hunting did ride With his hounds at his feet, and his sword at his side. As he was a riding by chance he did spy A charming brown girl, her name was Moll Boy. O charming Moll Boy, my butler shall be To draw the red wine betwixt you and me, I'll make you a lady of highest degree, If you will but love me my charming Molly. I'll deck you with ribbons, and many fine things, I'll cover your fingers with jewels and rings, Of stain and silk shall your petticoats be, The pride of my heart, my darling Molly. I'll have none of your ribbons, nor none of your rings, Nor none of your jewels, nor of your fine things, For I have gotten petticoats suits my degree, I'll ne'er love married man till his wife die. O lovely Moll Boy, lend me your penknife, And I will go home and kill my old wife, I'll kill my old wife and come unto thee, If you will but love me my charming Molly. O noble Sir Arthur, you must not do so, Go home, love your own wife; let no body know, For seven long years I'll wait upon thee, But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife die. Seven long years were long gone and past, And the old woman went to her long home at last, That day she was buried a blythe man was he, And soon came a courting his charming Molly. O fairest Moll Boy give me but your hand, And all I possess shall be yours at command, For my wife she is buried, I come unto thee, Say thou wilt love but me my charming Molly. Oh charming Moll Boy has given consent, Straightway to the church to be married she went, Now charming Moll Boy in her coach she doth ride, With maids to attend her, her man by her side. It's all ye young women take warning by me, Never love a married man until his wife die.
File: LO14
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #140, pp. 306-308. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Good people, all attention pay to what I do relate, Of this most awful tragedy in Charlottetown of late. The murderer of whom I write a few years beyond a boy, William Millman was his name, his mother's hope and joy. (12 additional stanzas)
"Young Melvyn" From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 6043-644. Sung by Charlotte Decker, Parson's Pond, August 1958. Both young and old come ponder what I do now relate, It's of a cruel treachery in Charlottetown of late, The memory of my ripe few years be always on the boy, Young Melvyn was that young man's name, his mother's only joy. (11 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS140
Partial text(s)
The Prisoner's Song 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), #27, pp. 193-194. From Jessie McCue, Hookersville, November 10, 1925. Oh, I wish I ha someone to love me, Someone to call me her won; Oh, I wish I had someone to live with, For I'm weary of living alone. Won't you meet me to-night in the moonlight? Won't you meet me to-night all along? For I have a sad story to tell you, 'Tis a story that's never been told. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC100
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Collected by Kenneth S. Goldstein from an anonymous singer in Cape Shore, Newfoundland. Printed in Kenneth S. Goldstein, "A Report on Continuing Research into 'Treason Songs': A Private Newfoundland Tradition," essay on pp. 126-153 of Gerald Thomas and J. D. A. Widdowson, editors, _Studies in Newfoundland Folklore: Community and Process_, Breakwater Books, 1991. This text is on pp. 127-128. An Orangeman lied and on his bed died And went to St. Peter for to let him in: St. Peter did say, "From these gates go away 'Cause when upon earth you lived in sin. When you were on earth you were cursed from your birth, And up to these gates how dare you to come! Get away from those gates and down to Hell's flames." And he rattled away on the Prooshian drum. A rum di dum dum, A rum di dum dum, And he rattled away on the Prooshian drum. (4 additional stanzas)
File: ThWi127
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #74, p. 180. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1941. "Who is the support of our country today, The rich or the poor?" you may ask. No, it is the man with the toil-hardened hand Who forever you'll find at his task. He labors with zeal and earnestly strives To obtain all the best things of life. He will give of his substance to brothers in need, To those who have failed in the strife. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Wa074
Partial text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 235-236. Allegedly from a late eighteenth century manuscript found in Dumfriesshire. The silver moon she shines so bright -- She shines so bright, I swear, by nature, That if my hour-glass goes but right, We've time to drink another pitcher -- For 'tis not day, 'tis not yet day, Then why should we forsake good liquor, Until the sun beams round in play, We've time to call for t'other pitcher. (3 additional stanzas)
File: WT092
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The Nigger Tune
From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #180, pp. 506-507
Supplied by Mr. A. C. Payne, McDowell County; August 1918
1 I am a man, a pretty man,
The ladies call me pretty;
I teach the school, the higher school,
In our own native city.
"What kind of school did you teach?"
"I took the little boy through the a-b abs, i-b, ibs, and o-b obs."
"Then what did you do?"
"I stuck in the mud, fool, that's what I do."
2 I next put into a blacksmith shop,
A blacksmith shop improvin';
'Tis my motto and always been,
To push along, keep movin'.
"What about your blacksmith shop?"
"Well, there comes a little boy in my shop the other day, picked
up a red hot horse shoe. I guess he laid it down without tellin'.
He went up the road singing that good old song we sing sometimes,
'Push along, keep movin'."
3 I next put up a whiskey shop,
A whiskey shop improvin';
'Tis my motto and always been,
To push along, keep movin'.
"What about your whiskey shop?"
"Why, there come a man in my shop the other day, said he wanted
a little whiskey. I went around to git him some and I met that old
fool wife of mine, a glass of whiskey in one hand and a bottle in the
other. She squalled out, 'Don't let no more of that whiskey go, there
ain't no more than'll do me.' I hauled back and took her by the side
of the head. She went out of door, 'Push along, keep movin'."
4 I next put up a carpenter ship,
A carpenter shop improvin',
'Tis my motto and always been,
To push along, keep movin'.
"What about your carpenter shop?"
"I went into my shop the other day and got a letter from that old
gal of mine out in the country. I did not know anybody in a mile of
me. Standin' thar reading' of it, throwed my head back, here's that
old fool wife of mine readin' of it over my shoulder. She picks up a
great big piece of plank, she lit in on my hind parts. I guess I went
out o' doors, 'Push along, keep movin'."
File: JHCox180
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(No title) From Norah & William Montgomerie, Scottish Nursery Rhymes, 1963 #1, p. 21. "Pussy, pussy baudrons, Where have you been?" "I've been to London, To see the Queen!" Pussy, pussy baudrons, What got you there?" "I got a good far mousikie, Running up a stair!" (1 additional stanza)
File: OO2428
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 2, August 28, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY. Now Southern fried chicken is mighty fine, but all I want is a watermelon vine. So, plant a another watermelon on my grave and let the juice slip through.
File: NCF162PW
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You've Got to Put On Airs
From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, pp. 332-333.
Collected in 1935 from Martin G. Fowler of Petersburg, Indiana.
Oh, when a girl is about sixteen,
She really thinks she's "some";
It's the dressed-up beau with the big mustache
She always fetches home.
Two hours before the looking-glass
To catch him she prepares;
And when she gets her fix-ups on,
O don't she spread on airs?
Chorus
There's no use in talking, no use talking,
The truth itself declares
If you do with folks that fashions do,
You've got to put on airs.
(3 additional stanzas.)
File: R460
Partial text(s)
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 276-278. "Madam, I have come a courting, Oh-dear-me! I'm for pleasure, not for sportin', Oh-dear-me!" "I want none of your Quaker action, Fol lol lol lol lay, You're enough to breed distraction, Fol lol lol lol, fol lol lay." (3 additional stanzas)
File: R362
Complete text(s)
Bung Your Eye As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 420-421. From "A Garland of New Songs," c. 1812. A buxom young fellow was walking the street, A certain fair maiden he chanced to meet, And as she drew near him she said, will you buy? Pray what do you sell? she replies, Bung your eye. To be serious, fair maiden, what have you got there? Would you wish for an answer both kind and sincere? 'Tis Holland's Geneva, called by the bye, As a nickname, my friend, it is Bung your eye. If you be a gentleman, as you do appear, To sell all my Geneva I need not to fear. While I speak to some neighbours as they pass by, So I'll leave you the care of this Bung your eye. The woman being gone it was his intent To look into her basket he was fully bent, In a few minutes after the young child did cry, Instead of Geneva found a young Bung your eye. O curse this bad woman! what has she got here? I have bought her Geneva, I vow, very dear, I'm afraid all the lasses as they pass me by Will call me the father of young Bung your eye. Bung your eye he took home as I have heard say, To have the child christen'd without more delay; Says the parson, I'll christen the child by and bye, What name will you give him? he said, Bung your eye. Bung your eye, said the parson, it is an odd name! O yes, Sir, he said, and an odd way it came, I'm afraid all the lasses as they pass me by Will call me the father of young Bung your eye. Come all you young fellows that walk in the street, Beware of those maidens you chance for to meet, For Holland's Geneva put me in surprise, Believe me, my girls, it bunged up both my eyes.
File: Log416
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021,
as posted by user John5918.
There were rats, rats, big as bloody cats,
In the store, in the store.
There were rats, rats, big as bloody cats,
In the Quartermaster's store (behind the door)
{Chorus} My eyes are dim, I cannot see,
I have not brought my specs with me,
I have not brought my specs with me.
There was gravy, gravy, enough to float the navy,
In the store, in the store,
There was gravy, gravy, enough to float the navy,
In the Quartermaster's store (behind the door)
This song goes on and on for ever, with improvised harmonies, and with improvised lyrics picking on the name of each person present.
There was Tess, Tess, looking at her best...
There was Tim, Tim, looking rather slim... etc, etc ad nauseam.
File: FSWB272A
Complete text(s)
From Percy/Wheatley, II.ii.8, pp. 166-168 "[G]iven, with some corrections, from an old printed copy." Queene Elianor was a sicke woman And afraid that she should dye: Then she sent for two fryars of France To speke with her speedilye. The king calld down his nobles all, By one, by two, by three; "Earl marshall, Ile go shrive the queene, And thou shalt wend with mee. A boone, a boone; quoth earl marshall, And fell on his bended knee; That whatsoere queen Elianor saye, No harme therof may bee. Ile pawne my landes, the king then cryd, My sceptre, crowne, and all, That whotsoere queen Elianor sayes No harm thereof shall fall. Do thou put on a fryars coat, And Ile put on another; And we will to queen Elianor goe Like fryar and his brother. Thus both attired then they goe: When they came to Whitehall, The bells did ring, and the quiristers sing, And the torches did lighte them all. When that they came before the queene They fell on their bended knee; A boone, a boone, our gracious queene, That you sent so hastilee. Are you two fryars of France, she sayd, As I suppose you bee, But if you are two Englishe fryars, You shall hang on the gallowes tree. We are two fryars of France, they sayd, As you suppose we bee, We have not been at any masse Sith we came from the sea. The first vile thing that ever I did I will to you unfolde; Earl marshall had my maidenhed, Beneath this cloth of golde. Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king; May God forgive it thee! Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall; With a heavye heart spake hee. The next vile thing that ever I did, To you Ile not denye, I made a boxe of poyson strong, To poison king Henrye. Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king; May God forgive it thee! Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall; And I wish it so may bee. The next vile thing that ever I did, To you I will discover; I poysoned fair Rosamonde, All in fair Woodstocke bower. Thats a vile sinne, then sayd the king; May God forgive it thee! Amen, amen, quoth earl marshall; And I wish it so may bee. Do you see yonders little boye, A tossing of the balle? That is earl marshalls eldest sonne, And I love him the best of all. Do you see yonders little boye, A catching of the balle? That is king Henryes youngest sonne, And I love him the worst of all. His head is fashyon'd like a bull; His nose is like a boare. No matter for that, king Henrye cryd, I love him the better therefore. The king pulled off his fryars coate, And appeared all in redde: She shrieked, and cryd, and wrung her hands, And sayde she was betrayde. The king lookt over his left shoulder, And a grimme look looked hee, Earl marshall, he sayd, but for my oathe, Or hanged thou shouldst bee.
File: C156
Partial text(s)
Raccoon's Got a Bushy Tale
From Paul G. Brewster, Ballads and Songs of Indiana, p. 334.
Collected in 1935 from Edith Dell Hopkins of Boonville, Indiana.
Raccoon's got a bush tail;
Possum's tail is bare;
Rabbit's got no tail at all --
Nothing but a little bunch of hair.
Chorus
Get along home, home, home;
Get along home, home, home;
Get along home, home, home;
Down the riverside.
Someone stole my old 'coon dog;
They'd better bring him back.
Chased the raccoon over the fence,
And the rabbit through the crack.
(2 additional stanzas, both floating verses.)
File: R260
Partial text(s)
From Warren Fahey, _Joe Watson: Traditional Australian Folk Singer_ Australian Folklore Occasional Paper No. 8., p. 12 [? -- the pages are not numbered; this page is headed "Mr. Watson then recited...."] My name is Barney Rafferty, that is my cognomen Though some folks call me Barmy, they're of the lower bent. I'm putting up for parliament, as the 'poor' man's candidate So, isn't (sic.) Mikey Cafferty, the only man I hate. (5 additional stanzas plus several spoken interludes)
File: FaWRafCa
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #102(A), pp. 384-385. From the singing of Etson Van Wagner. What a world of flumity!* There is so much deceit in it, As you will find in life's ways as you journey on. Rich and poor, young and old, everywhere you're meetin' it, It is the same, I will maintain, and prove it in my song. * (broadside text reads "flummery") (11 additional stanzas)
File: FSC102
Partial text(s)
From Michael Brander, Scottish & Border Battles & Ballads, 1975 (page references are to the 1993 Barnes & Noble edition), pp. 241-245. The seventh of July, the suith to say, At the Reidswire the tryst was set; Our wardens they affixed the day, And, as they promised, so they met. Alas! that day I'll ne'er forgett! Was sure saw feard, and then sae faine -- They came theare justice for to gett, Will never green to come again. (19 additional stanzas)
File: MBra92
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 358-359. From
"Margery K. Forsythe of Chicago, who learned it from her pioneer
mother."
1 The great Pacific railway,
For California hail!
Bring on the locomotive,
Lay down the iron rail;
Across the rolling prairies
By steam we're bound to go,
The railroad cars are coming, humming,
Through New Mexico,
The railroad cars are coming, humming,
Through New Mexico.
2 The little dogs in dog-town
Will wag each little tail;
They'll think that something's coming
A-riding on a rail.
The rattle-snake will show its fangs,
The owl tu-whit, tu-who,
The railroad cars are coming, humming,
Through New Mexico,
The railroad cars are coming, humming,
Through New Mexico.
File: San358
Complete text(s)
The Rambling Youth From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond03: "Sailor's Songs" FOLKTRAX-159). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS I'm a rambling youth that all's led astray Jack the sailor they do call me I am out of work I can find no employ That's why they call me the rambling boy. It was down to Green Street I took my flight Me and my darling for to spend a night A night, brave boys, when was time to go Ah little I knew she proved my overthrow. It was in the tavern where we both sat down The turks and heathens did me surround Where the turks and heathens they did me surround My innocent blood, brave boys, did stain the ground. Farewell father and mother too, Farewell sisters and brothers three I'm now transported for thievery And Van Diemans Land brave boys I'm bound to see. There is one thing grieves me, vexes my mind 'tis the leaving of my true love behind I'll write her a letter if her heart is true Although I'm wearing the transport blue.
File: RcRCTRaY
Partial text(s)
Indifference; or, a Rap at the Door As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 363-364. Source not indicated. The last time I came o'er the muir, It was to see my love to be sure, It was to see my love to be sure, And she bade me rap at the door, door, And she bade me rap at the door, door, It was to see my love to be sure, And she bade me rap at the door, door, And she bade me rap at the door. (5 additional stanzas)
File: GrD4780
Complete text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 6, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. The thread does not contain the text, but John5918 kindly sent me a copy of a manuscript of the text given to him. Parts of it are almost illegible in the copy; I have marked these (?). Probably there are other parts I couldn't have read without the Digital Tradition text before me. Note that, other than in the first verse, there was no attempt to track line breaks in the manuscript. This is probably derived from a commercial recording but was passed by oral tradition, and the order of the verses differs from the DT. Down behind the gasworks, there(?) in Rawtenstall, That's a little town in Lancashire. Last Saturday night, me and the lads, ee by gum We 'ad some right good cheer. There was ice cream, donuts, coconuts(?), and switchbacks, Figure eights and roundabouts -- weren't we all delighted When we heard the showman cry.... O roll up, roll up, see the house o' myst'ry, Ladies pay a tanner to get tickled in the dark." In went the lads, just for a peep, the showman pulled A lever and they landed in a heap; there were shouting Screaming, ev'rythin' were rife, I've never seen so many Cammy knickers in my life, I've even seen some things I've never seen upon my wife at the Rawtenstall Annual Fair.... O roll up, roll up, come and see the mermaid, see the lovely lady, half a woman, half a fish[.] in went the lads, to show it wasn't swank, then little Tommy Higgins threw some whisky in the tank[.] well, she got frisky, swimmin' in the whisky[,] and when she came up for air, she shook her head and gave her tail a swish, her tail it came off and she really looked delish'. she said what would you like boys, a bit o' meat or fish At the Rawtenstall Annual Fair. Roll up[,] roll up[,] come and see the fat girl, forty stone of loveliness and evr'y bit her own, ee she were a un, wi' accent on the big, and all the chaps wi' walking sticks kept giving her a dig; she was a great big lassie that didn't know her chassis were pumped up wi' air I do believe; everything 'were champion until some silly clown, pricked her with a pin, said the showman with a frown, all hands to the pumps lads, my vessel's going down at the Rawtenstall Annual Fair. Roll up[,] roll up[,] see the Tattoed Lady, see the lovely lady with the pictures on her skin, in went the lads and began to cheer, to see that on her back were all the towns in Lancashire, there were Oldham, Bolton (?), Ashton (?) -Under-Lye, coalpit up at Burnley were looking mighty fine when someone shouted "Daddy, don't go down the mine", At the Rawtenstall Annual Fair.
File: LTCSRaAF
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #107, p. 213. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. "Oh husband, dear husband my wardrobe is bare And it's scarcely three weeks to the big county fair." Chorus With my down derry down, With my down derry day. "Oh husband, dear husband grant me my desire, Get me a red mantle to wear to the fair." (stanzas 1, 3 of 7)
File: RcTReMan
Complete text(s)
As supplied by Margaret Anderson learned it from her mother, Anne B. Anderson (born in Minneapolis and raised in Bemidji), who in turn had it from her father, E. Lynn Benner, born 1888. A fragment probably learned from print. From this valley they say you are leaving; We will miss your bright eyes and your smile, For they say you are taking the sunshine That brightened my pathway awhile. Come and sit by my side O my darling, Do not hasten to bid me adieu, But remember the Red River Valley And the cowboy who loved you so true.
File: R730
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #22, pp, 89-90. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1946. On the banks of the Potomac there's an army so grand, Its objects are subjects of Dixie's fair land. They say that they've split our great Union in two And altered the colors of the Red, White, and Blue. Chorus Hurray, hurrah, we're a nation to dread, We'll stand by our colors, the Red, White, and Red. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa022
Partial text(s)
Based on the sheet music as published in 1874 by William A. Pond & Co.
and reissued by an unknown publisher in a facsimile with additional
lyrics and glossary by Don Rickey Jr.
Three years ago this very day, We went to Governor's Isle;
For to stand forninst the cannon, In true military style.
Seventeen American dollars, each month we surely get,
For to carry a gun and bagnetts With a regimental step.
We had our choice of going to the army, or to the jail;
Or its up the Hudson river, with a "copper" take a sail!
Oh we puckered up our courage, Wid bravery we did go,
Oh were cursed the day we went away Wid the Regular Army O!
CHORUS:
There was Sergeant John McCafferty, And Captain Donahue,
Oh they make us march, and toe the mark,
In gallant Company "Q,"
Oh, the drums would roll upon my soul, This is the style we'd go
Forty miles a day, on beans and hay, In the Regular Army O!
(3 additional stanzas by Harrigan apart from the added stanza by
Rickey.)
File: LoF177
Partial text(s)
The Snow Is on the Ground From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #161, pp. 365-366. From the singing of Eleazar Tillett of North Carolina (1951) Cold winter is come with his keen cutting breath, And the birds is all dropped from the trees. All nature seems touched at the finger of death, And the streams are beginning to freeze. When the hills and the dales are all covered in white And Flora attends us no more, You sit by your fireside reviving and hot, Will you grumble to think on the poor? (4 additional stanzas, but of four lines each)
File: Wa161
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1871 by White, Smith & Perry.
Title page inscribed
RRRR
R R EUBEN
R R
RRRR AND
R R
R R ACHEL
R R Comic Duet
Words by
Harry Birch
Music by
William Gooch
RACHEL.
1. Reuben, I have long been thinking,
What a good world this might be,
If the men were all transported
Far beyond the Northern Sea.
REUBEN.
Rachel, I have long been thinking,
What a fine world this might be,
If we had some more young ladies
On this side the Northern Sea.
REUBEN.
Too ral loo ral loo,
RACHEL.
Too ral loo ral,
REUBEN.
Too ral loo ral loo,
RACHEL.
Too ral lee,
RACHEL: If the men were all transported Far beyond the Northern Sea
REUBEN: If we had some more young ladies On this side the Northern Sea.
RACHEL.
2. Reuben, I'm a poor lone woman,
No one seems to care for me,
I wish the men were all transported
Far beyond the Northern Sea.
REUBEN.
I'm a man without a victim,
Soon I think there's one will be,
If the men are not transported
Far beyond the Northern Sea.
REUBEN.
Too ral loo ral loo,
RACHEL.
Too ral loo ral,
REUBEN.
Too ral loo ral loo,
RACHEL.
Too ral lee,
RACHEL: If the men were all transported Far beyond the Northern Sea
REUBEN: If we had some more young ladies On this side the Northern Sea.*
3.
RACH. Reuben, what's the use of fooling,
Why not come up like a man?
If you'd like to have a "lovyer,"
I'm for life your "Sally Ann."
REU. Oh my goodness! oh my gracious!
What a queer world this would be,
If the men were all transported
Far beyond the Northern Sea.
4.
RACH. Reuben, now do stop your teazing,
If you've any love for me;
I was only just a fooling,
As of course I thought you'd see.
REU. Rachel, I will not transport you,
But will take you for a wife,
We will live on "milk and honey,"
Better or worse, we're in for life.
* The sheet music seems to imply that the singers should repeat
the lines of the first verse, even though it would doubtless make
more sense to repeat those of the current verse.
File: RJ19180
Complete text(s)
From the singing of the Gant Family of Austin, Texas. Recorded by John and Alan Lomax, Library of Congress AAFS 67A2 (1934). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. As I rode out this morning, Three miles from old Saint Croix, I spied a farmer's daughter Here on this mountain high. Her ivory cheeks, her ruby lips, Her face it looked so fair, I said, "my pretty maiden, I'm pleased to meet you here." She said, "young man, be civil, my company forsake; I have a great opinion, I fear you are some rake. And if my parents should hear of this, My life they would destroy, For the keeping of bad company, Here on this mountain high." I said, "Kind miss, I am a bum, Although I'm not to blame; I'm begging for forgiveness, All in the judge's name. Your beauty has concerned me, I cannot pass you by; With my rifle I will guide you, Here on this mountain high." And then this pretty little thing, She fell into a daze. With eyes as bright as emeralds, How fondly she did gaze. She said, "young man, be civil, And I will be your bride." And then she fell into my arms Here on this mountain high. I had but kissed her once or twice, Till she come to again, And said to me so kindly, "Kind sir, what is your name?" "My name is nothing extry, Although I'm sure you'll find, Written down in Ancient History, My name is Rhinordine."
File: LP15
Complete text(s)
Irchard of Taunton Deane
Called "Richard of Taunton Deane" on the LP cover, but the LP and notes
label it "Irchard," and this is the name used in the recording.
As sung by George and Gerry Armstrong on "Simple Gifts" (Folkways FA 2335).
They learned it "in 1954 from an eighty-year-old, white-bearded gentleman
name[d] James Pyke-Knott, a retired farmer from Devonshire." I (RBW)
compared the recorded version with the text in the liner notes, and made
some modifications to the latter in that light.
'Twas Christmas Eve as I've heard say,
Young Irchard he mounted his dobbin grey,
And started out from Taunton Deane
To woo the parson's daughter, Jane.
Chorus:
With a dumble down derry, dumble down day.
He rode along without any fear
Till he came to the home of his lady dear,
And then he shouted, "Hey, hello!
Be ye folks at home? Say ye eis* or no."
The servants quickly let Dick in,
That he his courtship might begin.
And Dick he strode into the hall
And loudly on Miss Jane did call.
Miss Jane came down without delay
To hear what Irchard had for to say,
"I do suppose you know, Miss Jane,
That I be Irchard of Taunton Deane?
"I'm an honest lad though I be poor,
And I never was in love before.
But Mother sent I here to woo,
And I can fancy none but you."
"If I consent to be your bride,
Pray how for me would you provide?
It never would do for you and I...."
"Oh, come," says Dick, "Us can but try."
"For I can reap and I can mow,
And I can plow and I can sow,
I goes to market with father's hay
And earns me ninepence every day.
"I've got a pig poked up in the sty
As comes to me when Granny do die,
And if you'll consent to marry me now,
Why Father'll gie us the old fat sow."
Dick's compliments were so polite,
He won Miss Jane before the night.
And when he'd got no more to say,
He gied her a kiss and rode away.
* So the liner notes. It sounds more like "yees."
File: RcIOTD
Complete text(s)
(Riddles Wisely Expounded)
A modified version of Child's "A" text, collated from four texts in
(a) Rawlinson [broadside], (b) Pepys, (c) Douce, and (d) Pills to Purge
Melancholy (volume IV of the 1719 edition). The following text is
reconstructed from Child's notes to reflect the majority reading in all
stanzas, with the critical apparatus recast on that basis. Changes from
the Child text are marked *. Spelling and punctuation variants are not
noted.
1 There was a lady of the North Country
Lay the bent to the bonny broom
And she had lovely daughters three.
Fa la la la, fa la la la ra re
2 There was a knight of noble worth
Which also loved in the North.
3 The knight, of courage stout and brave,
A wife he did desire to have.
4 He knocked at the ladie's gate
One evening when it was late.
5 The youngest* sister let him in,
And pin'd the door with a silver pin.
6 The second sister made his bed,
And laid soft pillows under his head.
7 The youngest that same* night,
She went to bed to this young knight.
8 And in the morning, when it was day,
These words unto him she did say:
9 'Now you have had your will,' quoth she,
'I pray, sir knight, will you marry me?'
10 The young brave knight to her replyed,
'Thy suit, fair maid, shall not be deny'd.
11 If thou canst answer questions three,
This very day I will marry thee.'
12 'Kind sir, in love, O then,' quoth she,
'Tell me what your three questions be.'
13 'O what is longer than the way,
Or what is deeper than the sea?
14 'Or what is louder than the horn,
Or what is sharper than a thorn?
15 'Or what is greener than the grass,
Or what is worse then (sic.) a woman was?'
16 'O love is longer than the way,
And hell is deeper than the sea.
17 'And thunder's* louder than the horn,
And hunger's* sharper than a thorn.
18 'And poyson's* greener than the grass,
And the Devil's* worse than woman was.'
19 When she these questions answered had,
The knight became exceeding glad.
20 And having [truly]* try'd her wit,
He much commended her for it.
21 And after, as 't is verifi'd,
He made of her his lovely bride.
22 So now, fair maidens all, adieu,
This song I dedicate to you.
23 I wish that you may constant prove
Vnto the man that you do love.
Variants:
1.1 of the ] c: i' th; d: in the
3.1 The ] c: This
5.1 Youngest: Child reads "eldest" (conjecture, probably correct)
7.1 The youngest that same ] a Child: the youngest daughter that same;
c: the youngest daughter that very same
7.3 to this ] c: with this
9.3 will you ] d: you
11.3 I will ] c: I'll (d unclear)
12.1 in love ] omit c
12.2 three ] a omits; in [] in Child
14.1 the ] d: a
17.1 thunder's ] a Child: thunder is
17.3 hunger's ] a Child: hunger is
18.1 poyson's ] a Child: poyson is
18.3 Devil's ] a Child: Devil is; than woman ] d: than the woman
19.1 these ] c: those
20.1 truly ] a b omit (Child in [])
21.2 as 't is ] a Child: as it is
File: C001
Complete text(s)
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #62, pp. 127-128, first text. From New Bedford; dated c. 1790. Ring a ring a rosie, A bottle full of posie, All the girls in our town, Ring for little Josie.
This is the way I (RBW) remember hearing this item, presumably
sung by neighbourhood children. The version in Pankake & Pankake,
A Prairie Home Companion Folk Song Book, p. 229, is identical
excapt for spelling ("rosy, "pocketful") and the unequivocal
inclusion of "we." (I seem to recall the chant with and without
the pronoun.)
Ring around the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes, ashes,
[We] all fall down.
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 3, August 28, 2021, as posted by user John5918. Ring-a-ring o' roses, A pocket full of posies, A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down.
File: PHCF227a
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth S. Goldstein, "A Report on Continuing Research into 'Treason Songs': A Private Newfoundland Tradition," essay on pp. 126-153 of Gerald Thomas and J. D. A. Widdowson, editors, _Studies in Newfoundland Folklore: Community and Process_, Breakwater Books, 1991, pp. 146-147. Ye Liberals all, on you I'll call, I hope you will attend, Give heed a while to these few lines that I have lately penned; It's of an awful tragedy happened in St. John's town When by the hands of treachery three young men were cut down. On the nominating morning at the hour of seven o'clock The Tories heist their colours for St. John's East did flock; Six Liberals took their lofty seats for St. John's East and West, And for to gain their winning post they really did their best. (8 additional stanzas)
File: ThWi146
Partial text(s)
From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 47. From the singing of Captain James P. Barker of Brooklyn, NY. Oh, I come from the world below. That is where the cocks do crow. Whiskey, oh, Johnny, oh! Oh, rise me up from down below, Down below oh oh oh oh! Up aloft this yard must go, John Rise me up from down below! (1 additional stanza)
File: Doe047
Partial text(s)
From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), pp. 181-182. Source not listed. It was one fine day in the month of May and I was outward bound, I hadn't any tin to buy some gin, so I walked the streets all round, My shoes was out at the elbows, and I was sore in need So I shipped as a jolly sailor on board of the River Lea. Cho. No more I'll go to sea, beat down the bay of Fundy, Forevermore I'll stay on shore, I'll go to sea no more. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Hugi589
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #85, pp. 216-217. From the singing of Buna Vista Presnell Hicks, Hattie Hicks Presnell, Rosa Hicks Presnell, Beech Mountain, North Carolina, 1951. Soon we'll come to the end of life's journey, And perhaps we'll never meey any more, Till we get to heaven's bright city Far away on the beautiful shore. Chorus If we never met again this side of heaven, As we struggle through this world and its strife, There's another meeting place over in heaven, By the side of that river of life. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Wa085
Partial text(s)
The River in the Pines From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), #30, pp. 119-121. From Mr. William Bartlett of Eau Claire, Wisconsin. Oh, Mary was a maiden when the birds began to sing. She was fairer than the blooming rose so early in the spring. Her thoughts were gar and happy in the morning gay and fine, For her lover was a river boy from the River in the Pines. (7 additional stanzas, one of them being six rather than four lines long)
File: LoF056
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 461-462. Apparently from an edition of Notes and Querries. Ye bards who extol the gay valleys and glades, The jessamine bowers, and amorous shades, Who prospects so rural can boast at your will, Yet never once mentioned sweet 'Robin Hood's Hill.' This spot, which of nature displays every smile, From famed Glo'ster city is distanced two mile, Of which you a view may obtain at your will, From the sweet rural summit of 'Robin Hood's Hill.' (6 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo461
Partial text(s)
Rocky By Baby By-O From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #190 p. 431. From Rebecca King Jones, North Carolina, 1940. Rocky by baby, the old tree top, And when the tree falls the cradle shall rock, Rocky by baby, by-o. Father will come to pick up his gun, Into the woods, he will bring some meat home, Rocky by baby, by-o. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa190
Partial text(s)
From John D. Harbron, _The Longest Battle: The RCN in the Atlantic, 1939-1945_, Vanwell Publishing Ltd., 1993, p. 128. Roll along, Wavy Navy, roll along, Roll along, Wavy Navy, roll along, If they ask us who we are, We're the RCNVR -- Roll along, Wavy Navy, roll along. Oh, we joined for the chance to go to sea, Yes, we joined for the chance to go to sea, But the first two years or more We spent marching on the shore, Roll along, Wavy Navy, roll along. Oh, we joined for the pavement and the fun, Yes, we joined for the pavement and the fun, But of payment there is none, And the fun is yet to come, Roll along, Wavy Navy, roll along. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Hopk074
Partial text(s)
The Hog-Eye Man From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition), p. 104. Colcord simply describes it as being a "Negro shanty." Oh, the hog-eye man is the man for me, He was raised way down in Tennisee, (sic.) Chorus With a hog-eye! Row boat ashore with a hog-eye, Row boat ashore with a hog-eye, All she wants is a hog-eye man! Oh, the hog-eye man is all the go When he comes down to San Fran-cis-co. Oh, fetch me down my riding cane, For I'm going to see my darling Jane. (2 additional stanzas)
File: San380
Complete text(s)
Rosey Anderson From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition), pp. 91-92. No source information given. Hay Marshall was a gentleman as ever lived on earth, He courted Rosey Anderson, a lady into Perth; He courted her, and married her, made her his lawful wife. And at that day, I dare to say, he loved her as his life There was an Assembly into Perth, and Rosey she was there; Lord Elgin danced with her that night, and did her heart ensnare, Lord Elgin danced with her that night, and then conveyed her home; Hay Marshall he came rushing in before he left the room. "I'm all into surprised," he says, "I'm all into surprise, To see you kiss my wedded wife before my very eyes." "Do not be in surprise," he says, "not do not think it odd. Though I've conveyed your lady home from the dangers on the road. "I did not kiss your wedded wife, nor did I with her stay, I only brought her safely home from the dangers on the way." "Oh, had she not a maid," he says, "or had she not a guide? Or had she not a candlelight, or why was she afraid?" Betty she was called upon the quarrel for to face -- "I would have brought my lady home but Lord Elgin took my place." "Although you be a Lord," he said, "And I but a provost's son, I'll make you smart for this, my Lord, although you think it's fun." He took his Rosey by the hand, and led her through the room, Saying, "I'll send you up to fair London till a' this clash goes down; I'll send you up till fair London, your mother to be your guide, And let them all say what they will, I'll still be on your side." Weeks barely nine she had not been into fair London toun Till word came back to Hay Marshall that Rosey play'd the loon: "Oh, woe be to your roses red that ever I loved you, For to forsake your own husband amongst the beds o' rue." A lady from her window high was spying with her glass, And what did she spy but a light grey gown rolling amongst the grass; Hay Marshall had twenty witnesses, and Rosey had but two: "Waes me," cries Rosey Anderson, "Alas, what shall I do? "My very meat I cannot take, mt clothes I wear them worse: Waes me," cries Rosey Anderson, "my life's to me a curse; If it was to do what's done," she says, "if it was to do what's done Hay Marshall's face I would embrace, Lord Elgin's I would shun. "The springtime it is coming on, some regiments will be here, I'll maybe get an officer my broken heart to cheer." Now she has got an officer her broken heart to bind, Now she has got an officer, but he has proved unkind. He's left her for to lie her lane, which causes her to cry: "In Bedlam I must lie my lane, in Bedlam I must die! Ye ladies fair, both far and near, a warning take by me, And don't forsake your own husbands for any Lords you see."
File: Log392
Partial text(s)
Rosy Nell
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 99.
"From singing of Sallie Lyttle Hatton."
How oft we've talked of childhood's joys,
Of tricks we used to play
Upon each other while at school
To pass the time away.
The boys and girls would often go
A-fishing in the brook,
With spools of thread for fishing lines,
And bended pins for hooks.
Chorus
But O, how often have I longed
For those bright days again,
When little Rosy Nell and I
Went swingin in the lane.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: San114
Partial text(s)
O'Donovan Rossa's Farewell to Dublin From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #61, pp. 136-137. Source not indicated. Adieu my friends in Dublin town I bid you all adieu I cannot yet appoint the day when I'll return to you I write these lines on board of ship where stormy billows roar, May the heaves save our Fenian boys until I return on shore. (5 additional stanzas)
File: OLoc034
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)
Run with the Bullgine
From Joanna C. Colcord, Songs of American Sailormen (1938 edition),
p. 64. Source not listed.
We'll run all night till the morning
Cho. Oh, run with the bulltine, run!
Away, ah-ha, Way ah-ha!
Cho. Run with the bullgine, run!
Run, let the Bulgine Run
From Stan Hugill, Shanties from the Seven Seas (abridged 1994 Mystic
Seaport edition), p. 257
Oh, a bulgine once wuz a-heavin',
Ch. Run, let the bulgine run!
Oh, high ya! Oh aye yah!
Ch. Run, let the bulgine run!
Oh, she's lovely up aloft an' she's lovely down below,
Ch. Run, let the bulgine run!
Oh, high ya! Oh aye yah!
Ch. Run, let the bulgine run!
(8 additional stanzas)
File: Hugi342
Partial text(s)
On Admiral Russel's
Total Defeat of the French Fleet
From John Ashton, Real Sailor-Songs, Leadenhall Press, London, 1891;
reprinted by D. N. Goodchild, Philadelphia, 2006, #7.
Thursday in the morn, on the Nineteenth of May,
Recorded be for ever the famous Ninety-two,
Brave Russel did discern, by break of day,
The lofty sails of France advancing to.
All hands aloft, they cry; let English courage shine,
Let fly a culverine, a signal for the line;
Let every man supply his gun,
Follow me, you soon shall see,
That the battle it will be soon won.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: AshS007
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #142, pp. 310-311. Sung by Albert Whare. On the stormy western ocean, Just eighty miles from land, Lies a barren little island Composed of grass and sand. I signed the government articles To say down there a year To take care of government property The government clothes to wear. (7 additional stanzas)
File: RcSabIsl
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #143, pp. 312-313. "Sung by Mr. Allan Hartlan, South-East Passage." There's a little trail a winding To a little pile of sand, To a place called the Main Station Where the forty steeves are banned. We eats salt pork three times a day And potatoes we have none, We thought to steal from other boys And only call that fun. (3 additional stanzas plus a half stanza)
File: CrNS143
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #52, pp. 144-145. "Sung by Charles Riley, Lance au Loup, August 1960." Oh sad and lonely comrades, when one is carried out, Out of this world of darkness into that heavenly light, Now let it be a warning to the words I have to say, And then you'll know how silent before my path away. (four and a half additional stanzas)
File: LLab052
Complete text(s)
Sailing at High Tide From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #168, p. 238. From Connecticut. Reproduced on pp. 812-813 of B. A. Botkin, American Folklore. Sailing in the boat when the tide runs high [thrice] Waiting for the pretty girl to come by'm by. Here she comes so fresh and fair. Sky-blue eyes and curly hair, Rosy in cheek, dimple in her chin, Say, young men, but you can't come in. Rose in the garden for you, young man [twice] Rose in the garden, get it if you can, But take care and don't choose a frost-bitten once. Choose your partner, stay till day, [thrice] Never mind what the old folks say. Old folks say 'tis the very best way, [thrice] To court all night and sleep all day.
File: LoF013
Partial text(s)
From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 109. From the singing of Frank Vickery. I've sailed among the Yankees, the Spaniards and Chinees (sic.). I've lain down with the yellow girls beneath the tall pine trees. I've crossed the Line and Gulf Stream and around by Table Bay, And around Cape Horn and home again -- oh, that's the sailor's way! (1 additional stanza)
File: Doe109
Complete text(s)
On the Eighth Day of November
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #116, pp. 226-263.
From Mrs. Galen W. Summer, Canton, Ohio. Note that this version has
only one verse properly from "Saint Claire's Defeat"; stanzas 2 and
3 are from "James Ervin."
1. On the eighth day of November,
In the year of ninety one,
We had a strong engagement
Near to Fort Jefferson;
St. Clair was our commander,
As may remembered be,
There was fought and lost nine hundred men
On the banks of the St. Marie.
2. We fought all of one night,
And part of the next day,
Then we came into the old, old barn,
Where we laid down on some hay;
We'd scarce been there an hour,
When we arose again,
When we looked out of the window,
And spied five of their train.
3. And being in close confinement,
We looked all around,
We jumped through the window,
And knocked five of them down;
Oldham and Irving
Dare not before me go,
I'll make them fly before me,
Like the arrow from a bow.
File: E116
Complete text(s)
Almost certainly originally a broadside, possibly Irish. Now lost.
Surviving versions clearly damaged -- the damage perhaps being
caused by a rather elaborate original. The text below is composite,
an attempt to reconstruct the approximate original; source notes
and critical data follows the text:
Saint Helena
1 Oh, Boney has gone from his wars and his fighting;
He has gone to the place where he never took delight in.
And there he may sit down and tell the scenes that he has seen of
While forlorn he doth mourn on the Isle of Saint Helena.
2 Louisa doth mourn for her husband's departing
She dreams when she sleeps and she wakes broken-hearted.
Not a friend to console her, even those who might be with her
But she mourns when she thinks on the Isle of Saint Helena.
3 Now the rude rushing waves all around the shores are washing
And the great billows' heaves on the wild rocks are dashing.
He may look to the moon o'er the great Mount Diana
With his eyes o'er the waves [that] roll around Saint Helena.
4 No more in St. Cloud he'll be seen in such splendor,
Or go on with his wars like the great Alexander,
For the young king of Rome and the prince of Gehenna
They have caused him to die on the Isle of Saint Helena.
5 O you Parliaments of war* and your Holy Alliance
To a prisoner of war you may now bid defiance.
For your base intrigues and your base misdemeanors
Have caused him to die on the Isle of Saint Helena.
6 All you that have wealth, beware of ambition
For by some degree of fate you might change your condition
Be steadfast in time, for what's to come you know not
For fear you may be changed like he on the Isle of St. Helena
* The variant reading, "Parliament of England," is more reasonable
(England was the one major enemy of Napoleon not to join the Holy
Alliance), and may well be original -- but it won't scan.
***
Sources:
B: Belden, p. 146, "The Isle of St. Helena" (verses 1, 2 , 3 6, 4)
Bl: Popular recording by Mary Black (rarely cited explicitly; used
primarily as a source of emendations)
E: Eddy #96, p. 220, "Lonely Louisa" (verse 2 only, and missing 2C)
F: Flanders & Brown, p. 11, "Bonaparte on St. Helena" (verse 2 only)
H: Gale Huntingdon, "Songs the Whalemen Sang," pp. 205-206,
"Bonaparte on St. Helena" (collated from two versions)
R: Brown II #146, p. 385, "The Isle of St. Helena," text A
(see also R2, R3, R4). From C. K. Tillet or his wife in 1922
R2: Brown's B text (fragment; verses 1, 2, 3, 4AB); from Fanny Grogan
R3: Brown's C text (fragment; verses 1, 4, 2, 3A); from Alva Wise
R4: Broen's D text (fragment; verses 1AB+4AB, 2ABC, 4CD); from Mrs. Ira Reese
S: J. A. Scott, "The Ballad of America," pp. 102-104,
"Napoleon Bonaparte"
W: Warner 143, p. 331, "Bony on the Isle of St. Helena," collected 1940
from C. K. "Tink" Tillett (note that this may be the same informant
as R, but with substantial variations including an extra verse!)
Of these, W is probably the best text, and the verses follow
its order. S and Bl may have been modified.
cj. = conjectural reading
txt: Indicates that the text printed above is supplied from the
witnesses cited
Note: No notice has been made of variants regarding terminal
g (i.e. -ing versus -in') or of "St." versus "Saint." Punctuation
is generally ignored as being editorial.
***
References preceding variant readings are to stanza and line,
e.g. 1B refers to the second line of the first stanza.
If no lemma is quoted, then the entire line is the variant
under discussion. Separate variants within lines are
distinguished by asterisks (*):
1A * txt: cj.
W: Oh, Bony he has gone from his wars all a-fightin'
R: Bony he has gone from his wars of all fighting
R2: Bone's gone to the war in the battle he is fighting
R3: Now Bony is gone from the wars of all fighting
R4: Bonaparte he's gone from the wars of all fighting
H: Bonaparte is gone from his wars and his fightings
B: He is gone, he is gone from the wars of all fighting
S: Now Napoleon he has done with his wars and his fighting
1B * txt: cj.;
S: He has gone to the land he can take no delight in
B: He is gone to the place that he never took delight in
W: He has gone to the place where he takes no delight in
R: He has gone to the place where he never took delight in
R2: He has gone to a place where he never took delight in
R3: He's gone to a place where he never took delight in
R4: He's gone to the land where [he] doth take delighting
H: He has gone to a place that he never took delight in
cj.: He has gone to a land where naught can delight him
1C * txt: W;
R: And there he may set down and tell the sence he has seen of
R2: Oh there he may sit down and tell all that he has seen of
R3: Oh there he'll sit down to the scene where he's seen her
S: He may set him down and tell of battles he has been in
H: He may sit down and tell-o what great sights he has seen-o
B: No more he will sit down and tell of scenes he's seen of
1D * txt: S;
W: Whilst full long he doth mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
H: Yet alone he must mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
B: But he mourns when he thinks on the Isle of St. Helena
R: For long he does mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
R2: While for home he doth weep on the Isle of St. Tellena
R3: While for Boney he doth warm on the Isle of St. Helena
Verse 2: Verse 4 in H, apparently verse 3 in R3
2A * txt: cj.
E: Louisa she doth mourn for her loved one departed
B: Louisa doth mourn of her loved one departed
F: Louisa doth mourn for her husband departed
H: Louisa she mourns from her husband she is parted
S: Louisa does weep for her husband's departing
W: Oh, Louisy she weeps for her husband's departin'
R: Eloisa she mourns of her husband's departing
R2: Louise she doth weep for her husband hath departed
R3: The wife she doth mourn for her husband's departure
R4: Louise doth weep for her husband departed
2B * txt: F R W (S "and she wakens"; B "and awakes"; R2 "wakes all broken-hearted;
R4 "and wakes"));
H: And she dreams when she sleeps and awakes broken-hearted
E: She weeps as she sleeps and awakes broken-hearted
R3: She dreams while she sleeps and she wakes broken-hearted
2C * txt: R R2 W
F: Not a friend to console her even those that might be with her
S: Not a friend to console or even those who might be with her
H: There is none to console her those who might be with her
B: Not a friend to console her even those who might be with her
R3: Not a soul to console her even those who might have been with her
R4: There's no friend to contol her not even those near her
cj.: Not a friend to console her though there's many would be with her
2D * txt cj.
R+W: For she mourns when she thinks on the Isle of St. Helena
B: She mourns when she thinks on the Isle of St. Helena
E: While forlorn he doth mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
F: But she mourns when she thinks of the Isle of St. Helena
H: Yet alone she mourns when she thinks on St. Helena
S: While forlorn she does mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
R2: For she weeps when she thinks on the Isle of St. Tellena
R3: Oh, she mourns when she thinks of the Isle of St. Helena
3A * txt: R R2
H: Where the great white-top waves on the rocks they are dashing
W: Oh, the rude rushin' waves all around the shores a-washin'
R: Now the rude rushing waves all around the shores are washing
S: The rude rushing waves all around the shores are washing
B: The rude rushing waves all around the shores are washing
R3: The rude rushing waves beat around St. Helena
cj. (cf. Bl; I much prefer this reading though I doubt it is original):
Now the rude rushing waves o'er the oceans are fleeting
3B * txt: R
H: And the proud foaming billows on the shores they are washing
W: And the great billows heaves on the wild rocks are dashin'
S: Now the high billows roar, on the rough rocks are dashing
B: And the great billows heave and the wild rocks are dashing
R2: And the great Bill of loo and the wild rocks are burting
cj. (cf. Bl; I much prefer this reading though I doubt it is original):
And the great billows' roar on the shore's rocks are beating
3C * txt: W (R "...moon over the great...")
B: He may look to the moon on the great mount Diana
S: He may look to the moon, to the great mount of Diana
H: He may sigh to the winds on the mount of Diana
R2: He may look to the moon of the great omount taema
3D * txt: (W omits "that")
R: With his eyes over the waves rolded around St. Helena
B: With his eyes on the waves that surround St. Helena
S: While forlorn he does mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
H: Yet alone he must mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
R2: With his eyes over the waves that around St. Tellena
verse 4: found in R+W, R3, and B (as verse 5) only; R2 and R4 have fragments;
the text given is that of W without emendation; S omits; H (as verse 2)
has a portion of this verse conflated with v. 3.
Texts of the other versions (the differences between R and W are shown
in caps):
4A * H: Where the (Magalene) clouds come forth in such splendor
B: No more in St. Cloud shall he be seen in such splendor
R: No more in St. CLOUD'S he'll be seen in such splendor
R2: No more at church he'll be seen in such splendor
R3: No more in St. Cloud's he'll be seen in such splendor
R4: No more in such clouds he'll be seen in such splendor
4B * H: They come forth in crowds like the great Alexander
B: Or go on with his crown like the great Alexander
R: Or go on with his CROWDS like the great Alexander
R2: Nor again with his crowd not the great Alexander
R3: Nor gone with his crowd like the great Alexandria
R4: Not roing with his crowds and the great Alexander
4C * H: He may sigh to the winds on the great Mount Diana
B: For the young king of Rome and the prince of Igana
R: For the GREAT king of Rome and the prince of GAHANAH
R3: But the great king of Rome and the prince of Gay Hanna
R4: The young king of Rob and the prince of Gemira
4D * H: Yet alone he must mourn on the Isle of St. Helena
B: Say they will bring their father back from the Isle of St. Helena
R: SAYS THEY BRING THEIR FATHER HOME FROM the Isle of St. Helena
R3: They will bring their father home from the Isle of St. Helena
R4: Say they will bring their father home from the Isles of St. Delina
verses 5-6: This order W; S places 6 before 5; B H omit verse 5; B has the
1 2 3 6 4 (!); R omits verse 6
5A * txt cj. (S omits "O")
W: O you Parliaments of England and you Holy Alliance
R: Now you Parliaments of England and you Holy Alliance
5B * a prisoner: R W; S "the prisoner"
5C * txt cj. (cf. S "...your baser misdemeanors")
W: For his base intrudin' and his base misdemeanors
(R "base INTRUDING")
5D * Have caused: R "has caused"
6A * txt S;
W: Come all you's got wealth, pray beware of ambition
H: Come all you that have great wealth, now beware of ambition
B: All ye that have wives, pray beware of ambition
6B * txt: cj.
S: Lest in some degree of health you should change your condition
B: 'Tis a decree in fate that might change your condition
W: For it's a degree of fate that may change your condition
H: Or by some degree or other you might change your condition
6C * txt: S;
B: Be ye steadfast in time for what is to come ye know not
H: Be steadfast in time-o[,] what is to come you can not tell-o
W: Be'est it best in time for what's to come you know not
6D * txt: cj. (variant "like him," "like his")
S: And your days they may end on the Isle of St. Helena
W: For fear you may be changed like he on the Isle of St. Helena
B: For fear you might be changed like he on St. Helena
H: Or by chance you might end on the Isle of St. Helena
cj.: Or your days they may end, like he on St. Helena
cj.: Or your days they may end on the Isle of Saint Helena
File: E096
Partial text(s)
From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #87, pp. 222-223. "Sung by Peter Letto, Lance au Clair, July 1960." A few days ago I went on a spree, In St. John's town I like for to be. I heard people talking and just for a lark. I got down the town, 'twas just before dark, Few coins in my pocket; likewise a few dubs, Says I to myself, "I'm right on the job," When some one called, "Charles," and turning around, The prettiest girl in town I found. (2 additional stanzas, of irregular length, with recitations between each stanza)
File: LLab087
Partial text(s)
Of saynt Steuen From the photographs in Edward Bliss Reed, editor, _Christmas Carols Printed in the Sixteenth Century Including Kele's Christmas carolles newely Inprynted reproduced in facsimile from the copy in the Huntington Library_, Harvard University Press, 1932, pp. 51-535 [33-35]. Contractions and such have been silently modernized, but spelling is retained and the (lack of) punctuation is not corrected (e.g. note the different spellings of "Christ"; also "may"/'mayde"). To saynt Steuen wyll we pray To pray for us bothe nyght and day Of saynt Steuen godes knygt That preched the faith day & yght He tolde the Jewes as it was ryght That Chryst was borne of a may. The Jewes sayd in grete scorne That Christ was not of a mayde borne Than sayd Steuen ye are but lorne And all that beleve in your lay. (7 additional stanzas)
File: MSSSGK
Complete text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, p. 48.
Sair fyel'd, hinny,
Sair fyel'd now,
Sair fyel'd, hinny,
Sin' I ken'd thou.
Aw was young and lusty,
Aw was fair and clear
Aw was young and lusty
Mony a lang year.
Sair fyel'd, hinny, etc.
When aw was young and lusty,
Aw could lowp a dyke,
But now aw'm awd an' stiff
Aw can hardly step a syke.
Sair fyel'd, hinny, etc.
When aw was fove-and-twenty
Aw was brave and bauld;
Now, at five-and-sixty,
Aw'm byeth stiff and cauld.
Sair fyel'd, hinny, etc.
Thus said the auld man
To the oak tree,
"Sair fyel'd is aw
Sin' aw ken'd thee."
Sair fyel'd, hinny, etc.
File: StoR048
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #111, pp. 241-242. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." Come, all ye good people who wish to live long, And pray lend an ear to a criminal song. Take warning by me while now I lie in jail, Her halter is ready my fate to bewail. (6 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS111
Partial text(s)
Charming Sally Greer From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 358-359. Sung by Mary Ann Galpin, Codroy, July 1960. Good people all both old and young my age is twenty-three, My parents turned me from their door unto Amerikay, All from that verdant Ireland where my first breath I drew, That forced me to Americay my fortune to pursue. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FMB092
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 184-185.
On the Ropery Banks Jenny was sittin' --
She had on a bed-goon just new,
And lithely the lassie was knittin'
Wi' yarn of a bonny sky-blue;
The strings of hor cap they were hingin'
Se lang on hor shoulders se fine,
And hearty I heard this lass singin' --
My bonny keel lad shall be mine.
Chorus
O was the keel come doon the river,
That I my dear laddie might see;
He whistles and dances se clivvor,
My bonnie keel laddie for me.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: StoR184
Complete text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 162-163.
I was a young maiden truly,
And liv'd in Sandgate Street;
I thought to marry a good man,
To keep me warm and heat;
Some good-like body, some bonny body,
To be with me at noon;
But last (alas?) I married a keelman,
And my good days are done.
I thought to marry a parson,
To hear me say my prayers;
But I have married a keelman,
And he kicks me down the stairs.
He's an ugly body, a bubbly body,
An ill-faured ugly loon;
And I have married a keelman,
And my good days are done.
I thought to marry a dyer,
To dye my apron blue;
But I have married a keelman,
And he makes me sairly rue.
He's an ugly body, etc.
I thought to marry a joiner,
To make me chair and stool;
But I have married a keelman,
And he's a perfect fool.
He's an ugly body, etc.
I thought to marry a sailor,
To bring me sugar and tea;
But I have married a keelman,
And that he lets me see.
He's an ugly body, etc.
File: StoR162
Partial text(s)
Saw Ye My Saviour (sic.) From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 122-123. From Mrs. Jo Wilson, Springfield, Vermont. Collected 1940. Saw ye my Savior, saw ye my Savior, Saw ye my Savior and Lord? Oh, He died on Calvary, to atone for you and me, And to purchase our pardon with blood. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FO122
Partial text(s)
From James Johnson, editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 reprint edition], p. 12, #11. No source indicated. Stanzas not marked but seem to be four lines long. Saw ye nae my Peggy, saw ye nae my Peggy, saw ye nae my Peggy, coming o'er the Lee. Sure, a finer creature, ne'er was formed by nature, so compleat each feature, so divine is she. (24 additional lines, i.e. 6 additional stanzas.)
File: GrD71415
Complete text(s)
The Scady Rock From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond01: "Songs of Comment" FOLKTRAX-157). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS You people all of each degree Come listen to my tale of woe You all will mind a dreadful night When the loud and stormy winds did blow. Brave Colonel Caufield's pleasure boat [Probably properly Caulfield] Was launched [Ulster = lanched] upon the stormy main With three stout men and one young girl And they all did meet a watery grave. And this boat was strongly built And the Maid of Youghal was her name To Colonel Caufield she belonged And noble was that man of fame. And he sent her with his servant maid In order to convey her home But on the Scady Rock she split Convenient to the Bridge of Toome. Then the people gathered on the shore You'd have heard their sighs and their dismal moans And very soon you all will hear Of the manhood of young Squire Jones. The people both far and near Bewailed the fate of this young girl We trust in glory she does shine For she belonged to Cushendall. [Place in north-east Antrim] And the captain's name was MacErlean A well respected sober man And he little thought he would be wrecked Convenient to yon River Bann.
File: RcScaRoc
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From Guy Logsdon, "The Whorehouse Bells Were Ringing" And Other Songs Cowboys Sing, #6, pp. 53-54. From the singing of Riley Neal. Not dated but collected before 1976. McClellan was a cowboy of the wild and wooly west; His horses and his outfit was of the very best. He was an educated fellow, don't take him for a fool; One thing about McClellan, he was handy with his tool. As McClellan left the cow camp on one Friday night, he was going to see the school ma'am at the school house painted white; He'd been courting her for three months now, and thought he'd make his try; Made up his mind this time that he'd have her or he'd die. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Logs006
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #42, pp. 172-174. From the singing of Fred McMahon, Chatham, 1948. My name is Larry Gorman, To all hands I mean no harrum, You need not be alarumed, For you've heard of me before. I can make a song and sing it, I can fix it neat and bring it, And the title that I'll give it Is the Scow on Cowden Shore. (13 additional stanzas)
File: Doe234
Complete text(s)
The Sea Crabb From Furnivall, Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript [Volume 4], Loose and Humorous Songs, pp. 99-100. Text from page 462 of the Percy Folio. Itt: was a man of Affrica had a ffaire wiffe, ffairest that euer I saw the dayes of my liffe: with a ging, boyes, ginge! ginge, boyes, ginge! tarradidle, ffarradidle, ging, boys, ging! This goodwiffe was bigbellyed, & with a lad, & euer shee longed ffor a sea crabbe ginge &c. The goodman rise in the morning, & put on his hose, he went to the sea syde, & ffollowed his nose. ginge &c. Sais, "god speed, ffisherman, sayling on the sea, hast thou any crabbs in thy bot for to sell mee?" ginge &c. "I haue Cranns in my bote, one, tow, or three; I haue Crabbs in my bote for to sell thee." ginge &c. The good man went home, & ere he wist, & put the Crabb in the Chamber pot where his wiffe pist ginge &c. The good wiffe, she went to doe as shee was wont; vp start the Crabfish, & catcht her by the Cunt. ginge &c. "Alas!" quoth the goodwiffe, "that euer I was borne, the devill is in the pispott, & has me on his horne." ginge &c. "If thou be a crabb or crabfish by kind, thoule let thy hold goe with a blast of cole wind." ginge &c. The good man laid to his outh, & began to blowe, thinkeing therby that they Crab wold lett goe. ginge &c. "Alas!" quoth the good man, "that euer I came hither, he has ioyned my wiffes tayle & my nose together!" ginge &c. They good man called his neigbors in with great wonder, to part his wiues tayle & his nose assunder. ginge &c.
File: EM001
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 33-34. From the third (1955) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. The Black House flag is up today to welcome home the stranger And Stewart's House is looking out for Barbour in the Ranger; But Job's are wishing Blandford first who never missed the patches, He struck them on the twenty-third and filled her to the hatches. And Bowring too will bet a few On Jackman in the Howler, The little Kite she bore in sight With Billy Knee the Jowler. (11 additional stanzas, of the short lines used in stanza 2 rather than the long lines of stanza 1)
File: Doyl3052
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 50-51. From Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports; collected in 1962 from Tom Morry. Chorus: Be ye much of a hand ab'ard a vessel, Ab'ard a vessel, ab'ard a vessel, Be ye much of a hand ab'ard a vessel A-peltin' the puppy swiles, sire. Sure when we took 'em to the wharf We got six dollars and a half, And when we took 'em to the store We got a dollar more, sir. (8 additional stanzas)
File: Pea094
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 126-128. From the second (1940) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. Come all ye jolly seal-men and listen to my song; I don't mean to offend you, and won't delay you long; It's all about our sealing trip from Twillingate to St. John's. We started to fit our vessel out before we had signed on. Our ship was fitted very well, from a radio to a shovel. The only thing delayed our ship was a little engine trouble. While taking in our ballast, some of us were drunk, And more of us worked very hard, while the others lay in bunk. (14 additional stanzas)
File: Doy14
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 141-147. From a manuscript supplied by Lucinda Wheeler, with a tune apparently from Josepha Cobb. A seaman of Plymouth, sweet William, by name, A-wooing to beautiful Susan he came. At length he obtained her love and goodwill And likewise her father admired him still. (49 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr141
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One Morning Clear From the Sam Henry collection, H548, printed June 2, 1934. No source given. As printed on p. 341 of Henry/Huntington/Herrmann. One morning clear, to meet my dear before the sun would rise, Her cherry cheeks and ruby lips, they put me in surprise; 'Where are you going, my dear,' said I, 'your journey to pursue Before bright Phoebus' golden beams dry up the morning dew?' 'I'm going to feed my father's flocks, his ewes and tender lambs Down beneath yon forest where they're sporting with their dams.' 'Then, since together we are met, my love, let us agree, I could wish that all true lovers were as happy met as we.' My love's genteel and handsome, she's neat in every limb, I courted her for four years and thought the time not long, And thrice four years I'd a-courted her, if life that long would stay, Not thrice four years but four hundred, and would count it all one day. I love my love, there is no doubt, it's all for love again, And if she says she loves me not, I laugh at her disdain; If she is constant, I'll be true, and forever we'll agree, But if ever I find she's changed her mind, I'll change mine as well as she. The pleasantest month in all the year is the merry month of June, When all the world is pleasant and all the flowers in bloom, When all together sport and play, and birds sing every tune, Where young women carry the key of love, young men may know their doom.
File: LO09A
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Sebastopol
From Stan Hugill, Shanties from the Seven Seas, Mystic Seaport Museum
1994 edition, pp. 322-323. All lines but the first and third of each
verse are a chorus.
The Crimea War is over now,
Sebastopol is taken!
The Crimea War is over now,
Sebastopol is taken!
So cheer, boys, cheer,
Sebastopol is taken!
And sing cheer, boys, cheer,
Old England's gained the day.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: SmHa041
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 440-441. Source not indicated. I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring, In April, May, and Jule, likewise, when small birds they do sing; My garden's well planted with flowers everywhere, Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I loved so dear. My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me, He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all three; The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon, The lily and the pink I did o'erlook, and I vowed I'd stay till June. (3 additional stanzas)
File: K167
Complete text(s)
When I Saw Sweet Nelly Home
From sheet music published 1859 by Wm. A. Pond & Co. The title
above is that found on the interior page. Title page inscribed
To his friend
Edwin Green, Esq.
When I saw sweet
Nellie home
Ballad
SUNG BY
Mr.D.S.WAMBOLD
Composed and arranged by
JOHN FLETCHER.
An unauthorized and incorrect copy of this song has been published
under my name but without my consent. This is the
ONLY CORRECT EDITION
1. VER. In the sky the bright stars glittered
On the grass the moonlight fell
Hush'd the sound of daylight bustle
Closed the pink-eyed pimpernell
As a-down the moss grown wood path
Where the cattle love to roam,
From an august evening party
I was seeing Nelly home.
Repeat Chorus last time
In the sky the bright stars glittered
On the grass the moonlight shonw
From an august evening party
I was seeing Nelly home.
2. VER. When the autumn tinged the greenwood
Turning all its leaves to gold
In the lawn by elders shaded
I my love to Nelly told
As we stood together gazing
On the star bespangled dome
How I blessed the august evening
When I saw sweet Nelly home.
3. VER. White hairs mingled with my tresses
Furrows steal upon my brow
But a love smile cheers and blesses
Life's declining moments now
Matron in the snowy kerchief
Closer to my bosom come
Tell me do'st thous still remember
When I saw sweet Nelly home
File: RJ19229
Partial text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, pp. 177-0178. Supplied by W. R. Boyd, Jr., "formerly of Texas." As I went out by the light of the moon, So merrily singin' this here old tune, Thar I spies a fat raccoon A-settin' on a rail, Settin' on a rail, Serrin' on a rail, Ha-ha! Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha! Sleepin' mighty sound. (1 additional stanza)
File: ScNF177B
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 120, September 28, 2021. From user John5918. Oh dear, what can the matter be Three old ladies locked in the lavatory They've been there from Monday to Saturday Nobody knew they were there.
File: EM119
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 50-51. From the children of Dr. and Mrs. Frank Allen Hubbard. Shall I show you how the farmer, Shall I show you how the farmer, Shall I show you how the farmer Sows his barley and wheat? It is so, so, that the farmer, It is so, so, that the farmer, It is so, so, that the farmer Sows his barley and wheat. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Lins050
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 117, September 27, 2021.
From user Crypto-Willobie.
She is more to be pitied than censured,
she is more to be {?____} than despised.
She is merely a lassie who ventured
on life's {something}path ill-advised
Do not scorn her with words fierce and bitter
do not laugh at her shame and downfall.
For a moment just stop and consider
that a man was the cause of it all.
File: SRW190
Complete text(s)
The Ballad of Big Jim Folsom
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 61, August 31, 2021,
as posted by user Crypto-Willobie. Learned from his father,
who reportedly learned it c. 1952.
She was poor, but she was honest,
Victim of the rich man's whim
Till she met that Christian gentleman Big Jim Folsom
And she had a child by him
{chorus} It's the rich what gets the glory
It's the poor what gets the blame
It's the same the wide world over over over
It's a low down dirty shame
Now he works in the legislature
Makin' laws for all mankind
While she walks the streets of Coleman Alabama
Selling grapes from her grapevine
{repeat chorus}
File: EM132
Complete text(s)
The Wide Mizzoura From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, p. 408. No source indicated. 1 O Shannadore, I love your daughter, Hi-oh, you rolling river, I'll take 'er cross the rolling water, Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Mizzoura. 2 For seven years I courted Sally, Hi-oh, you rolling river, For seven more I longed to have her, Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Mizzoura. 3 She said she would not be my lover, Hi-oh, you rolling river, Because I was a dirty sailor, Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Mizzoura. 4 A-drinkin' rum and a-chewin' t'bacccer, Hi-oh, you rolling river, A-drinkin' rum and a-chewin' t'bacccer, Ah-hah, I'm bound away 'cross the wide Mizzoura.
File: Doe077
Partial text(s)
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 284-285. From Elizabeth Wheeler Hubbard. I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing on the sea, And it was deeply laden with pretty things for me. There were comfits in the cabin and almonds in the hold. The sails were made of satin and the mast it was of gold. (1 additional stanza)
File: Lins284
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs
of the Catskills, #83, pp. 313-314. From the singing of Aaron
Van De Bogart, Sr.
1. What ship is this that you're going on board?
Oh, glory Hallelujah.
What ship is this that you're going on board?
Oh, glory Hallelujah.
[first] Refrain:
'Tis the old ship of Zion, Hallelujah,
'Tis the old ship of Zion, Hallelujah,
'Tis the old ship of Zion, Hallelujah,
'Tis the old ship of Zion, Hallelujah.
(1 additional stanza and refrain)
File: FSC083
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The Shoemakker
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 114-115.
My mother sent me to the school
To learn to be a stocking-knitter,
But I went wrang and played the fool
And married with a shoemakker.
Shoemakker, leather cracker,
With all his stinking, dirty water;
I wish a thousand deaths I'd died
Ere I had wed a shoemakker.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: StoR114
Complete text(s)
Shew! Fly, Don't Bother Me
From sheet music published 1869 by White, Smith & Perry. The title
above is from the interior page; the title page is inscribed
To
J.C. Trowbridge Esq.
SHEW FLY DONT BOTHER ME
Comic Song AND Dance
SUNG BY
Cool Burgess, AND Rollin Howard
MELODY BY
FRANK CAMPBELL
ARRANGED BY
ROLLIN HOWARD
1. I think I hear the angels sing,
I think I hear the angels sing,
I think I hear the angels sing,
The angels now are on the wing.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
That's what my mother said,
The angels pouring 'lasses down,
Upon this nigger's head.
CHORUS.
Shew! fly, don't bother me,
Shew! fly, don't bother me,
Shew! fly, don't bother me,
I belong to Company G.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
I feel like a morning star.
2. If I sleep in the sun this nigger knows,
If I sleep in the sun this nigger knows,
If I sleep in the sun this nigger knows,
A fly come by sting him on the nose.
I feel, I feel, I feel,
That's what my mother said,
Whenever this nigger goes to sleep,
He must cover up his head.
File: R273
Complete text(s)
As recorded by Burnett & Rutherford, November 6, 1926. Transcribed by Robert Waltz A short life of trouble, A few more words apart, A short life of trouble, dear girl, For a boy with a broken heart. You know what you promised, It's been some time ago, You promised you'd marry me, Standing on the ballroom floor. I hear that train a-coming, She's going by the station door, I'd rather be dead and in my grave Than see my darling so. (Chorus) I see my coffin coming, A-travelling on a cab, Gonna take me to some lonesome graveyard, And then the grave be my home. And when I'm dead and buried, Will you console (sic.) some flowers, To show to some people 'round here The heart you have broken like that. (Chorus) Sleeping on the bedside, Her eyes was pink (?) and blue. I'd give this world and half of my life If only I was married to you. (Chorus) (Repeat Chorus)
As recorded by G. B. Grayson and Henry Whitter, July 31, 1928. Transcribed by Robert Waltz Short life of trouble, Only a word to part, Short life of trouble, dear girl, For a boy with a broken heart. You know what you promised, Not more than a week ago, You promised that you'd marry me, Standing in your mama's door. (Chorus) Now you've broke your promise; Go marry whoever you may; This old world's so big and so wide, I'll ramble back someday. If I owned this whole wide world, All that's in it too, I'd give it all, both silver and gold, If I was only married to you. (Chorus)
File: RcSLOT
Partial text(s)
Shore Around the Grog From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #175, pp. 633-634. As transcribed by Mrs. R. L. Wheelock. We swung around old Butler's, No danger did we fear Until we came to Sawmill Rift And went plumb against the pier. Refrain: And shore around the grog, boys, The chorus round the room, For we're the boys that fear no noise, Although we're far from home, And shore around the grog, boys, The chorus round the room, For we're the boys that fear no noise, Although we're far from home. (1 additional stanza)
File: FSC175
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #134, p. 311. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1959-1960. The printed version is a composite of (at least) two performances. Oh, I'm a-goin' back to Shulls Mills, I'm a-gonna get my biscuits baked brown, For the girls on Beaver Dam Keep their dampers down. (10 additional stanzas)
File: Wa134
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 350-352. Source
described simply as a "Peoria lawyer, then a Chicago lawyer."
It wuz one day, I believe in May,
when old Si Hubbard to me did say,
"Barnum's circus has come to town,
let's you an' I go see the clowns."
So we sold our barley, oats an' corn;
in fact, we most cleaned out the barn;
Then went an' bought two bran' new suits,
with white plug hats an' red top-boots.
An' when that circus got around,
we two wuz the fust ones on the ground.
Sez Si to me, "Let's go get tight,
pull down the tent an' have a fight."
"Not much," sez I, "I'll raise no feud,"
for you see I wuz skeered of the old 'Heye Rube!'
So I proposed some red lemonade
an' goober peas for which I paid.
'Twuz a jolly good cuss who kept the store,
so we thought when he asked us to have some more.
Sez he, "I like you boys fust rate,
so don't stand back; I'll stand the treat."
So Si an' I jist pitched right in,
an' the way we ate an' drank wuz a sin;
But when we turned to go away
we heard that gosh-durned sharper say:
"Four dollars, quick! you Rubes! Don't wait,
or else to the side-show you'll be late."
So I paid the cash like a durn fool cuss,
an' off to the side-show we did rush.
When we got inside what sights we seen
wuz enough to turn our whiskers green.
There wuz a tattooed man all covered with ink,
an' a dog-faced boy called the 'missing link.'
But the sight that fairly made us shake
wuz a great big sleepy-lookin' snake.
Si pulled his jack-knife out right quick
an' up to the cage he then did slip,
An' he stabbed that snake an' jumped away,
but I laughed for the critter wuz stuffed with hay.
Now a parrot in a cage close by
soon caught the gaze of foolish Si;
Si didn't know this bird could talk
an' when it called him a country gawk
He got right mad an' jist for spite,
he knocked that bird clean out of sight.
But a monkey who wuz in the cage,
at Si's conduct got in a rage,
An' to show his love for his feathered friend,
a helping hand he allowed to lend.
So he grabbed poor Si by his red goatee
an' it made the whole crowd laugh to see
Si tug an' pull to get away,
but the pesky monkey had come to stay.
An' he pulled Si's whiskers so all-fired hard
that his chin wuz as long as the neck of a gourd;
All at once I seed Si smile an' grin
an' I knew his troubles wuz at an end.
An' sure enough, with his knife so keen,
he'd cut them whiskers off close to his chin.
When I seed that face with the goatee off,
I coughed an' laughed an' laughed an' coughed.
An' two girls fainted at the terrible sight,
an' the rest of the crowd all took to flight;
Then the showmen threw us out in a hurry
an' the gosh-durned band played "Annie Laurie."
Sez I: "What's the next thing on the docket?"
for we both had money in our pocket.
As if in answer to my question,
we both looked in the one direction,
An' there, before our very eyes,
wuz a big balloon of enormous size.
An' a man in the basket in skin-tight clothes sez,
"Cut the rope an' let her go."
Sez Si to me, "I'll spoil his racket,"
an' he grabbed a rope that wuz hitched to the basket,
An' he tried to hold the balloon to the ground,
but the balloon wuz the strongest' so Si soon found.
An' to the horror of the lookers-on,
up went poor Si tied to the balloon.
When I seed Si goin' I rushed to his aid,
an' a sudden dash for the rope I made,
But my feet got tangled in the coil,
an' I, like Si, left native soil.
Then up in the air like a rocket we shot,
an' I called to the man in the balloon to stop;
But he only smiled into my face,
an' asked me how I liked my place.
"Not much," sez I, "you skinny dude."
"Then call me down," sez he, "you rube."
Sez I to Si, "Take out your knife
an' cut the rope an' save our lives."
An' Si in his pocket his hand did slip,
to get his knife, but he lost his grip,
An' he lit right square upon my face
an' then we both fell into space.
"Look out! We're comin'," I cried out loud;
"Oh, we don't care." came back from the crowd.
But instead of alighting on the spot I meant,
we came smack down on the animal tent;
When we lit the tent began to tear,
an' to save my life I grabbed Si's hair;
But his hair broke off an' down I went
with Si on top, inside the tent.
An' we lit so hard on a candy-shop
that the whole durned band in the circus stopped.
An' then the folks came running out to see
what the racket wuz all about;
An' one of the troupers wanted to know
if we had paid to get into the show.
'Why, no," sez I, "We just dropped in
to try an' hear a circus ring."
He up with a club an' he hit me a crack
which nearly broke my pesky back.
This made me mad an' up I rose
an' I hit him square upon the nose.
He cried, "Hey Rube!" an' to my surprise,
Hey Rubes came arunning thick as flies.
An' they grabbed us both an' tore our clothes,
an' said they'd teach us to steal in shows.
"We didn't steal in," sez I to the crowd.
"Why, no," sez Si, "We dropped from the clouds."
But a constable who had a badge on,
an' like a dog's tail he kept a wagon,
Told Si an' I to get inside
an' with him take a little ride.
When at the calaboose he stopped,
he showed us in an' the door he locked,
An' said for being two big Jays,
he'd have to give us sixty days --
But once wuz enough for us,
once wuz enough for us, we'll never go to another show,
For once wuz enough for us.
File: San350
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1873 by Charles W. Harris
Title page inscribed
SILVER THREADS
AMONG THE GOLD
SONG AND CHORUS
Words by EBEN E. REXFORD, Music by
H. P. DANKS
AUTHOR OF
THE GREAT POPULAR SONG
DON'T BE ANGRY WITH ME, DARLING
1. Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold
Shine upon my brow today;
Life is fading fast away;
But, my darling, you will be, will be, --
Always young and fair to me, --
Yes! my darling, you will be
Always young and fair to me.
CHORUS.
Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold,
Shine upon my brow today;
Life is fading fast away.
2. When your hair is silver white,
And your cheeks no longer bright,
With the roses of the May;
I will kiss your lips and say --
Oh! my darling, mine alone, alone, --
You have never older grown, --
Yes! my darling, mine alone
You have never older grown.
3.
Love can never more grow old.
Locks may lose their brown and gold;
Cheeks may fade and hollow grow,
But the hearts that love will know
Never, never, winter's frost and chill:
Summer warmth is in them still --
Never winter's frost and chill,
Summer warmth is in them still. -- Cho.
4.
Love is always young and fair, --
What to us is silver hair,
Faded cheeks, or steps grown slow,
To the heart that beats below?
Since I kissed you mine alone, alone,
You have never older grown --
Since I kissed you mine alone,
You have never older grown. -- Cho.
File: RJ19194
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #149, pp. 563-564. From the singing of Frank Joy and Harry Siemsen. Simple little Nancy Brown From 'way Down East came into town, She went to see a circus show And met a nice young man you know, La tidelee idelee um, Tidelee, idelee, idelee um La tidelee idelee um, The fireworks were lovely. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC149
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #167, p. 609. As sung by Charles Hinckley, who also claimed to be co-author. Come all you fierce highwaymen, come listen to my song. I'll sing to you a verse or two, and it won't take me long. It's of a noted highwayman, all along with Johnny King, For we got caught and sent away to a prison called Sing-Sing. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FSC167
Partial text(s)
As recorded (and probably written) by Richard "Rabbit" Brown. Recorded on Victor 35840, 1927. Transcribed by Robert Waltz (with thanks to Lyle Lofgren). Twas on the ten of April On a sunny afternoon, The Titanic left Southampton Each one as happy as bride and groom. No one thought of danger Or what their fate might be Until a gruesome iceberg caused Fifteen hundred perish in the sea. (4 additional stanzas plus a portion of "Nearer, My God, to Thee.")
File: RcTitaIX
Complete text(s)
Fatal Flower Garden From the singing of Nelstone's Hawaiians on Victor 40193 (1929). Transcribed by Lyle Lofgren. It rained, it poured, it rained so hard, It rained so hard all day, That all the boys in our school Came out to toss and play. They tossed a ball again so high, Then again, so low; They tossed it into a flower garden Where no-one was allowed to go. Up stepped a gypsy lady, All dressed in yellow and green; "Come in, come in, my pretty little boy, And get your ball again." "I can't come in, I shan't come in Without my playmates all; I'll go to my father and tell him about it, That'll cause tears to fall." She first showed him an apple seed, Then again gold rings, Then she showed him a diamond, That enticed him in. She took him by his lily-white hand, She led him through the hall; She put him in an upper room, Where no-one could hear him call. "Oh, take these finger rings off my finger, Smoke them with your breath; If any of my friends should call for me, Tell them that I'm at rest." "Bury the bible at my head, A testament at my feet; If my dear mother should call for me, Tell her that I'm asleep." "Bury the bible at my feet, A testament at my head; If my dear father should call for me, Tell him that I am dead."
File: C155
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Sir Patrick Spence A Scottish Ballad From Percy/Wheatley, I.i.vii, pp. 100-102 "[G]iven from two manuscript copies transmitted from Scotland" The king sits in Dumferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: O quhar will I get guid sailor To sail this schip of mine? Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the kingsr richt kne: Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the se. The king has written a braid letter, And signd it wi' his hand; And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he: The next line that Sir Patrick red, The teir blinded his ee. O quha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me; To send me out this time o'the yeir, To sail upon the se? Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne. O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. Late late yestreen I saw the new moone Wi' the auld moone in hir arme; And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will com to harme. O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone; Bot lang owre a' the play were playd, Their hats they swam aboone. O lang, lang, may thair ladies sit Wi' thair fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum sailing to the land. O lang, lang, may the ladies stand Wi' thair gold kembs in their hair Waiting for their ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair. Have owre, have owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip: And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.
File: C058
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Two Dukes From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, p. 219. Collected from Mrs. Ralph Harrington, Bennington, Vermont, September 13, 1930. Two dukes were a-walking down by the seaside. They found a dead body washed away by the tide. Great illustrations and thus they did say, "It's the great Duke of Cotton has now cast away." (4 additional stanzas)
File: FO078
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 24-26.
Good neighbours, I'm come for to tell you,
Our skipper and Moll's to be wed;
And if it be true what they're saying,
Egad, we'll be rarely fed.
They've brought home a shoulder of mutton,
Besides two thumping fat geese;
And when at the fire they're roasting,
We're all to have sops in the grease.
Blind Willy's to play on the fiddle.
(8 additional stanzas)
File: StoR024
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From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition),
pp. 225-226. No source information given.
It happened at last Whitsunday,
I tired o' my place,
And I gaed up to Insch to fee,
My fortune for to chase.
And sing airrie erritie adie,
And sing airrie erritie an.
I met in wi' Adam Mitchell,
To fee we did presume,
He's a fairmer in Kinnethmont,
And he lives at Sleepytown.
If you and I agree, he says,
You'll have the fairest play,
For I never bid my servants work
Above then hours a day.
If a' be true ye tell to me,
I think the place will suit;
Guid-faith, I think I'll gang wi' you,
But ye're an ugly brute.
'Twas on a Monday mornin'
I gaed hame to Sleepytown,
And he ranked us in guid order
To lay his turnips down.
I was sent to drive the dung,
Likewise my neighbour Knowles;
But soon the rain it did come on,
And the order cam' to lowse.
The rain it still increased;
The son was at the mill
For meal, old Adam Mitchell said,
Our bellies for to fill.
The rain it soon went over,
And the day began to break;
And our next orders were to scrape
Our dinners frae the secks.
We'll ne'er refuse your orders,
Whate'er ye bid us do;
But to eat the scrapin's o' your secks
Is a thing we'll never do.
Do ye refuse what I command,
Ye scoundrels that ye are?
Ye bargained for ten hours a day,
Refuse then if ye daur.
But if the one thing winna dee,
The ither I can try;
I go and get the kitchen-maid
To mix it through the dry.
The order was to bed at nine,
And never leave the town,
And for every time we left it
We'd be fined half a crown.--
Knowles he was fined mony's a time,
But never lost the heart;
And I mysel' was fined a pound
For turnin' up a cart.
We never heeded Adam,
But aye we took the pass,
Sometimes to buy tobacco,
Sometimes to see the lass.
But now the term's come at last,
The trifle's safely won,
And we'll awa to Rhynie Muir,
And there we'll have some fun.
When we are owre in Alford,
We'll gar the glass gae roun',
And we'll tell them o' the usage
That we got at Sleepytown.
We'll maybe see old Adam yet
Just at his dish o' brose;
And we'll gie him or pocket-napkin
To dicht his stuffy nose.
And sing airrie erritie adie,
And sing airrie erritie an.
The order was to bed at nine,
And never leave the town,
And for every time we left it
We'd be fined half-a-crown.
Knowles he was fined mony's a time,
But never lost the heart;
And I mysel' was fined a pound
For turnin' up a cart.
We never heeded Adam,
But aye we took the pass,
Sometimes to buy tobacco,
Sometimes to see the lass.
But now the term's come at last,
The trifle's safely won,
And we'll awa to Rhynie Muir,
And there we'll have some fun.
When we are owre in Alford,
We'll gar the glass gae roun',
And we'll tell them o' the usage
That we got at Sleepytown.
We'll maybe see old Adam yet
Just at his dish o' brose;
And we'll gie him oor pocket-napkin
To dicht his stuffy nose.
File: RcSlepTn
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From MacEdward Leach, Folk Ballads & Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast, #73, pp. 192-193. "Sung by Leo O'Brien, Lance au Loup, August 1960." On the fourteenth of December in the middle of the year, We left our home in Point Armour and for Forteau we did steer. We loaded our boat with furniture, as you may understand, And then we soon got ready and returned for home again. (9 additional stanzas)
File: LLab073
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I Have a Wife From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #71, p. 155. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. I have a wife, she is neat and clean, With me fie o laddie, She sets the milk and she gathers cream And her name is Ural, Maggie Mural, Stig McGural and Stig McGue. (2 additional stanzas)
File: OCon143
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From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 102-104. Apparently from Vera Mackenzie. Listen for a spell to a story I will tell, A tale about a man named Smoky Mountain Bill. He was tall and thin and drunk a lot of gin -- That's what caused him all the trouble he got in. He had a whiskey still away up on a hill, And he would kill a quart just to drive away a chill; It took about a keg to get him on a jag, And then he'd start a-singing this song: "Yoo-de-lay-dee, yoo-de-lay-dee-hoo." (3 additional stanzas)
File: FJ102
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 120-121. Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing, And the corn it ripens fastest when the frosts are settin' in; And when a woman tells me that my face she'll soon forget, Before we part, I wad a croon, she's fain to follow't yet. Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing, And the swallow skims without a thought as long as it is Spring; But when Spring goes and Winter blows, my lass, an' you'll be fain, For all your pride, to follow me, were't across the stormy main. Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing, The bee that flew when Summer shone in Winter cannot sting; I've seen a woman's anger melt between the night and morn, And it's surely not a harder thing to tame a woman's scorn. Oh, never say me farewell here -- no farewell I'll receive, For you shall set me to the stile, and kiss, and take your leave; But I'll stay here till the woodcock comes and the martlet takes his wing, Oh the snow it melts the soonest when the winds begin to sing.
File: StoR120
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From William Main Doerflinger, Songs of the Sailor and Lumberman, revised edition (1972), p. 12. From the singing of Richard Maitland, Sailor's Snug Harbor. Handy high and handy low, Handy, me boys, so handy, Oh, it's handy high and away we'll go, Handy, me boys, so handy! You've got your advance and to sea you must go, Handy, me boys, so handy, Around Cape Horn through frost and snow, Handy, me boys, so handy! (8 additional stanzas)
File: Doe012
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Chanty Song From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #56, pp. 113-114. "Sung by Mr. Richard Hartlan, of South-East Passage." So, it's pass around the grog, me boys, And never mind the scores, But give to me the girl I love, I'll never ask for more. Oh, here's to him that merry be And never taste of joy, Sing, sing the merry, merry song, March onward, my brave boys. (2 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS056
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The Soldier's Prayer From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #94, p. 292. Fragment from the singing of Billy Price, Priceville, in 1960. A soldier and a sailor went walking one day, Said the soldier to the sailor, "I think I will pray For the good of all the country, for the will of all men, If it lies in your sent'ment will you answer 'Amen?'" (1 additional stanza)
File: Doe277
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The Railroader From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume III, #493, pp. 259-260. From Mrs. May Kennedy McCord of Springfield, Missouri. Collected April 19, 1934. The third stanza appears to be intrusive. I would not marry a farmer, He's always in the dirt, But I would marry an engineer Who wears a striped shirt, A railroader, mother, a railroader, A railroader for me, If ever I marry in all my life, A railroader's bride I'll be. I would not marry a blacksmith, He's always in the black, But I would marry an engineer Who pulls the throttle back! I've roamed this wide world over Some pleasure for to see, I fell in love with a railroad man An' he fell in love with me. I would not marry a sheriff, For he is sure to die, But I would marry a railroader Who has them pretty blue eyes. I would not marry a preacher, He preaches too much hell, But I would marry an engineer Who rings the engine bell. I would not marry a gambler, He's always drinkin' wine, But I would marry a railroader Who runs the forty-nine.
From Laura Ingalls Wilder, By the Shores of Silver Lake, (copyright 1939) Chapter 6, The Black Ponies. The verse is repeated in Chapter 10. Said to have been sung by Laura's cousin Lena, probably in late 1879. I wouldn't marry a farmer He's always in the dirt, I'd rather marry a railroad man Who wears a striped shirt! Oh, a railroad man, a railroad man, A railroad man for me I'm going to marry a railroad man, A railroader's bride I'll be.
From the Sharp/Karpeles collection. #68 in Cecil Sharp & Maud Karpeles, Eighty English Folk Songs. Collected from Jake Sowder, Calloway, Virginia. The first/last verse appears intrusive. We go walking on the green grass, Thus, thus, thus. Come all you pretty fair maids, Come walk along with us. So pretty and so fair As you take yourself to be, I'll choose you for a partner. Come walk along with me. I would not marry a blacksmith; He smuts his nose and chin. I'd rather marry a soldier boy That marches through the wind. O soldier boy, O soldier boy, O soldier boy for me. If ever I get married, A soldier's wife I'll be. I would not marry a doctor; He's always killing the sick I'd rather marry a soldier boy That marches double quick. O soldier boy, O soldier boy, O soldier boy for me. If ever I get married, A soldier's wife I'll be. I would not marry a farmer; He's always selling grain. I'd rather marry a soldier boy That marches through the rain. O soldier boy, O soldier boy, O soldier boy for me. If ever I get married, A soldier's wife I'll be. We go walking on the green grass, Thus, thus, thus. Come all you pretty fair maids, Come walk along with us. So pretty and so fair As you take yourself to be, I'll choose you for a partner. Come walk along with me.
File: R493
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Text as remembered by Minnie Aline. Learned from her father. The cannon s mouth had ceased to hurl its deadly missiles through the air Its firing was no longer heard through murking clouds of dark despair. And not a sound the silence broke, save here and there a moan was heard Beneath some hedge or shattered oak upon the fields of Gettysburg. A soldier boy, an only son, with matted lock and falt ring breath Lay resting on his sword and gun, fast sinking in the arms of death He raised his hand and brushed a tear, "Take home," said he, "some little word The one I love still waits to hear the latest news from Gettysburg. " Tis of my mother that I speak, for great I know her grief will be And tears will wet her faded cheek when she shall hear at last from me I m all that s left for her to love, my Father s voice no longer heard He went from Antietam above but I shall go from Gettysburg. "Take home said he my sword and gun, mementos of my early fall And hang them where the setting sun shines bright against the cottage wall. They re all that s left I can bequeath, I ve served them well in deed and word [ ... ] Gettysburg." [ ... ]. [ ... ]. The sun had kissed the mountain tips, one struggle more his bosom stirred And with her name upon his lips he fell asleep at Gettysburg. They gathered round that noble form as drums beat echoes through the dell And laid him in his new made grave beneath the tree by which he fell And on the bark in letters deep they carved his name with his own sword And left him to his dreamless sleep, the soldier boy of Gettysburg. (The last line of each verse is repeated.)
As collected by Franz Rickaby from Mrs. L. L. Taylor in 1922. Transcribed
from a copy of Rickaby's transcription supplied by Tom Caw at the Mills
Music Library in Wisconsin.
The cannon s mouth had ceased to hurl the deadly missiles through the air.
The firing was no longer heard through murking clouds of dark despair,
And not a sound the silence broke, save here and there a moan was heard
Beneath some hedge or shattered oak upon the fields of Gettysburg.
(Repeat last line for refrain.)
A soldier boy, an only child, with matted locks and faltering breath,
Lie (sic.) resting on his sword and gun, fast sinking in the arms of death
He raised his hand and brushed a tear. "Take home," said he, "some little word
For the one I love now waits to hear the latest news from Gettysburg.
" Tis of my mother I would speak, for great I know her grief will be,
And tears will wet her faded cheek when she shall hear again from me.
I m all that s left for her to love, my father s voice no longer heard
He went from Amsterdam above, and I shall go from Gettysburg."
They gathered round that noble form. The drum-beats echoes through the air.
They laid him in his new-made grave beneath the trees by which he fell
And in the bark in letters deep they carved his name with his own sword.
They left him to his dreamless sleep, a soldier boy of Gettysburg.
File: SolBoyGe
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From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads (1995 John Donald edition), p. 311. No source information given. When I was a fair maid, at the age of sweet sixteen, From my parents I did run away a soldier to become; I 'listed in the army and a soldier I became, And they learned me to play upon the rub-a-dub-a-dum. With my nice cap and feathers, if you only me have seen, You would have said and sworn that a young man I had been; With my gentle waist so slender, and my fingers long and small, I could play upon the rub-a-dub the best among them all. Oh, many was the prank that I played upon the field, And many was the young man his love to me revealed; And so boldly I fought though only a wench, Many a prank I have seen played upon the French. My officers they favoured me: for fear I would be slain They sent me back to England for to recruit again; They sent me up to London to keep guard in the tower, 'Twas that I remained for many a day and hour. Many a night in the guard-room I have lain, I never was afraid to lie down with the men; At the putting-off my clothes, I oft times gave a smile, To think that I lay with soldier-men, and a maid all the while. I had not been in London a year but only three, When a beautiful young lady she fell in love with me; 'Twas then that I told her that I was a maid; She went unto my officer and my secret she betrayed. My officers they sent for me to ask if it were true; I told them that it was -- what other could I do? I told them that it was -- with a smile to me they said, "'Tis a pity we should lose such a drummer as you've made. "But for your gallant conduct at the siege of Valenciennes, A bounty you shall get, my girl, and a pension from the King." But should the war arise again and the King in want of men, I'll put on my regimentals and I'll fight for him again.
File: DTsoldma
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A Soldier's Life (Sweet William) 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), #11, pp. 145-146. From Jessie McCue, Hookersville, November 10, 1925. A soldier's life is a dreary life, It robs poor girls of their hearts' delight, It causes them to weep and mourn For the loss of a soldier never to return. I heard my father call my name, Saying, "Here is a letter for my Jane." And the very first words that came to my eye, Was that my soldier boy was a-going to die. I followed my soldier to the grave, We laid him down with the true and the brave; His battle o'er, he has gone to rest, He calmly sleeps on his Savior's breast. There is nothing in this world I love, My hopes are placed on things above; When God calls me, I'll go with joy, And there clasp hands with my soldier boy. (stanzas 1, 4, 6, 7 of 7)
File: CoxIIB11
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[Somebody] From Jean Ritche, Singing Family of the Cumberlands, pp. 55-56. Somebody's tall and handsome, Somebody's fond and true, Somebody's hair is very black and Somebody's eyes are too. I love somebody fondly, I love somebody true, I love somebody with all my heart, And somebody loves me too. Somebody came to see me, Somebody came last night; Somebody asked me to be his bride Of course I said all right. I am somebody's darling, I am somebody's pride, An the day is not far distance (sic.) When I'll be somebody's bride. Somebody's tall and handsome, Somebody's fond and true, Somebody's hair is very black, Somebody's eyes are too.
Somebody From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 464-465. "[H]eard by Edwin Ford Piper from the singing of his pioneer mother in the 1880's on a farm near Auburn, Nebraska." 1 Somebody's tall and handsome, Somebody's brave and true. Somebody's hair is very fair, Somebody's eyes are blue. 2 Somebody came to see me, Somebody came last night. Somebody asked me to marry him, 'Course I said, "All right."
Tommy From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #163, pp, 370-371. From the singing of Martha Ann Midgette of North Carolina. Collected 1941. A heavily localized version. Tommy came to see me, Tommy came last night, Tommy asked me to marry him, Of course I said all right. Tommy went asked mama, Mama came out to see. Mama went back with a tear in her eye, Said Tommy had asked for me. Tommy went asked my papa, Papa came out to see. Papa went back with a smile on his face, Said he was glad to get rid of me. Tommy owns a speed boat, Tommy owns a store. Tommy's going to carry me away, And we'll live forevermore.
File: R380
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #160, pp. 362-363. Apparently conflated from the singing of C. K. "Tink" Tillett (1940) and Dick Tillett (1972), both of North Carolina Once on a time, it was a very long time, A year or it was maybe three, I was out of a job, and I didn't have a bob, When an old tar said to me, "Would you like to come and have some fun While you're young and stout and strong?" So the very next day we sailed away To the dear old shanty song. Chorus There is somebody waiting for me At an old cabin down by the sea. In the land where I wish I could be There is somebody waiting for me. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa160
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 437-438. Supplied by Sandys.
There's no pleasure can compare
Wi' the hunting o' the hare,
In the morning, in the morning,
In fine and pleasant weather.
Cho: With our hosses and our hounds,
We will scamps it o'er the grounds,
And sing traro, huzza!
And sing traro, huzza!
And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.
And when poor puss arise,
Then away from us she flies;
And we'll gives her, boys, we'll gives her,
One thundering and loud holler!
Cho. With our hosses, &c.
And when poor puss is killed,
We'll retire from the field;
And we'll count boys, and we'll count
On the same good ren to-morrer.
Cho. With our hosses, &c.
File: BeCo437
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As recorded by Frank and Anne Warner from Lee Monroe Presnell, Beech Mountain, North Carolina, 1951. From the recording "Her Bright Smile Haunts Me Still," Appleseed APR CD 1035. Transcribed by Robert Waltz. Sometimes I'm in this country Sometimes I'm in this town, Sometimes the thought comes to my mind That I myself will drown But them cold streams of water My body can deceive. I'll go to some strange country My darling for to leave. The night seems long and welcome (?) Almost the break of day The night seems long and welcome (?) Almost the break of day. I'm listening for your answer; Pretty miss, what do you say? I will take you for your answer, All for myself abide. I'll take you for your answer All for myself abide. You say you've got a new sweetheart And I am laid aside. Farewell, false-hearted lady; I'm young, and the world is wide.
File: RcSIITCo
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From a broadside, described by Jonathan Lighter (who transcribed
it) as follows: "a New Orleans broadside, presumably printed in 1861."
New Orleans Song of the Times
I am a rambling rake of poverty,
From Gretna Town I came,
Old poverty compels me to turn out in the rain;
In all sorts of weather, let it be wet or dry,
I am compelled to seek my livelihood,
Or else return to die.
Chorus--Then combine my humble ditty,
From town to town we steer,
Like every other good fellow
We likes our Lager Beer,
We likes our Lager Beer, ˇ[sic
We're the rambling rakes of poverty.
The sons of Old Good Cheer.
My coat was in the fashion some 20 years ago,
My shoes I found on Camp street,
My socks near Union Row;
The next I got a handkerchief
To ornament my frame,
I got it from a Nigger winch [sic
That lived on Notre Dame.
Chorus.
My hat I got it from a sailor
Some 7 long years at Sea,
My shirt I found on the Levee,
It was shuned by all but me, [sic
Perhaps you don't believe it,
But I can prove it so,
For 100 passed that way, my boys,
That would not stoop so so low.
Chorus.
Once I was a Lady's man,
I dressed so spruce and neat,
They said I was too pretty to live,
And sweet enough to eat,
But now my clothes are seedy grown,
Old poverty has me fast,
The lads and lasses shun me now,
And give me room to pass.
Chorus.
Rambling Rake As given in William Allen Hayes, _Selected Songs Sung at Harvard College from 1862 to 1866_. Transcribed by Jonathan Lighter I'm the rambling rake of poverty, from Tipperary town I came: That poverty compels me to turn out in the rain. In every sort of weather, be it either wet or dry, I must gain an honest livelihood, or else lie down and die. Chorus. -- Then come, buy my humble ditty: from town to town I steer ; Like every jolly good fellow, I likes my lager beer, Like every jolly good fellow, I likes my lager beer; I'm the rambling rake of poverty, the son of a gambolier, The son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a, son of a gambolier. My coat I bought from a sailor-man, just seven long years at sea; My hat I got from an old dust-heap, that was shunned by all but me. At last, I got a handkerchief to ornament my frame: I stole it from an old Jew's shop, 'way down in Maiden Lane. Oh! once I was a lady's man, I looked so nice and sweet; They said I was too good to live, and nice enough to eat; But now my clothes are tattered grown, and poverty holds me fast; And the ladies all turn up their nose, and sneer as I go past.
File: San044
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From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #69, pp. 171-172. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N.B. I'll sing you the song of all nations Complete with a few reservations, If some are left out you will find them no doubt In a different classification. Can you tell me what an Irishman's made out of, Can you tell me what an Irishman's made out of? His shamrock so green and a jug of poteen, And that's what an Irishman's made out of. What are the old ladies made out of? Their bonnet and shawl and their youth to recall. What are the big boys made out of? Drink and fight and stay out all night. What are big girls made out of? Powder and paint and laced to a faint. What are the little boys made out of? Dirt and fun and eat on the run. (Stanzas 1-2, 11-14 of 16)
File: CrSNB180
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Wakken From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 332. "Communicated in 1916 by Miss Mildred Pall... from her grandfather." I suppose you have heard of all the talking Of that noted horse thief, Wakken; He was caught in Calaveras, And he couldn't stand the joke; So the rangers cut his head off; They've got it now in soak. (1 additional stanza plus chorus)
File: GC135
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #145, pp. 316-318. "Sung by... Mr. Hiram O. Hilshie, Dartmouth," said to be the nephew of the composer, Catherine Hart. Oh, in eighteen hundred and sixty-one All in the month of May, When Nova Scotia was very poor, As I ofttimes heard them say; But since I've got a secret, A story I'll unfold, Back of Tangier and Pope's Harbour Where they're digging out the gold. (11 additional stanzas plus a half stanza)
File: CrNS145
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The Knights of Malta
From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 392-393.
Come all ye knights, ye knights of Malta,
In your glittering armour shine,
Assist your good and worthy Prince
To protect the ark divine;
For we are the true-born sons of Levi,
Few on earth with us compare,
We are the root and branch of David,
That bright and glorious morning star.
With trembling steps I slow advanced,
Sometimes I knocked both loud and shrill,
Until a knight in armour bright
Demanded me what was my will.
For we are the gree-born sons of Levi,
Few on earth with us compare;
We wear the black and scarlet garter,
And on our left breast a blazing star.
After some questions being asked,
To which I answered with some fear,
They told me neither Turk nor heathen
Could by any means enter here.
For we are the true-born sons of Levi, etc.
With a cross and star placed on my breast,
And Justice girded my loins around,
Always remember the twelve stones
On Jordan's bank are to be found.
For we are the free-born sons of Levi, etc.
Noah planted the first garden;
Moses planted the first rod;
He smote the waters for the Egyptians,
And turned the Jordan into bloos.
For we are the true-born sons of Levi, etc.
As Joshua and I passed over Jordan,
These twelve stones we bore along,
It was the twelve priests and our grand master
Who carried the Ark of God along.
For we are the free-born sons of Levi, etc.
There were seven trumpets of rams' horns
Sounded loud before the Ark;
Gilgal was our resting-place,
And there we left our holy mark.
For we are the true-born sons of Levi, etc.
Come, all you brethren and join with me,
And bear the cross as I have done;
Come, enter into this blessed temple
Fitted near Jerusalem.
For we are the free-born sons of Levi, etc.
Broad is the way that leadeth to destruction,
Many there be that'll go therein;
Come you to me and to my habitation,
For Solomon's temple's free from sin.
For we are the true-born sons of Levi,
Few on earth with us compare,
For we are the root and branch of David,
That bright and glorious morning star.
File: HHH146
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 99-100. Reprinted from Doyle (1955 edition), p. 54. Copied out by Lizzie C. Rose, Fox Harbour, Labrador, 1927. She got up steam the twelfth of March and shortly did embark. To try her fortune in the Gulf in the charge of Captain Clark. She carried a hundred and seventy men, a strong and vigorous race, Some from St. John's and Brigus and more from Harbour Grace. (7 addditional stanzas)
File: Doy57
Complete text(s)
From Lois Hill, Poems and Songs of the Civil War, p. 216 Bob Roebuck is my sweetheart's name, He's off to the wars and gone, He's fighting for his Nannie dear, His sword he's buckled on; He's fighting for his own true love, His foes he does defy; He is the darling of my heart, My Southern soldier boy. Chorus -- Yo! ho! yo! ho! yo! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! He is my only joy, He is the darling of my heart, My Southern soldier boy.
Barbro Buck Randolph's informant conflated verse and chorus. From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume II, #238, p. 307. Collected 1930 from Mrs. A. J. Forgy of Center Point, Arkansas. Barbro Buck is my sweetheart's name, He's off to the wars and gone, He's fighting for his Nannie dear, His sword is buckled on. He's fighting for his own true love, He is my only joy, He is the darling of my heart, My Southern soldier boy.
File: R238
Complete text(s)
The Spanish Cabineer
From Louise Pound, American Ballads and Songs, #106, p. 218.
From a text collected by Lillian Gear Boswell near Junction,
Wyoming in 1913.
The Spanish cabineer stood under a tree
And on his gautar played a tone, dear,
The music so sweet I often repeat,
Remember what I say and be true, dear.
Say darling, say, when I am far away,
Sometimes you may think of me, dear.
Bright sunny days, will soon pass away,
Remember what I say and be true, dear.
Off to the war, to the war I must go,
To fight for my country and you, dear,
And if I should fall, in vain I would call,
For blessings on you and my country.
When the war is over, to you I'll return,
Back to my country and you, dear;
But if I am slain you might seek me in vain,
On the battlefield you will find me.
From the 1887 edition of _Merchant's Gargling Oil Songster_ (which
in fact shows a Spanish-looking man playing a lute-like instrument
to a girl on the cover), p. 19.
A Spanish cavalier stood in his retreat,
And on his guitar played a tune, dear,
The music so sweet, they'd oft-times repeat,
The blessing of my country and you, dear.
Chorus -- Say, darling, say, when I'm far away,
Sometimes you may think of me, dear,
Bright sunny days will soon fade away,
Remember what I say and be true, dear.
I am off to the war, to the war I must go,
To fight for my country and your, dear,
But if I should fall in vain I would call,
The blessings of my country and you, dear.
And when the war is o'er to you I'll return;
Back to my country and you, dear,
But if I be slain you may seek me in vain;
Upon the battle field you will find me.
File: LPnd218
Partial text(s)
From Arthur Quiller-Couch, The Oxford Book of Ballads, #161,
pp. 807-810. Source not listed.
Will you hear a Spanish Lady
How she woo'd an English man?
Garments gay and rich as may be,
Decked with jewels, she had on;
Of a comely countenance and grace was she,
And by birth and parentage of high degree.
(15 additional stanzas)
File: OBB161
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 72-73. Come, all you good people, and listen to me, And a comical jest I will tell unto ye, Concerning one Spottee that lived on the law key, That had neither house nor harbour he. The au'd wives of Whitburn did not knaw what for tae dee, For they durs'n't come and see their husbands when they cam to the key; For he frighted baith them, and their infants tee, Did this roguish fellow they call Spottee. (Stanzas 1-2 of 8)
File: StoR072
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 44-45. From the third (1955) edition of Doyle's Old Time Songs and Poetry of Newfoundland. The Spring of Ninety Seven boys. For if we never knew The hardship of the frozen pan, We suffered with them too. We struck the seals off Cabot Isle Five days out from port; We thought to have no long delay, And loading would be sport. (10 additional stanzas)
File: Doyl3074
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), p. 182. Apparently the version published by the author, Arthur Scammell. Oh, the fish are all caught and the squid are all jigged, And the traps are caught up and the schooners unrigged; All hands round the cutters are driving the smoke, While Jacob is splicin' some left-handed rope. (9 additional stanzas)
File: FJ182
Complete text(s)
From Mary Wheeler, Steamboatin' Days, pp. 16-17. "From the singing of an old Negro who had been a roustabout on the Joe Fowler." Stavin Chain he's dead an' gone, Lef' me to carry the good work on, Evuhbody ought to be lak Stavin Chain. I'm goin' down the rivuh, goin' to carry a few sacks, I'll see my woman befo' I git back, Evuhbody ought to be lak Stavin Chain. Ashes to ashes an' dust to dust, Can't hardly tell what woman to trust, Evuhbody ought to be lak Stavin Chain. Up Mr. Butcup an' down Mr. Bear, Looks mighty dirty, but there's a good man there, Evuhbody ought to be lak Stavin Chain.
File: MWhee016
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #1, pp. 47-48. From the singing of Allen Kelly, Chaplin Island Road, 1963. Come, listen to a story Which no one can deny It happened on a Tuesday, The thirtieth of July. A Steamer Alexander, Going on her (appointed way) Left the wharf at Newcastle, And landed (laden?) with human freight. (6 additional stanzas, some of them fragmentary)
File: MaWi001
Partial text(s)
From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', pp. 151-153. It was on one dark and stormy night, On the second day of May; Stell Kenny she was murdered, For home she was on her way. With her Uncle Rob Frazier, Where she had been to stay; She'd spent ten long months with him Before her fatal day. (12 additional stanzas)
File: LF37
Partial text(s)
From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', pp. 20-21. Down by the river, the willows grow tall, Whippoorwill calling, hear their sad call. Hear their sad call, dear, hear their sad call, Down by the river hear their sad call. Over the mountain comes his fair bride, Knowing full well he's on the wrong side. Knowing he's sworn to murder and kill All of her kinsmen over the hill. "Traitors must doe, dear," said these stern men, "You have betrayed your own blooded kin. Kneel you both down, for nothing can save, Here you shall rest, both in the same grave." (Stanzas 1, 4, 9 of 10)
File: ThBa020
Partial text(s)
He Loves Sugar and Tea From Thomas W. Talley, Negro Folk Rhymes, pp. 84-85. It is item #112 (pp. 72-73) in the revised edition by Charles K. Wolfe. Mistah Buster, he loves sugar an' tea. Mistah Buster, he loves candy. Mistah Buster, he's a Jim-dandy! He can swing dem gals so handy. Charlie's up an' Charlie's down. Charlie's fine an' dandy, Ev'ry time he goes to town, He gets dem gals stick candy. (2 additional stanzas)
File: R531
Partial text(s)
From James N. Healy, ed., The Mercier Book of Old Irish Street Ballads, Volume Two (1969), #8, pp. 42-43. Source not indicated. I was sent for by my master a man who I longed to see, He brought me down to Dublin the rights of law to show to me, He brought me to a merchant's shop as neat a cloth as could be seen, Embroidered with gold laces he bought for me a suit of green. On a summers evening as I walk'd through a shady grove, Not thinking any harm he declared to be my love, He leant his head against my breast most feeling words to me he said 'I fear my life's in danger for wearing of the suit of green.' (6 additional stanzas)
File: OLoc024
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 27-29.
Stanza 1.
Lads! myek a ring
An' hear huz sing
The sport we had at Swalwell, O
Wor merry play
O' th' Hopping Day,
Ho'way, marrows, an' aw'll tell ye, O
The sun shines warm on Whickham Bank,
Let's a lie doon at Dolly's, O,
And hear boot mony a funny prank
Played by the lads at Crowley's, O.
(8 additional stanzas)
File: StoR027
Complete text(s)
The Swapping Song
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #93, pp. 215-216.
From Mrs. Weldon Bradshaw, Canton, Ohio.
1. When I was a little boy, and lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I got I laid them on the shelf,
Come a whing whang waddle, come a jack frog saddle,
Come a John fair faddle, coma a long ways home.
2. When the rats and mice they led me such a life,
I had to go to London to get me a wife.
3. When the streets were so wide and the lanes were so narrow,
I had to bring her home in an old wheel barrel.
4. My foot it slipped and I got me a fall,
And down came wheel barrel, wife and all.
5. When I swapped my wheel barrel and got me a horse,
And then I rode from cross to cross.
6. When I swapped my horse and got me a mare,
And then I rode from fair to fair.
7. And I swapped my mare and got me a mule,
And then I rode like a doggoned fool.
8. When I swapped my mule and got me a cow,
And in that trade I just learned how.
9. And I swapped my cow and got me a calf,
And in that trade I lost just half.
10. When I swapped my calf and got me a sheep,
And then I rode till I went to sleep.
11. When I swapped my sheep and got me a hen,
And oh, what a pretty thing I had then.
12. When I swapped my hen and got me a rat,
And set it on the haystack with two little cats.
13. When I swapped my rat and got me a mole,
And the doggoned thing went straight to its hole.
From _Gammer Gurton's Garland_, 1784 as printed in William S. Baring-Gould and Ceil Baring-Gould, _The Annotated Mother Goose_, p. 96, item #115. My father he died, but I can't tell you how, He left me six horses to drive my plough: With my wing wang waddle oh, Jack sing saddle oh, Blowsey boys bubble oh, Under the broom. I sold my six horses and I bought me a cow, I'd fain made a fortune, but did not know how. With my wing wang waddle oh, Jack sing saddle oh, Blowsey boys bubble oh, Under the broom. (3 additional stanzas)
File: E093
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1868 by Oliver Ditson & Co.
Title page inscribed
Sweet By And By
by
J.P.WEBSTER
1. There's a land that is fairer than day,
And by faith we can see it afar,
For the Father waits over the way,
To prepare us a dwelling place there.
CHORUS:*
In the sweet by and by,
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore,
In the sweet by and by,
In the sweet by and by,
We shall meet on that beautiful shore,
2. We shall sing on that beautiful shore,
The melodious songs of the blest,
And our spirits shall sorrow no more --
Not a sigh for the blessing of rest.
3. To our bountiful Father above,
We will offer the tribute of praise,
For the glorious gift of his love,
And the blessing that hallows our days!
* The chorus harmonies are complex. Only the tenor has a
complete text, but the song could also be treated as a
call-and-answer, with tenor and bass answering soprano/alto/tenor.
I've shown the tenor line.
File: RJ19198
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1869 by Wm. A. Pond & Co.
Title page inscribed
To my excellent friends and pupil,
John C. Meacham,
New York.
Sweet Genevieve
Song and Chorus
Words by
GEORGE COOPER
MUSIC BY
HENRY TUCKER
1. O, Genevieve I'd give the world
To live again the lovely past!
The rose of youth was dew-impearled;
But now it withers in the blast.
I see thy face in ev'ry dream,
My waking thoughts are full of thee;
Thy glance is in the starry beam
That falls along the Summer Sea.
CHORUS.
O, Genevieve, sweet Genevieve,
The days may come, the days may go,
But still the hands of mem'ry weave
The blissful dreams of long ago.
2. Fair Genevieve, my early love,
The years but make thee dearer far!
My heart shall never, never rove:
Thou art my only guiding star.
For me the past has no regret
Whate'er the years my bring to me;
I bless the hour when first we met,
The hour that gave me love and thee!
O, Genevieve!
File: RK19202
Complete text(s)
From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 286-288. From Mrs. Elizabeth A. Hubbard. Sweet Kitty Clover, she bothered me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Her face was round and red and fat, Like a pulpit cushion or redder than that. Sweet Kitty Clover, she bothered me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! Sweet Kitty Clover, she bothered me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh!
File: Lins286
Complete text(s)
From Henry Randall Waite, _College Songs: A Collection of New and Popular Songs of
the American Colleges_, new and enlarged edition, Oliver Ditson & Co., 1887, p. 63.
Said to be "used by permission" but with no source or author listed.
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
Coming for to carry me home.
1. I looked over Jordan, and what did I see,
Coming for to carry me home?
A band of angels coming after me,
Coming for to carry me home.
2. If you get there before I do,
Coming for to carry me home,
Tell all my friends I'm coming too,
Coming for to carry me home.
3. The brightest day that ever I saw,
Coming for to carry me home,
When Jesus washed my sins away
Coming for to carry me home.
4. I'm sometimes up and sometimes down,
Coming for to carry me home,
But still my soul feels heavenly bound,
Coming for to carry me home.
File: PSAFB016
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders and Marguerite Olney, Ballads Migrant in New England, pp. 224-225. From Edward Richards of Warren, Connecticut. Collected 1949. He lay upon his dying bed. His eyes were waxing dim When with a feeble voice he called His weeping son to him. "Weep not, my boy," the veteran cried, "I bow to Heav'n's high will, But quickly from yon antlers bring The sword of Bunker Hill; But quickly from yon antlers bring The sword of Bunker Hill." (3 additional stanzas)
File: FO224
Partial text(s)
Tacking of a Full Rigged Ship Off Shore From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #147, pp. 321-323. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." The weather leach our topsails shiver,* Bowline strain and our lea shrouds slack, Our braces taur and the least boom quivers, The waves was a-coming storm cloud black. (14 additional stanzas) * According to Creighton, informant Ben Henneberry found this in a book and fitted a tune. His text, however, does not fit the published version, which begins "The weather-leach of the topsail shivers."
File: CrNS147
Partial text(s)
From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #212, p. 221. No source indicated. The Taylor fell thro' the bed, thinble an' a, The Taylor fell thro' the bed thimble an' a'; The blanket were thin and the sheets they were sma', The Taylor fell thro' the bed, thimble an' a. (3 additional stanzas)
File: GrD81843
Partial text(s)
The Tall Pine Tree From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #176, p. 636. As sung by Celia Kelder and Mary Avery. That tall pine tree you plainly see Over yonder, on the hill, And beneath its roots there's a little brook That descends through Samsonville; And beneath its roots there's a little brook That descends through Samsonville. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FSC177
Complete text(s)
From (George R. Kinloch), The Ballad Book (1827), number XXIV, pp. 77-78. No source listed. 'Twas in the month of Februar, Whan Tam was first a widower Thir words I will rehearse to you About auld Tam Barrow. His mukle-coat, his hairy wig, O vow! he lookit dreary, He wad hae put ye in a fricht, Gin ance he had cam near ye. He was na widower lang ago, Till he grew tap-and-teerie; And he has thro' the country gane, To seek anither dearie. He washed his face, he kaim'd his hair, He was a lusty fallow, And a' the lasses blinkit bythe, At auld Tam Barrow. A' the lasses blinkit blythe, But few o' them had tocher, Na sooner did they gie consent, Of them he speired their coffer. But he's to a rich widow gane, That had baith white and yellow, -- Will ye consent to marry me? Says auld Tam Barrow? Your children I will put to school, Yourself I will haud easy; Ye'll sit richt warm at my fireside, Whan you grow auld and crazy. But he was na married lang ago, Till he began to weary; -- Pack aff your children and begone, Says auld Tam Barrow.
File: KinBB24
Complete text(s)
There Is a Tavern in the Town
From sheet music published 1891 by Willis Woodward & Co. The music,
curiously, is credited to F. J. Adams but the whole is copyrighted
by Franklin Robinson. Title page inscribed
THERE IS A *
* TAVERN
IN THE TOWN
Song and Chorus
The Seasons Success
1. There is a tavern in the town, in the town,*
And there my dear love sits him down, sits him down
And drinks his wine 'mid laughter free,
And never, never thinks of me.
CHORUS
Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,
Do not let the parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part, must part
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu,
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you,
I'll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.
2. He left me for a damsel dark, damsel dark,*
Each Friday night they used to spark, used to spark,
And now my love once true to me,
Takes that dark damsel on his knee.
3. Oh! dig my grave both wide and deep, wide and deep,*
Put tombstones at my head and feet, head and feet,
And on my breast carve a turtle dove,
To signify I died of love.
* This echo, and ONLY this echo (the first one in each
verse), is marked "shouted"
File: ShH94
Partial text(s)
From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, #78, pp. 261-263. Derived from John Masefield's 1906 A Sailor's Garland. Will you hear of a bloody Battle Lately fought upon the Seas, It will make your Ears to rattle, And your Admiration cease; Have you heard of Teach the Rover, And his Knavery on the Main; How of Gold he was a Lover, He he lov'd an ill-got Tain. (9 additional stanzas)
File: PBB078
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 4, August 28, 2021,
as posted by user John5918.
My father's a lavatory cleaner,
He works all the day and the night,
And when he comes home in the morning,
He smells like a bucket of...
{Chorus}...shine up your buttons with Brasso,
Only three ha'pence a tin,
You can buy it or nick it from Woolworths,
I doubt if they've got any in.
File: EM256
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #75, p. 181. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1940. Oh, dear me, the world's on fire, News sent around on a telegraph wire! Lord have mercy, only think, News sent to Mexico quicker than a wink! Chorus Oh dear, what shall I do? Every year brings something new! Cyrus Field, he won renown By stretching a cable to London town. Ben Franklin surely won renown When he brought that pesky lightning down. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa075
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1864 by Oliver Ditson & Co.
Title page inscribed
Tenting on the Old Camp Ground
WORDS & MUSIC BY
WALTER KITTREDGE
Adapted & sung by the
HUTCHINSON FAMILY
"TRIBE OF ASA"
1. We're tenting tonight on the old Camp ground,
Give us a song to cheer
Our weary hearts, a song of home,
And friends we love so dear.
CHORUS.
Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,
Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts looking for the right
To see the dawn of peace.
Tenting tonight,
Tenting tonight,
Tenting on the old Camp ground.
2. We've been tenting tonight on the old Camp ground,
Thinking of days gone by,
Of the lov'd ones at home that gave us the hand,
And the tear that said, "Good bye!"
3. We are tired of war on the old Camp ground,
Many are the dead and gone,
Of the brave and true who've left their homes,
Others been wounded long.
4. We've been fighting today on the old Camp ground, .
Many are lying near;
Some are dead and some are dying,
Many are in tears.
Last verse/Last Time.
Many are the hearts that are weary tonight,
Wishing for the war to cease;
Many are the hearts looking for the right
To see the dawn of peace.
Dying tonight,
Dying tonight,
Dying on the old Camp ground.
File: RJ19206
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #123, pp. 464-465. From the singing of George Edwards. A man, he owned a terrier dog, He'd a bob-tailed terrier cuss. This here dog got this here man In many an ugly mess. The man was on his muscle, And the dog was on his bite; If you touched the man, the animal Was sure to raise a fight. (Eight additional stanzas, one of them fragmentary)
File: FSC123
Partial text(s)
From Ella Mary Leather, Folk-Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 197-198.
Four texts, all nearly identical. The main text ("A") is from
William Colcombe, collected at Weobley in 1904. Variations collated
from "B" (W. Hancocks, Monnington, 1908), "C" (Eliza Smith, Weobley,
1908), and "D" (G. Lewis, Hardwick, 1909).
TEXT "A" (Colcombe)
1. There is a fountain of Christ's blood
2. Wide open stretch'd for to drown our sins
3. Where Jesus stands with open arms
4. Of mercy to invite us in
There is only one variant between the four texts:
Line 2: "for to": A ] "to": B C D
File: Leath197
Partial text(s)
The Maid of the East From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #84, pp. 270-271. From the singing of Florence Bateman of Lower Derby and Marie Hare of Strathadam, 1962. There was a maid lived in the East, her age was scarcely twenty, And she had sweethearts of the best, Youths, lords and squires plenty. And she ha sweethearts of the best, And they doted on her, But she lover her Jimmy ten times the best Than all those men of honor. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Pea726
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #99, pp. 223-224.
From Mrs. H. E. Deal, Canton, Ohio. She had it from her mother,
who reported learning it in her youth in Staffordshite.
1. There was a man and he was mad,
And he blowed up the pudding bag
2. But the pudding bag it was so fine
That he jumped into a bottle of wine.
3. The bottle of wine it was so clear
That he jumped into a bottle of beer.
4. The bottle of beer it was so thick
That he jumped into a notche stick.
5. The notche stick it was so narrow
That he jumped into a wheelbarrow.
6. The wheelbarrow it did so wheel
That he jumped onto a horse's back.
7. The horse's back it did so bend
That he jumped into a taching end.
8. The taching end it was so rotten
That he jumped into a bag of cotton.
9. The bag of cotton it set on fire,
And blowed him up to Jeremiah!
Pouf! Pouf! Pouf!
File: E099
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #48, pp. 188-189. From the singing of Walt Wermouth. There was an old miser in London did dwell, Had a comely fine daughter, a beautiful girl, And when this old miser was out of the way, She was courted by a sailor lad by night and by day. And when this old miser came this for to know, Down to a sea captain straight away he did go, Saying, "Captain, bold captain, I have good news to tell, I have a young sailor boy in transport to sell. (6 additional stanzas)
File: FSC048
Partial text(s)
From Jean Ritchie, Jean Ritchie's Singing Family of the Cumberlands,
pp. 207-210.
There was an old woman and she had a little pig,
Mmm-mmm-mmm.
There was an old woman and she had a little pig,
Mmm-mmm-mmm.
There was an old woman and she had a little pig,
Didn't cost much cause it wasn't very big,
Mmm-mmm-mmm.
(7 additional stanzas)
File: E068
Partial text(s)
A Hot Time in the Old Town From Sigmund Spaeth, Read 'Em and Weep (revised edition), pp. 203-204. Come along get you ready, wear your bran, bran new gown For dere's gwine to be a meeting in that good, good old town, When you hear that the preaching does begin, Bend down low for to drive away your sin And when you gets religion You want to shout and sing there'll be a hot time in the old town tonight, my baby, Where you knowed ev'rybody and they all knowded you And you've got a rabbit's foot to keep away de hoodoo, When you hear dem-a bells go ding, ling, ling, All join round and sweetly you must sing, And when the verse am through In the chorus all join in, there'll be a hot time in the old town tonight. (1 additional stanza)
File: RL532
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 385-386. "[F]rom the Gernsey Manuscript." Down by one green and shady grove, 'Twas all alone as I supposed, Down by one green and shady grove, 'Twas all alone as I supposed, There did I spy most comely maid Which caused me long time to tarry; And there with me she did entreat For to well her when I meant to marry. When carrots grow in meadows green And rivers flow with milk and honey, When sugar grows on cherry trees, And men refuse to take hard money, When turtle shells turn diamond rings With pearl and brass they are compared When gold does grow on eagle's wings, Fair maid, with you will I be married. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 6)
File: GC158
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #174, p. 392. From the singing of J. B Sutton of North Carolina, 1941. Good mornin, Blues, Blues, how do you do? Good mornin, Blues, Blues, how do you do? I just come here To have a few words with you. Thirty days in jail, With my back turned to the wall, Thirty days in jail, With my back turned to the wall, Look here, Mr. Jailkeeper, Put another man in my stall. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa174
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No title.
From Roman Dyboski, _Songs, Carols, and Other Miscellaneous Poems
from the Balliol Ms. 354, Richard Hill's Commonplace Book_, Kegan
Paul, 1907 (there are now multiple print-on-demand reprints), #35,
pp. 125-26. The orthography is mostly Dyboski's, with the abbreviations
not marked and obsolete letters modernized (e.g. th for thorn).
(the chorus is marked "fote":)
This enders nyght
I saw a sight
A sterre as bryght
As any day;
& eyer a-monge,
A mayden songe:
"Lulley, by, by, lully, lullay!"
A lovely lady sat & songe
ANd to her son thus gan she say
"My son, my lord, my dere derlyng,
Why ligges thou thus in hay?
Myn own dere son,
How art thou com,
Art thou not God verey?
But neuer the lesse
I will not sees
To sing "by, by, lully, lullay."
This [enders nyght....]
(6 additional stanzas)
File: OBC039
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This Is No Mine Ain House From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #216, p. 225. No source indicated. O this is no mine ain house, I ken by the rigging o't, Since with my love I've changhed vows I dinna like the bigging o't. For now that I'm young Robie's brige, And mistress of his fireside, Mine ain house I like to guide, And please me wi' the trigging o't. (2 additional stanzas)
File: GrD1119
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This Lady She Wears a Dark-Green Shawl From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, pp. 142-143. From an article by Loraine Darby in JAFL, "Ring-Games from Georgia." This lady she wears a dark green shawl, A dark green shawl, a dark green shawl, This lady she wears a dark green shawl, I love her to my heart! Now choose for your lover, honey, my love, Honey, my love! Honey, my love! Now choose for your lover, honey, my love, I love her to my heart! (2 additional stanzas)
File: ScaNF142
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As sung by the Golden Ring singers and printed by Charles W. Darling in The New American Songster, p. 259. This old world is full of sorrow, Full of sickness, weak and sore. If you love your neighbour truly, Love will come to you the more. We're all children of one Father, We're all brothers and sisters too. If you cherish one another Love and pity will come to you. This old world is full of sorrow, Full of sickness, weak and sore. If you love your neighbour truly, Love will come to you the more.
Additional verses: I (RBW) learned this somewhere with the verse I will arise and go to Jesus, He will embrace me in his arms. In the arms of our dear Savior, Oh, there are ten thousand charms. Which brings us to other verses associated with that song: Come, thou font of every blessing, Move my heart to sing thy praise. Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise. Here I'll raise my songs in praises. Hither by thy grace I'm bound. And I hope by thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.
The lyrics of "Mercy O Thou Son of David" appear in the
Original Sacred Harp (1971, Denson revisions, p. 56, to the
tune Villulia) as follows:
Mercy O thou son of David,
Thus poor blind Bartimeous pray'd.
Other by thy grace are saved,
Now to me afford thine aid.
Money was not what he wanted,
Though by begging used to live;
But he asked and Jesus granted,
Alms which none but he could give.
"Lord, remove this grievous blindness,
Let mine eyes behold the day;
Straight he saw and won by kindness,
Follow'd Jesus in the way.
On page 52, under the title "Charlestown," we find the first
verse above (except that it is simply "blind Bartimeus" rather
than "poor blind Bartimeus") and this second verse:
Many for his crying chid him,
But he called the louder still,
Till the gracious Savior bid him,
"Come and ask me what you will."
George Pullen Jackson, White Spirituals in the Southern Uplands,
p. 135, gives as his #13 in the list of 80 most popular tunes
the song "Restoration," with two sets of words:
1 2
Mercy, o thou Son of David, Jordan's stream shall ne'er oe'rflow me
Thus blind Bartimeus pray'd. while my Savior's by my side.
File: DarN259B
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From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 24, August 29, 2021,
as posted by user John5918.
Three blind jellyfish, three blind jellyfish, three blind jellyfish sitting on a rock.
{Spoken) And one fell off. {Boos}
Two blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And another one fell off. {Boos}
One blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And this one fell off. {Boos}
No blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And one climbs back on again. {Cheers}
One blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And another one climbs back on again. {Cheers}
Two blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And another one climbs back on again. {Cheers}
Three blind jellyfish...
{Spoken) And one fell off. {Boos}
etc, etc, etc, ad nauseam.
File: LTCS3BlJ
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Text as printed in Ravenscroft's Deuteromelia, 1609. Transcribed from the photograph in Fuld. The first letter is an enlarged decorated cap, which explains why the "H" of the first "Three" is in upper case. The music notation is archaic, with the vertical strokes above the note rather than beside it; the notes themselves are square (diamonds) rather than round, and there are no measure indications. Although "blind" is spelled "blinde," it is clearly pronounced as a single syllable, since there is only one note in the music. Similarly with "ferapte," "tripe," and "licke." THree blinde Mice, three blinde Mice, Dame Iulian, Dame Iulian, the Miller and his merry olde wife, she ferapte her tripe licke thou the knife.
File: FSWB413A
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From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #135, p. 370. Collected from Maxine Tillett, apparently of Nag's Head, North Carolina. Date of collection not listed. 1 When leaving dear old Ireland, in the merry month of June, The birds were sweetly singing; all nature seemed in tune. An Irish girl accosted me with a sad tear in her eye, And as she spoke these word to me she bitterly did cry. 'Kind sire, I ask a favor; oh, grant it to me, please; 'Tis not much that I ask of you, but 'twill set my heart at ease. Take these to my brother Ned, who is far across the sea. And don't forget to tell him, sir, that they were sent by me.' Chorus: Three leaves of shamrock, the Irishman's shamrock, From his own darling sister; her blessing too she gave. 'Take these to my brother, for I have no other. And these are the shamrock from his dear old mother's grave.' 2 'And tell him, since he went away, how bitter was our lot. The landlord came one winter day and turned us from our cot. Our troubles were so many; our friends so very few. And, brother dear, our mother used to often sigh for you; "O darling son, come back to me," she often used to day. Alas! one day she sickened, and soon was laid away. Her grave I've watered with my tears; there's where these flowers grew. And, brother dear, they're all I've got, and them I sent to you.'
File: BRII135
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From _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book (Volume II)_, c., 1744, as printed in William S. Baring-Gould and Ceil Baring-Gould, _The Annotated Mother Goose_, p.46, item #32. Three children sliding on the Ice Upon a Summer's Day, As it fell out they all fell in, The rest they ran away. Oh! had those children been at School, Or sliding on dry Ground, Ten Thousand Pounds to one Penny, They had not then been drown'd. Ye Parents who have children dear, And eke ye that have none, If you would keep them safe abroad Pray keep them all at home.
File: R588
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The Grand River From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #38, pp.136-137. Collected from Johnny Flanagan of Erinsville, Ontario, July 1960. It was down on the Grand River near a place called Lake Chayere. Four young men got in a boat and forward they did steer. Their intention was to row the falls, their course they did pursue, Their boat ran with quick motion, and from it they went through. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Rick129
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From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #130, p. 439. Apparently from Bert King of Prescott, Arkansas. Three wise old women were they, were they, Who went to walk on a Winter's day, One carried a ladder to climb for cherries, One carried a basket to gather berries, The third, she was the wisest one, She carried a fan to keep off the sun. (1 additional stanza, of eight rather than six lines)
From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 494-495. Presumably from some other printed collection. Three wise old women were they, were they, Who went to walk on a winter day. One carried a basket to hold some berries; One carried a ladder to climb for cherries, The third -- and she was the wisest one -- She carried a fan to keep off the sun! (3 additional stanzas)
File: R130
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From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, p. 295. Collected "in 1931... from Miss Madeline Baker... of Wayne University." The Titanic left Southhampton With all its sports and gang, When they struck the iceberg, I know their mind was changed. Chorus Many hearts surrendered to the shipwreck; On the sea many hearts surrendered, Crying "Nearer My God to Thee." A man, John Jacob Astor, A man with pluck and brains, When that great ship was going down, All the women he tried to save. (Stanzas 1, 5 of 5)
File: GC120
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As recorded by the Dixon Brothers (Howard and Dorsey), Bluebird B7449, 1938. Transcribed by Robert B. Waltz. It was twenty-five years ago when the the wings of death came low. And spread out on the ocean far and wide. A great ship sailed away with her passengers so gay To never, never reach the other side. CHORUS: Sailing out to winter pain,* the Titanic was her name When she had sailed five hundred miles from shore, Many passengers and her crew went down with that old canoe They all went down to never rise no more. This great ship was built by man, that is why she could not stand. She could not sink was the cry from one and all. But an iceberg ripped her side and it cut down all her pride. They found the hand of God was in it all. Your Titanic sails today; on life's sea you're far away For Jesus Christ can take you safely through. Just obey his great command, over there you'll take the land. You'll never go down with that old canoe. When you think that you are wise, then you need not be surprised. If the hand of God should stop you on life's sea. If you go on in your sin, you will find out in the end That you are just as foolish as can be. * This probably should be "win her fame," but it REALLY sounds like they were singing "winter pain."
File: RcTDWtOC
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Tobacco As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, p. 263. From a manuscript copy. Tobacco is an Indian weed, Grows green in the morn, cut down in eve, It shows our decay, We come from the clay; Think of this when you're smoking tobacco. The pipe that is so lily white, In which most men take great delight, It's broke with a touch, Men's lives are such; Think of this when you're smoking tobacco. The pipe that is so foul within,* It shows men's souls are stain'd with sin, For it doth require To be cleansed by the fire; Think of this when you're smoking tobacco. The smoke that from the pipe doth fly, It shows we are nothing but vanity, For it's gone with a puff, Like all earthly stuff; Think of this when you're smoking tobacco. The dust that from the pipe doth fall, It shows we are nothing but dust at all, For we came from the dust, And return we must, Think of this when you're smoking tobacco. * The book appears to print a period after "within," but this is surely an error.
File: Log262
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #158, p. 589. From the singing of Celia Kelder. You can talk about your cities, their steady growth in size, Brag about your county seats and business enterprise, Railroads and factories, and all you've got to see, But the little place of Tobasco is good enough for me. (2 additional stanzas)
File: FSC158
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Todlen Hame From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume III, #275, p. 284. No source indicated. When I have a saxpence under my thum, Then I'll get credit in ilka town: But ay when I'm poor they bid me get by, O, poverty parts good company Todlen hame, todlen hame, O! Cou'dna my love come todlen hame. (3 additional stanzas)
File: AdART167
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Mad Maudlin As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 181-182. Based on the copy in Pills to Purge Melancholy. To find my Tom of Bedlam ten thousand years I'll travel, Mad Maudlin goes with dirty toes to save her shoes from gravel. Yet will I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys, Bedlam boys are bonny; The still go bare, and live by the air, and want no drink nor money. I now repent that ever poor Tom was so disdain'd, My wits are lost since him I crost, which makes me go thus chain'd: Yet will I sing, &c. My staff hath murdered Gyants, my bag a long knife carries, To cut mince-pyes from children's thighs, with which I feast the Fairies: Yet will I sing, &c. My horn is made of thunder, I stole it out of heaven, The rainbow there is this I wear, for which I thence was driven. Yet will I sing, &c. I went to Pluto's kitchen, to buy some food one morning, And there I got souls piping hot, with which the spits were turning: Yet will I sing, &c. Then took I up a Cauldron, where boyl'd ten thousand 'tornies, 'Twas full of flame, yet I drank the same, and wished them happy journeys. Yet will I sing, &c. A spirit hot as lightning did on my travels guide me, The sun did shake and the pale moon quake, as soon as e'er they spied me: Yet will I sing, &c. And now that I have gotten a lease than doomsday longer, To live on earth with some in mirth, ten whales shall feed my hunger: Yet will I sing, &c. No Gipsie, Slut, or Doxy shall win my mad Tom from me, We'll weep all night, and with stars fight, the fray will well become me: Yet will I sing, &c. And when that I have beaten the man i' the' moon to powder, His dog I'll take, and him I'll make bark as no daemon louder: Yet will I sing, &c. A health to Tom of Bedlam, go fill the seas in barrel, I'll drink it all, well brew'd with gall, and maudling-drunk I'll quarrel: Yet will I sing, &c.
File: Log172
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From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs, p. 91. Apparently collected by Mrs. Tom Bartlett of Marlin, Texas. Funniest thing that ever I seen Was a tom cat stitchin' on a sewin' machine! O-ho, my baby, take a-one on me! Sewed so easy and he sewed so slow, Took ninety-nine stitches on the tom-cat's toe, O-ho, my baby, take a-one on me!
File: ScaNF091
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From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #304, p. 713. The immediate source is not evident from the notes in Brown. 1 I pick my banjo now, I pick it on my knee. This time tomorrow night It'll be no use to me. 2 The banjo's been my friend In days both dark and ill. A-layin' here in jail It's helped me time to kill. 3 Poor Laura loved its tunes When sitting 'neath a tree; I'd play and sing to her My head upon her knee. 4 Poor Laura loved me well, She was both fond and true; How deep her love for me I never really knew. 5 Her black curl on my heart, I'll meet my fatal doom, As swift as she met hers That dreadful evening's gloom. 6 I've lived my life of sin, I've had a bit of fun. Come, Ann, kiss me goodby, My race is nearly run.
File: BrII304
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Widecombe Fair From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 161, November 30, 2021. From user John5918. This is not the full text that he learned, but is all that was reported. Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare. All along, down along, out along lea. For I want for to go to Widecombe Fair, With Bill Brewer, Jan Stewer, Peter Gurney, Peter Davy, Dan'l Whiddon, Harry Hawke, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all, Old Uncle Tom Cobley and all...
File: K308
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 293-294. Apparently from the children of Dr. Frank Allen Hubbard. Oh! Too-ril-te-too was a bonny cock robin, He tied up his tail with a piece of blue bobbin, His tail was no bigger than the tail of a flea, Too-ril-te-too thought it pretty as a tail could be. Oh! Too-ril-te-too was so proud of his tail, TO show it off better, he stood on a rail, An old gray cat came over the wall, And she ate up poor Too-rill-te-too, tail and all.
File: Lins293
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #76, pp. 182-183. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1940. Touch not the cup, it is death to the soul, Touch not the cup, touch not the cup. Many I know have quaffed from that bowl, Touch not the cup, touch it not. Little they thought that a demon was there, Blindly they drank and were caught in the snare, Bit of that death-dealing bowl, O beware! Touch not the cup, touch it not. (3 additional stanzas)
File: R330
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As printed in Richard M. Dorson, Buying the Wind: Regional Folklore in the United States, University of Chicago Press, 1964, pp. 532-533. While the workmen stopped in Denver One fellow came to me. Said he, "Are you from Utah, And why are you so free?" I smiled and said, "Young fellow, Unless you break my jaw, I'm a Mormon man with residence in Utah." Chorus: And if you are from Utah, They'll often question you All about the hated Mormons And what they really do. Some have a bad opinion While others pick a flaw; They think we live on carrots down in Utah. We had it hot and heavy 'Til both were getting sick, My eyes were getting black and blue And my lips were getting thick, But I stayed with my young smarty 'Til he was getting raw, And the battle fell in favor of old Utah. (2 additional stanzas)
File: CAFS2605
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From sheet music published 1864 by Root & Cady.
Title page inscribed
TRAMP!
TRAMP!
TRAMP!
or the
PRISONER'S HOPE
AS SUNG BY EDWIN KELLEY,
OF ARLINGTON KELLEY & LEON'S MINSTRELS
Song & Chorus
BY GEO. F. ROOT
1. In the prison cell I sit,
Thinking Mother dear, of you,
And our bright and happy home so far away,
And the tears they fill my eyes
Spite of all that I can do,
Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
Cheer up comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag
We shall breathe the air again,
Of the freeland (sic.) in our own beloved home.
CHORUS.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
Cheer up comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag
We shall breathe the air again,
Of the freeland* in our own beloved home.
2. In the battle front we stood
When their fiercest charge they made,
And they swept us off a hundred men or more,
But before we reach'd their lines
They were beaten back dismayed,
And we heard the cry of vict'ry o'er and o'er.
3. So within the prison cell,
We are waiting for the day
That shall come to open wide the iron door,
And the hollow eye grows bright
And the poor heart almost gay,
As we think of seeing home and friends once more.
* The sheet music gives two versions of the chorus, one
solo (or unison) and one for SATB. In the solo version,
"free land" is spelled as one word, "freeland." In the
SATB version, it's spelled "free-land." In neither case
is it two words.
File: RJ19214
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From James Johnson, Editor, _The Scots Musical Museum_ [1853 edition], volume II, #102, pp. 103-104. No source indicated. The Chevalier, being void of fear, Did march up Bristle brae, man, And thro' Tranent, e'er he did stent, As fast as he could gae, man: While Gen'ral Cope did taunt and mock, Wi' mony a loud huzza, man, But e'er next morn proclaim'd the cock, We heard another craw man. (14 additional stanzas)
File: DTtranmu
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #77, p. 184. From the singing of Lena Bourne Fish of New Hampshire. Collected 1941. While traveling down in Yorkshire Not very long ago, I chanced to fall in love, With a girl you all must know. I told her if she'd come with me, I would see her on her way, And when I took her to her home I heard her father say, Chorus, Treat my daughter kindly, Never do her harm. When I die I'll leave you My little house and farm, My horse, my cow, my pig and plow, And all my cocks and hens, And all yon little chickens in the garden. (2 additional stanzas)
File: R668
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #136, p. 314. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1959. O Lord, I been a-working Like a dog all day, Just to make another dollar For you to throw away. You spend all my money And go dressed so fine, While I wear old clothes And don't have a dime. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa136
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From Edith Fowke, Lumbering Songs from the Northern Woods, #8, p. 42. Collected from Calvin Kent of Haliburton, Ontario, May 1965. Oh, it's of a pair of jobbers who had a jolly time All in some old log shanty where the jobbers settle down. All in some old log shanty where these jobbers settle down; It was in this old log shanty with the trees all close around. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FowL08
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As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 33-38. From Leach, Folk Ballads and Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast. Ye hardy sons of Newfoundland, that tread life's rugged way, That know the key of many years, that now have passed away, Draw near while I relate you an awful tragedy That did befall our hardy sons down north at Trinity. I eighteen hundred ninety-two, on February twenty-seven, The morning broke with brilliant sky, that brightly shone the heavens, The seas were smooth and tranquil, all nature seemed at rest, In search of seals our boat soon sped up on the billows' crest. (9 additional stanzas)
File: LLab071
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From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 438-439. Supplied by W. H. Ainsworth, who probably touched it up. I can sport as fine a trotting horse as any swell in town, To trot you fourteen miles an hour, I'll bet you fifty crown; He is such a one to bend his knees, and tuck his haunches in, And throw the dust in people's face, and think it not a sin. For to ride away, trot away, Ri, far lar, la, &c. (5 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo438
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The True Lovers' Discoursion From Helen Creighton, Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, #39B, pp. 87-92. Collected from Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B. One summer's morning when pinks and daises Closed in their bosoms a drop of dew, The feathered warblers of every species Together chanting their notes so true, As I did stray wrapped in admiration 'Twould charm your heart for to hear them sing, Night's silent slumberers were fast arising, And the birds in concert did sweetly sing. (19 additional stanzas)
File: HHH164
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Roving Irishman Written Tuesday evening, January the 31st 1837 by Leander R. Miller Cumberland R.I. Copied from original document by John Aldrich March, 2015 I am a roving Irishman I've roved my country through O then I was resolved Some other ground to view Myself I did make ready And thought it my best plan To go over into America And view that handsome land When I came to Philadelphia The girls all laughed for joy The one says to the other There's a handsome Irish boy They invited me to dine with them They held me by the hand The toast it did fly merrily Success to the Irishman I had been in Philadelphia Not more than a day or two Before I was resolved Some other land to see Stern foremost on my horse His tail clinched tight in hand I rode up through Philadelphia Like a roving Irishman I went up to bucks country Twas there among the dutch And as for conversation Of course they couldn't have much But I such sighns and signals Made gave the girls to understand That courage and good nature Was in this Irishman
File: MA062
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The Turkish Lady
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 16-18. From a broadside ("Four Excellent New Songs," 1782), with
the bracketed verse from a later printing.
Young virgins all I pray draw near,
A pretty story you shall hear;
It's of a Turkish lady brave,
Who fell in love with an English slave.
A merchant ship at Bristol lay.
As we were sailing over the sea;
By a Turkish rover took were we,
And all of us made slaves to be.
They bound us down in irons strong,
They whipped and slashed us all along;
No tongue can tell I'm certain sure,
What we poor sailors do endure.
[One of the seamen that were there,
An Englishman both fresh and fair,
Comely in stature, straight, and tall,
He went to Turkey amongst them all.]
Come sit ye down, and listen a while,
And see how fortune on him did smile.
It was his fortune for to be
A slave unto a rich lady;
She drest herself in rich array,
And went to view her slaves one day;
Hearing the moan this young man made,
She went to him and thus she said: --
"What countryman, young man, are you?"
"I am an Englishman, that's true."
"I wish you were a Turk," said she,
"I'd ease you of your misery.
"I'd ease you of your slavish work,
If you'll consent to turn a Turk.
I'd own myself to be your wife,
For I do love you as my life."
"O no, no no, no no," said he,
"Your constant slave I choose to be.
I'd sooner be burnt there at a stake,
Before that I'll my God forsake."
This lady to her chamber went,
And spend the night in discontent;
Sly Cupid with his piercing dart,
Did deeply wound this lady's heart.
She was resolved the next day,
To ease him of his slavery,
And own herself to be his wife,
For she did love him as her life.
She drest herself in rich array,
And with this young man sailed away,
Until they came to Bristol shore,
With jewels, diamonds, and gold great store.
Houses and lands she left behind,
And all her slaves are close confined;
Unto her parents she bade adieu,
By this you see what love can do.
Now she is turned a Christian brave,
And married is to her own slave,
That was in chains and bondage too,
By this you see what love can do.
File: LO26
Complete text(s)
The Fox Song / Fox and Hound Text supplied 2015 by Danielle Smith, who reports it from family tradition and says that "My family just calls it The Fox Song or Fox and Hound anyways it goes like this oh and it's sang quietly and fast but the other person (child) shouts FOX!: I went down to the turnip patch to rah to rah fiddle diddle didle I went down to the turnip patch FOX!!!! I went down to the turnip patch to see if my old hen had hatched to rah day, to rah day Just been a fox from his den to rah to rah fiddle diddle didle Just been a fox from his den FOX!!!! Just been a fox from his den he bit a little chicky and ate a old hen to rah day to rah day Well I got out the best of my hounds to rah to rah fiddle diddle didle Well I got out the best of my hounds FOX!!!!! Well I got out the best of my hounds I thought I'd give that booger a go round to rah day to rah day Left the reeds and went to the right to rah to rah fiddle diddle didle Left the reeds and went to the right FOX!!! Left the reeds and went to the right good God Sally how the hounds did fly to rah day to rah day Bread and cheese laying on the shelf to rah to rah fiddle diddle didle Bread and cheese laying on the shelf FOX!!!! Bread and cheese laying on the shelf if you wanta hear it some more you will sing it yourself to rah day to rah day.
File: R454
Partial text(s)
From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 601-602. Sung by Jim Rice, Cape Broyle, July 1951. 'Twas getting up late in September, I remember the day of the week; To spread fish on the bawn to make wages We went there without much sleep. 'Twas early I arose in the morning, And sped to the brow of the hill; Where I spied a fair girl in the valley, She came, her buckets to fill. (Stanzas 1-2 of 9)
File: Doyl3078
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #148, pp. 324-325. "Sung by Dr. Perry Cochran, Wolfville, N.S." 'Twas in the town of Parsboro one dark and stormy night When the gallant slugger Dunkerson got ready for a fight. He was full of rotten whiskey and feeling very spry And he said he'd lick McLellan or he'd know the reason why. And now my friends come look at him after his drunken rabble, His eyes all blacked, his nose all skinned, his face looked like the devil, And now in peace we leave him just as quickly as we can, For he was so badly licked by a sober and perhaps a wiser man. (stanzas 1, 8 of 8)
File: CrNS148
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Twenty Years Ago From Hazel Felleman, ed., The Best Loved Poems of the American People (1936), pp. 548-549. Presumably from some other printed collection. I've wander'd to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the school-house play-ground, which shelter'd you and me; But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know, That play'd with us upon the green some twenty years ago. Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea, But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me, And when our time is come, Tom, and we are call'd to go, I hope they'll lay us where we play'd, just twenty years ago. (Stanzas 1, 9 of 9)
File: R869
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #36, pp, 113-114. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1941. The Twenty-Third was drawn in line And ready for the strife. Each man for his country Would freely give his life. The first volley that they fired on us, They shot our flag away, And galliant (sic.) Boggs fell cheering us on, On the thirty-first of May. In the Shenandoah lowlands, lowlands low, In the Shenandoah lowlands low. (1 additional stanza)
File: Wa036
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From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II,
p. 211. From Leone DuVal, who believes she learned it in Missouri
around 1895.
Along in November, when chill was the weather
Two ballots were cast in a box together,
They nestled up close, like brother and brother,
You couldn't tell one of those votes from the other.
CHORUS
They were both rum voters
And sanctioned the license plan,
But one was cast by a jolly old brewer
And one by a Sunday School man.
File: R310
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #43, pp. 175-177. From the singing of co-author Albert Peters, Newcastle, in 1962. We are two lads, two jolly lads, We're fond of fun and joy, Prince Edward Isle's our native style, New Brunswick we'll enjoy. To lumber woods with much delight And force we take our eye, While working for the Underhills The truth we'll ne'er deny. (6 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi043
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs
of the Catskills, #106, pp. 394-396. From the singing of Celia Kelder.
An old man gazed on a photograph
Locket he'd worn for years;
His nephew then asked him why
That picture caused him tears;
"If you will listen, a story I'll tell,
A story that's strange but true:
Your father and I, one day at school,
Met two little girls in blue.
Refrain:
"Two little girls in blue, lad,
Two little girls in blue,
We were two brothers and they were sisters,
We learned to love the two;
But one little girl in blue, lad,
She won your father's heart,
Became your mother; I married the other,
But we have drifted apart."
(1 additional stanza)
File: FSC106
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 184-185. Collected August 14, 1930 from Mrs. George Tatro of Springfield, Vermont. Two little kittens one stormy night Began to quarrel and then to fight. One had a mouse, the other had none, And that is the way the row begun. "I'll have that mouse," said the older cat. "You won't have that mouse, I'll see about that." "I will have that mouse," said the older one. "You won't have that mouse," said the little one. (3 additional stanzas, following the pattern of stanza 2)
File: FlBr184
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The Rigs of Rye From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, p. 31 'Twas in the month o' sweet July, Before the sun had pierced the sky; 'Twas in between twa rigs o' rye That I heard twa lovers talking. The lad said, "Love, I must away, I've got no longer time to stay; But I've got a word or two to say, If ye've got time to tarry, "Your father of you takes great care, Your mother combs down your yellow hair; And your sisters say ye will get nae share, Gin ye gang wi' me, a stranger." "Let my faither fret and my mother frown, My sisters' words I do disown; Though they a' were deid and below the groun', I'd gang wi' you, a stranger." "Oh, lassie, lassie, your fortune's sma'; And maybe it will be nane ata'; Yer nae a match for me ava', Lay ye your love on some ither." The lassie's courage began to fail, Her red, rosy cheeks grew wan and pale, And her tears cam' trickling down like hail, Or a heavy shower in summer. He took his handkerchief, linen fine, He dried her tears, and he kissed her syne; Says, "Dry up your tears, love, ye shall be mine, I said it a' to try you." He, being a boy of courage bold, A boy that scarce was nineteen years old; He made the hills and the valleys road, And he's ta'en his bonnie lass wi' him. THis couple they've got married noo, And they've got bairnies one or two; And they live in Brechin the winter thro', And in Montrose in summer.
File: LO11
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 295-296.
From the singing of Dr. Frank Allen Hubbard.
A beggar man laid himself down to sleep,
Rumsty-O, Rumsty-O.
A beggar man laid himself down to sleep,
On the banks of the Mersey so wide and steep,
Rumsty-O, Rumsty-O.
Two thieves came walking by that way,
Rumsty-O, Rumsty-O.
Two thieves came walking by that way,
And they came to the place where the beggar man lay,
Rumsty-O, Rumsty-O.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: Lins295
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From Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods, chapter 5 (last words of the chapter). 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). There was an old darkey And his name was Uncle Ned, And he died long ago, long ago. There was no wool on the top of his head, In the place where the wool ought to grow. His fingers were as long, As the cane in the brake, His eyes they could hardly see, And he had no teeth for to eat the hoe-cake, So he had to let the hoe-cake be. So hang up the shovel and the hoe, Lay down the fiddle and the bow, There's no more work for old Uncle Ned, For he's gone where the good darkeys go.
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume II, #261, p. 335. Collected 1926 from Mrs. Marie Wilbur of Pineview, Missouri. There was an old nigger an' his name was Ned, He died long years ago. He had no wool on the top of his head, The place where the wool ought to grow. Hang up the fiddle an' the bow Lay down the shovel an' the hoe, There's no more work for pore old Ned, For he's gone where the good niggers go. His fingers was long like the cane in the brake, He had no eyes for to see, He had no teeth for to eat the corn cakes, So he had to let the corn cakes be. One cold frosty mornin' when everything was still, The darkies stood round the bed, Not a thing was done, not a thing was said, For pore old Ned was dead. When old Ned died Miss' took it mighty hard, The tears poured down like rain Old Marse turned pale an' he looked mighty sad. Cause he'd never see the old man again.
From Thomas W. Talley, Negro Folk Rhymes, p. 61. It is item #81 (p. 53) in the revised edition by Charles K. Wolfe. Jes lay down de shovel an' de hoe. Jes hang up de fiddle an' de bow. No more hard work fer ole man Ned, For he's gone whar de good Niggers go. He didn't have no years fer to hear, Didn' have no eyes fer to see,
Supplied by Marguerite Frost, age 88, in 2013. I include her notes. My grandfather had the unusual custom of singing to his grandchildren before we went to sleep. ˇHe had several minstrel show songs in his repertoire, having learned them in his childhood in Washington, D.C., where his father was employed in the Civil Service after the war. The family were originally from Indiana. At the time I remember him, he was living in Hanover, N.H., and teaching at Dartmouth. There were absolutely no black people to be seen there, though there must have been once, because there was a place that town historians called "Nigger Hill." ˇWe children never used this word and had no idea of its connotations, but we knew there was something bad about it because our grandmother tried, mostly in vain, to get her husband to substitute "darky." (In fact she disapproved of his singing those songs at all.) He sang "Uncle Ned" like this: There was an old nigger and his name was Uncle Ned, And he lived long, long time ago. He had no wool on the top of his head In the place where the wool ought to grow. Lay down the shovel and the hoe-o-oh. Hang up the fiddle and the bow, There's no more hard work for poor Uncle Ned, For he's gone where the good niggers go. His fingers were as long as the cane in the brake, And he had no eyes for to see, He had no teeth for to eat a hoe-cake, So he had to let the hoe-cake be. His legs were so crooked that he couldn't lie still, And he had no nails on his toes. His neck was so crooked that he couldn't take a pill, So he had to take a pill through his nose. He had an old wife, and her name was Aunt Peg, And she had no clothes for to wear. She had no stocking for to cover up her leg, So she had to let her leg go bare. Old Neddy was a-sitting by his own cabin door, As happy as a nigger could be, When the devil came along, and he took him by the ear, Saying "Neddy, come along with me." Grandfather didn't sing the verses about Massa and Missus grieving for Ned. We children were fascinated by this song, and puzzled by the last verse, which contradicts the refrain. ˇBut we didn't believe in the devil, so we were not too distressed. ˇWe were very sorry for Aunt Peg, because in those days (twenties and thirties) no respectable older woman would "let her leg go bare." Didn' have no teeth fer to eat corn cake, An' he had to let de beefstake be. Dey called 'im "Ole Uncle Ned," A long, long time ago. Dere wusn't no wool on de top o' his head In de place whar de wool oughter grow. When ole man Ned wus dead, Mosser's tears run down lak rain; But ole Miss, she was a little sorter glad, Dat she wouldn' see do ole Nigger 'gain.
File: R261
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From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #134, pp. 498-499. From the singing of George Edwards. I've oft-times heard of married life And pleasures without equal, So I resolved to take a wife, For it only makes a sequel. Refrain: Ho di-ding, di-ding dang doe, Toddle oddle ing dee die doe. I courted Jane the milliner, Her parents were my betters, But then I got enough of her, When bound in wedlock fetters. (6 additional stanzas)
File: FSC134
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From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #149, pp. 326-328. "Sung by Mr. Ben Henneberry, Devil's Island." When I was young and in my prime To the seas I had to go. My parents died when I was young, The truth to you I'll show. But of all the times that ever I had Since the hour that I was born, Was going home to the old country On board of the Unicorn. (6 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS149
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From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 122-123.
Up the Raw, down the Raw,
Up the Raw, lass, ev'ry day;
For shape and colour, ma bonny hinny,
Thou bangs thy mother, ma canny bairn.
Black as a craw, ma bonny hinny,
Thou bands them a', lass, ev'ry day;
Thou's a' clag-candied, ma bonny hinny,
Thou's double japanded, ma canny bairn.
Up the Raw, etc.
For hide and hue, ma bonny hinny,
Thou bangs the craw, ma canny bairn,
Up the Raw, ma bonny hinny,
Thou bangs them a', ma canny bairn.
Up the Raw, etc.
File: StoR122
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The Useful Plow, or, The Plowman's Praise From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 365-366. Said to be from Farquhar. A country life is sweet! In moderate cold and heat, To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair! In every field of wheat, The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, And every meadow's brow; To that I say, no courtier may Compare with they who clothe in grey And follow the useful plow. They rise with the morning lark, And labour till almost dark; Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep; While every pleasant park Next morning is ringing with birds that are singing, On every green, tender bough. With what content, and merriment, Their days are spent, whose minds are bent To follow the useful plow. (2 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo365
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From Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 110-111. From Charles Wade, Wallingford, Vermont. Date not given. The boys from Vermont to Gardner did go, In search of a job, as you very well know. With no clothes on their backs, in their pockets no bills, They called them the scamps from the Green Mountain hills. (1 additional stanza plus chorus)
File: FlNG110
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From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 33-34. Sent in by Anna H. Dole of Danville, Vermont; date not listed. When you see the vapor pillars lick the forest and the sky, You may know the days of sugar-making then are drawing nigh. Frosty night and sunny day make the maple pulses play Till congested with their sweetness, they delight to bleed away. Chorus: Oh, bubble, bubble, bubble goes the pan. Furnish better music for the season if you can; See the golden billows; watch their ebb and flow; Sweetest joys indeed we sugar-makers know. (3 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr033
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Wictory Shall Be Mine From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #176, p. 394. From "Annie" of Elizabeth City, North Carolina. Collected 1937. Wictory, wictory shall be mine, Wictory, wictory shall be mine, Just hold your peace, And the Lord will fight your battles, Wictory, wictory shall be mine! (1 additional stanza, with indications of possible variants used by others)
File: Wa176
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From J. H. Cox, Folk-Songs of the South, #66, pp. 266-267
Supplied by Nancy McAtee; collected by 1917
Compare "The Heights of Alma" (Laws J10), of which this is
almost certainly a parody. The collected text appears damaged;
some conjectural emendations are listed at the end.
The southern boys may longer lie
On the first and fourth of sweet July
Our General Beauregard resound
For his southern boys at Richmond. [1]
That night we lay on the cold ground
No tents or shelter could be found,
With rain and hail was nearly drowned
To cheer our hearts at Richmond.
Next morn the burning sun did rise
Beneath the cloudy eastern skies;
Our general viewed the forts and cried,
"We'll have hot work at Richmond."
As soon as the height we strove to gain,
Our balls did fly as thick as rain,
I m sure the plains they did run red
With the blood that was shed at Richmond. [2]
As soon as the heights we did command,
We fought the Yankees hand to hand,
And many a hero then was slain
Upon the heights at Richmond. [3]
And many a pretty fair maid will mourn
For her lover who will never return,
And parents mourn beyond control
For their sons they lost at Richmond [4]
Thirty thousand Yankees, I heard say,
Was slain all on that fatal day,
And seven thousand Southerners lay
In the bloody gore at Richmond.
Their guns and knapsacks they threw down
And ran like hares before the hound;
I m sure the plains they did run red
With the blood that was shed at Richmond [5]
Cease, you Southerner, from your hand,
Which from the Yankees we cannot stand;
Go spread the news throughout the land
Of the victory won at Richmond.
Possible emendations:
[1] For the Yankees did come nigh
Our southern boys at Richmond.
[2] And many a hero then was slain
On the plains at Richmond.
[3] But the Yankees they could not withstand
Our southern boys at Richmond.
[4] And parents many years will yearn
For their sons they lost at Richmond
[5] So let the glorious news resound
Of the vict ry won at Richmond.
File: JHCox066
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #24, pp, 93-94. From the singing of "Yankee" John Galusha of New York State. Collected 1939. Come all you loyal Unionists, wherever you may be, I hope you'll pay attention and listen unto me, For well you know the blood and woe, the misery, the toil It took to down Secession on Virginia's bloody soil. (8 additional stanzas)
File: Wa024
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From sheet music published 1844 by E. D. Benteen.
Title page inscribed
"Vive La Compagnie"
Solo & Chorus
As Sung by the
Maryland Cadets
Glee Club
Composed & Arranged
for the
PIANO FORTE
Let Bachus to Venus libations pour forth,
Vive la compagnie.
And let us make use of our time while it lasts,
Vive la compagnie.
CHORUS
Oh! Vive la vive la vive l'amour vive la vive la vive l'amour
Vive l'amour, vive l'amour, vive la compagnie.
SECOND VERSE
Let ev'ry old Bachelor fill up his glass,
Vive la compagnie.
And drink to the health of his favorite lass,
Vive la compagnie.
3.
Let ev'ry married man -- drink to his wife,
Vive la compagnie.
The friend of his bosom and comfort of life,
Vive la compagnie.
Oh! vive la &c.
4.
Come fill up your glasses -- I'll give you a toast
Vive la compagnie.
Here's a health to our fried -- our kind, worthy host
Vive la compagnie.
Oh! vive la &c.
5.
Since all, with good humour, I've toasted so free,
Vive la compagnie.
I hope it will please you to drink now with me,
Vive la compagnie.
Oh! vive la &c.
File: RJ19218
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne &
Frank Warner Collection, #87, pp. 220-221. From the singing of
Buna Vista Presnell Hicks, Hattie Hicks Presnell, Rosa Hicks Presnell,
Beech Mountain, North Carolina, 1951.
I was strolling one day in a lovely green yard,
When a voice from the tombs seemed to say,
"I once lived as you live, walked and talked as you talk,
Then from earth I was soon torn away.
Chorus
Oh, those tombs, lonely tombs (lonely tombs)
Seemed to say in a low gentle tone,
"Oh, how sweet is the rest
In our beautiful heavenly home."
File: Wa087
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The Vulture From W. K. McNeil, Southern Folk Ballads, Volume II, pp. 108-110. Collected in 1978 from Dee Hicks of Tinchtown, Tennessee. I've been among those mighty Alps, I've wandered through their vales, I've heard the oldest mountaineer Relate their dismal tales. But when around the financher (sic.) cottage homes, But when their daily work were o'er, They would talk of those who had disappeared And ne'er returned no more. (9 additional stanzas)
File: MN2108
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #138, pp. 316-317. From the singing of Frank Proffitt, Watauga County, North Carolina, 1959. Where did you get that pretty dress, All so bright and gay? I got it from my loving man On W. P. and A. Chorus On W. P. and A., On W. P. and A., I got it from my loving man On W. P. and A. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Wa138
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Wadhams Song As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 13. Reprinted from James Murphy, Songs Sung by Old Time Sealers of Many Years Ago. From Bonavista Cape to the Cabot Isles The course is north full forty miles, When you must steer away North East Till Cape Freels, Gull Island bears West North West. (10 additional stanzas)
File: GrMa119
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As sung by Buell Kazee on Brunswick 213B. Recorded January 18, 1928. The heart is the fortune of all womankind. They're always controlled, they're always confined. Controlled by their parents until they are wives, Then slaves to their husbands the rest of their lives. I've been a poor girl, my fortune is sad. I've always been courted by the wagoner's lad. He courted me daily, by night and by day, And now he is loaded and going away. Your parents don't like me because I am poor. They say I'm not worthy of entering your door I work for my living, my money's my own, And if they don't like me, they can leave me alone. Your horses are hungry, go feed them some hay. Come sit down here by me as long as you stay. My horses ain't hungry, they won't eat your hay, So fare you darling, I'll feed on the way. Your wagon needs greasing, your whip is to mend, Come sit down here by me as long as you can. My wagon is greasy, my whip's in my hand, So fare you well, darling, no longer to stand.
File: R740
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1851 by E. D. Benteen.
Title page inscribed
WAIT FOR THE WAGON
Ethiopian Song
FOR THE
PIANO FORTE
BY
GEO.P.KNAUFF
Will you come with me my Phillis, dear, to yon blue mountain free,
Where the blossoms smell the sweetest, come rove along with me.
It's ev'ry Sunday morning when I am by your side,
We'll jump into the Wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the Wagon,
Wait for the Wagon,
Wait for the Wagon and we'Il all take a ride.
CHORUS.
Wait for the Wagon,
Wait for the Wagon,
Wait for the Wagon and we'Il all take a ride.
2.
Where the river runs like silver, and the birds they sing so sweet,
I have a cabin, Phillis, and something good to eat.
Come listen to my story, it will relieve my heart,
So jump into the Wagon, and off we will start.
Wait for the Wagon &c.
3.
Do you believe my Phillis, dear, old Mike, with all this wealth,
Can make you half so happy, as I with youth and health?
We'Il have a little farm, a horse, a pig and a cow;
And you will mind the dairy, while I will guide the plough.
Wait for the Wagon &c.
4.
Your lips are red as poppies, your hair so slick and neat,
All braided up with dahlias, and hollyhocks so sweet.
It's ev'ry Sunday morning, when I am by your side,
We'Il jump into the Wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the Wagon &c.
5.
Together, on life's journey, we'll travel till we stop,
And if we have no trouble, we'll reach the happy top.
Then come with me, sweet Phillis, my dear, my lovely bride,
We'Il jump into the Wagon, and all take a ride.
Wait for the Wagon &c.
File: RJ19222
Complete text(s)
From W. W. Newell, Games and Songs of American Children, item #162, pp. 227-228. Source not noted. B. A. Botkin, reprints the item verbatim (including the notes) in A Treasury of American Folklore, pp. 807-808. Walking on the green grass, Walking side by side, Walking with a pretty girl, She shall be my bride. And now we form a round ring, The girls are by our sides; Dancing with the pretty girls Who shall be our brides. And now the king upon the green Shall choose a girl to be his queen, Shall lead her out his bride to be, And kiss her, one, two, three. Now take her by the hand, this queen, And swing her round and round the green. Oh, now we'll go around the ring, And ev'ry one we'll swing. Oh, swing the king and swing the queen, Oh, swing the king and swing the queen, Oh, swing 'em round and round the green. Oh, swing 'em round the green.
File: BAF807
Complete text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne &
Frank Warner Collection, #164, p. 371-372. From the singing of
Martha Ann Midgette of North Carolina. Collected 1941.
Bought an old cow from Farmer Jones,
She weren't nothing but skin and bones.
Fattened her up as fine as silk,
She jumped the fence and skimmed her milk.
Chorus:
Wallabug, wallabug, you can't fool me.
I'll be as good as I can be.
If you see a wallabug night or day,
Make a noise like a wallabug and roll away.
There was an old woman of Oisocket,
She put her false teeth in her pocket,
She put her pipe up on the shelf,
She sat right down and bit herself.
Chorus
File: Wa164
Complete text(s)
From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, p. 331, text II. From London. Wallflowers, wallflowers, Growing up so high, All you young ladies Are meant to die. Excepting little ------, She is the best of all, She can skip, and she can dance, She can turn the candlestick. Oh my, fie for shame, Turn your back to the wall again.
Also from Gomme, p. 332, text VII. From Dorset. Wally, wally wall-flower, A-growen up so high, All we children be sure to die. Excepting [naming the youngest] 'Cause she's the youngest, Oh! fie! for shame! fie! for shame! Turn your back to the wall again.
File: HHH048d
Partial text(s)
As You Came From the Holy Land From Norman Ault, editor, Elizabethan Lyrics from the Original Texts, pp. 282-284. Apparently from Bodley MS. Rawlinson Poet. 85. As you came from the holy land Of Walsingham, Met you not with my true Love By the way as you came? 'How should I know your true Love That have met many one, As I went to the holy land, That have come, that have gone?' (9 additional stanzas)
File: Perc2101
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From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #44, pp. 178-180. From the singing of Marie Hare of Strathadam, 1962. They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee, But now one sleeps beneath the sod, Across the dark blue sea. That same fond mother often watched Her children at their play, She never dreamt that one dear boy Would go so far away. (9 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi044
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From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 149. "From singing of Mrs. Lottie M. Lawson." Out in this cold world, so far away from home, Some mother's boy is wandering all alone, No one to guide him, to keep his footsteps aright, Some mother's boy is homeless to-night. (2 additional stanzas)
File: R845
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From Eloise Hubbard Linscott, Folk Songs of Old New England, pp. 296-299.
Apparently from the singing of Elizabeth Wheeler Hubbard of Taunton,
Massachusetts.
The sky with clouds was overcast,
The rain began to fall,
My wife she whipped the children
And raised a pretty squall.
She bade me with a frowning look
To get out of her way.
Oh the deuce a bit of comfort's here
Upon a washing day!
Chorus
For it's thump! thump! scrub! scrub! scold! scold away!
The de'il a bit of comfort's here
Upon a washing day.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: Lins296
Complete text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 196. As remembered by Fuson himself. We have a bold commander, Who fears no sword or gun, A second Alexander, Whose name is Washington.
File: Fus196A
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The Dairy Farmer From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #63, pp. 226-227. From the singing of Joseph R. Estey, Sr., Sevogle, 1962. Oh, I am a dairy farmer and from Dunstanshire I came To see some friends in Cambridge Wells; Tim Morgan is my name. In the little town of Dunstanshite, the place I do call home, And if I get sent back again, from there I'll never roam. It was then the pretty damsel she came coming down that way. As long as I am living I shall ne'er forget the day. She had a bunch of early onions and a half a pint of beer, Some pickles, and a bunch of water cresses. (Stanzas 1, 3 of 10)
File: Peac320
Partial text(s)
From Bob Black, Come Hither to Go Yonder, Playing Bluegrass with Bill Monroe, p. 40. The lyrics cited are of course from Monroe. See that watermelon smilin' through the fence? How I wish that melon was mine. White folks they am foolish or they haven't got a lot of sense Or they wouldn't leave that melon on the vine. (2 additional stanzas plus a final chorus)
File: Br3454
Partial text(s)
From Dorothy Scarborough, On the Trail of Negro Folk-Songs,
pp. 225-226. Supplied by "Mrs. Bartlett"; the ultimate source
is not listed.
'Way down in ole Virginia
Where I was bred and born,
On the sunny side of that country
I used to hoe the corn.
Like childhood's happy moments,
When I was going away,
I strayed from the old place,
And I couldn't stay away!
Chorus
And I couldn't
And I wouldn't
And I coudln't stay away!
And I couldn't
And I wouldn't
And I coudln't stay away!
Well, my ole mistis, she was good and kind,
She was good and kind to me.
She fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
Well, my ole mistis, she was good and kind,
She was good and kind to me.
She fed me awful good meat and bread
And sometimes hominy.
(1 additional stanza)
File: ScaNF225
Partial text(s)
(No local title)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy
(1926), pp. 130-131. From Mr. Ava Smith of Charlevoix,
Michigan. Fragmentary text.
Way down near Alpena in a far-distant land,
There's a hard-hearted, hard-spoken band,
Called paython, forilla, They don't use much care,
And they're hard to keep track of when they got on a tear.
Chorus
Hurray, hurrah! For the fruit you can bet.
Less taken of the drink, boys, for their credit's good yet.
(3 additional stanzas)
File: Be039
Partial text(s)
From Stokoe/Reay, Songs and Ballads of Northern England, pp. 148-149. O, canny man, O! shew me the way to Wallington: I've got a mare to ride, and she's a trick o' galloping; I hae a lassie beside, that winna give o'er her walloping, O canny, canny man, O! shew me the way to Wallington. (3 additional stanzas)
File: StoR148
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #45, pp. 181-182. From the singing of probable author Paul Kingston of Wayerton in 1960. I'm a heart-broken driver, From Wayerton I came, I courted a sweetheart, Mary Dolan by name. I courted a sweetheart Down by the Trout Brook side And I always intended To make her my bride. It was on a Christmas Eve, To the town I did fly, A present for the fair maid A ring I did buy. It's then she refused it, And left me to shame, Saying, "Take back your ring, Paul, I won't change my name." (6 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi045
Partial text(s)
From the Original Sacred Harp (1971 Denson revision), p. 457. I am a poor wayfaring stranger, While journe'ing thru this world of woe, Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger In that bright land to which I go. I'm going there to see my Father, I'm going there no more to roam; I'm only going over Jordan, I'm only going over home.
"I'm Just A-Going Over Jordon" (sic.) From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 208. From the singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses. I know dark clouds will father around me, My way is rough and steep, I know; But beautiful fields lie just before me, In that bright world to which I go. (6 additional stanzas, the last having 6 lines)
File: FSC077
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1862 by S. T. Gordon
Title page inscribed
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES
We Are Coming
Father Abraam
300,000
MORE
Music Composed
by
Stephen C. Foster
The name of author James Sloan Gibbons is nowhere listed; the
interior simply lists the song as "By STEPHEN C. FOSTER." The
printing appears to have been hurried, as the number of errors
(see the notes) attest.
We are coming Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more,
From Mississippi's winding stream and from New England's shore;
We leave our plows and workshops, our wives and children dear,
With hearts too full for utterance, with but a silent[1] tear;
We dare not look behind us but steadfastly before,
We are coming, Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more.
We are coming, coming[2] our union to restore.
We are coming, Father Abraam, with[3] three hundred thousand more.[4]
If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern sky,
Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry;
And now the wind aninstant,[5] tears the cloudy veil aside.
And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride;
And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour,
We are coming, Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more. [6]
If you look all up our valleys, where the growing harvests shine,
You may see our sturdy farmer boys fast forming into line;
And from their mothers (sic.) knees are pulling at the weeds,
And learning how to reap and sow, against their country's needs;
And a farewell group stands weeping at every cottage door,
We are coming, Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more. [6]
You have called us and were (sic.) coming, by Richmond's bloody tide,
To lay us down for freedom's sake, our brother's[7] bones beside;
Or from foul treason's savage group[8] to wrench the murd'rous blade,
And in the face of foreign foes its fragments to parade;
Six hundred thousand loyal men and true have gone before,
We are coming, Father Abraam, three hundred thousand more.
[1] Other versions read "single"
[2] Other versions read "We are coming, we are coming"
[3] Other versions omit "with"
[4] Other versions repeat this line
[5] "aninstant" appears to be the printed reading. The text is
an-in-stant, with a staff break after "an."
[6] Other versions omit this stanza
[7] Other versions give the more reasonable reading "brothers'"
for "brother's."
[8] Other versions read "grasp"
File: SCW44
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 15. Reprinted from James Murphy, Songs Sung by Old Time Sealers of Many Years Ago. Tom Casey being commander Of the St. Patrick called by name. With 28 as brave a boys As ever ploughed the main. It was upon the 1st of March From Carbonear we set sail, Wind from the West South West, my boys A smart and pleasant gale. (7 additional stanzas)
File: RySm016
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1842 (?) by Oliver Ditson.
The music is on three sheets, with no title sheet. The
heading of the first page reads
WE WON'T GO HOME TILL MORNING
A
FAVORITE GLEE FOR THREE VOICES
Partly Written and Arranged
for the
PIANO FORTE
by
WILLIAM CLIFTON
We're all met here together,
We're all met here together,
We're all met here together,
To eat and drink good cheer;
CODA
To eat and drink good cheer,
To eat and drink good cheer,
For we wont (sic) go home till morning,
We won't go home till morning,
We won't go home till morning,
Till day light does appear.
2
We'll sing, we'll dance and be merry,
We'll sing, we'll dance and be merry,
We'll sing, we'll dance and be merry,
And kiss the lasses dear;
And kiss the lasses dear;
And kiss the lasses dear;
For we wont go home &c.
3
The girls we love them dearly,
The girls we love them dearly,
The girls we love them dearly,
And they love us, tis clear;
And they love us, tis clear;
And they love us, tis clear;
For we wont go home &c.
After singing the last Verse, finish with the Coda, Away away &c.
We'll All Go Down to Rowser's From Louise Pound, American Ballads and Songs, #119, pp. 237-238. Collected 1914 from E. R. Harlan of Des Moines, Iowa. We'll all go down to Rowser's, We'll all go down to Rowser's, We'll all go down to Rowser's, For there they keep the beer, For there they keep the beer, For there they keep the beer, We'll all go down to Rowser's, For there they keep the beer. My father and mother were Irish, My father and mother were Irish, My father and mother were Irish, And I was Irish, too, And I was Irish, too, And I was Irish, too, My father and mother were Irish, And I was Irish, too. They kept the pig in the parlor, They kept the pig in the parlor, They kept the pig in the parlor, For that was Irish too, For that was Irish too, For that was Irish too, They kept the pig in the parlor, For that was Irish too.
File: RJ19226
Partial text(s)
Away, Idaho From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #195 p. 442. From Deac Martin, apparently of Cleveland, Ohio, 1952. They say there is a land Where the crystal waters flow O'er beds of ore of purest gold Way out in Idaho. Chorus Away, Idaho, We're coming, Idaho, Our four-horse team will soon be seen Way out in Idaho. (2 additional stanzas)
File: R343
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #84, pp. 315-316. From the singing of Elwyn Davis. One stormy night in winter, When the winds blew cold and wet, I heard some heavenly music I never shall forget. We're coming, sister Mary, We're coming, bye and bye, Be ready, sister Mary, For the time is drawing nigh. (stanzas 1, 3 of 3)
File: FSC084
Partial text(s)
(No title)
From Fred W. Allsopp, Folklore of Romantic Arkansas, Volume II,
pp. 224-225. Source not listed.
Come along, boys, we'll off to the wars,
Never mind the times, we'll march cheerily.
Yo ho -- Yo ho -- in Dixie!
We'll talk about the girls 'round the bright camp fire,
Heave a little sigh, and then sing merrily,
Yo ho -- Yo ho -- in Dixie!
Chorus
We're bound to fight for Dixie,
Yo ho -- Yo ho --
Then shout Hurrah for Dixie boys,
The 'Federate states forever,
Hurrah -- hurray!
We'll conquer now or never.
(1 additional verse and chorus)
File: FORA224
Complete text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 407-409. Immediate source not noted; probably a broadside. As I was a-walking Down by yon shadey grove, I heard a couple talking, It was concerning Love. The young man being a weaver, The maid she proved coy, And he knew full well, by her discourse, She loved a tailor boy. "My dear, for to maintain you I'll make my shuttle fly, I'll wear my fingers to the bone, New fashions for to buy. I'll buy you silks and satins, And all things you do choose, I'll buy you all new fashions That you read of in the news." "O how can you maintain me, And you a journeyman? How can you maintain me When you have ne'er a loom? With your lee and your rubbing bone, Your knife instead of sheers; But I'll go and wed the tailor boy That needs neither read nor gear." "If you do wed the tailor boy, At his back you'll have to run, You'll have to dig potatoes, For work he can do none. You'll have to carry in the peats In a basket or a creel, While the tailor he sits on his bench Threading a bar of steel." "Hold your tongue of my tailor boy, He'll not do so to me, For when that he does go abroad, I'll take my liberty. And I will go a-gossiping In all places thro' the toun, And I will please my tailor boy When he comes home at noon." "When your tailor boy does come home, He'll clip off both your ears, He'll beat you with his lapping board, And snip you with his shears. He'll chide you for your idleness, The length of the whole day, And an iron goose you'll have to pluck, And cook in cabbage whey." "Hold your tongue of my tailor, He'll not do so to me, For Adam was a tailor When the world began to be. For Adam he made aprons Out of the leaves so fine, So ever since the world began, The tailor trade doth shine." "But if you saw your tailor lad When he sits all alone, You would take him for an ornament, For legs you can see none. Like a frog upon a beating stone He sits the live-long day, While the weaver he goes neat and trim, Amongst the ladies gay." "Oh ! ever since the world began, The tailors were the beaux, For at such fragments of a man, Girls ne'er turn up their nose." "I would not be a tailor's wife, For they are roving blades, And if you'd live a happy life, Look out in other trades."
File: Log407
Partial text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs, pp. 402-404. Immediate source not clearly stated. From a chapbook published by T. Johnston of Falkirk and dated 1815. In Brechin did a Webster dwell, Who was a man of fame, He was the deacon o' his trade, John Steinson was his name. A mare he had, a lusty jade, Saw sturdy, stark, and strang, Baith Lusty and trusty; And he had spared her lang. (10 additional stanzas)
File: FVS154
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #46, pp. 183-184. From the singing of Arthur MacDonald of Black River Bridge in 1948. O come all you brave heroes, I pray lend an ear, And a comical ditty you are about to hear, It's of a grand wedding I state for a fact, It happened last Tuesday in Kishimaguac. O Napan's been ransacked for cowhides and skins, Sleighs and sleigh harness and other fine things, Buffalo coats being borrowed themselves to protect, They proceed on their journey to Kishimaugac. (5 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi046
Partial text(s)
From Geoffrey Grigson, The Penguin Book of Ballads, # 85, pp. 279-282. Derived from Robert Graves, English and Scottish Ballads. At Wednesbury there was a cokcing, A match between Newton and Scroggins; The colliers and nailers left work, And all to old Spittle's went jogging. To see this noble sport, Many noblemen resorted; And though they'd but little money, Yet that little they freely sported. (12 additional stanzas)
File: PBB085
Complete text(s)
The Wee Wifukie From Robert Ford, Vagabond Songs and Ballads of Scotland (1904 edition), pp. 23-26. Apparently a collated version, though Ford does not list his sources. There was a wee bit wifukie was comin' frae the fair, Had got a wee bit drappukie, that bred her meikle care; It gaed about the wifie's heart, and she began to spew, Oh! quo the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou. I wish I binna fou, quo she, I wish I binna fou. Oh! quo' the wee wifukie, I wish I binna fou. If Johnnie find me barley-sick, I'm sure he'll claw my skin; But I'll lie down an' tak' a nap before that I gae in. Sitting at the dyke-side, and takin' o her nap, By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack. Wi' a little pack, quo' she, wi' a little pack, By came a packman laddie wi' a little pack. He's clippit a' her gowden locks saw bonnie and sae lang; He's ta'en her purse and a' her placks, and fast awa' he ran; And when the wifie waken'd up her head was like a bee, Oh! quo' the wee wifukie, this is nae me. This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. When I was bonnie Bessukie, my locks were like the gowd, And I look'd like ony lassukie, sic times as they were cowed. And Johnnie was aye tellin' me I was richt fair to see; But somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. I met we' kindly company, and birl'd my bawbee! And still, if this be Bessukie, three placks remain we' me, But I will look the pursie nooks, see gin the cunyie be: -- There's neither purse nor plack about me! -- this is nae me. This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. I have a little housukie, but, and a kindly man; A dog, they ca' him Doussiekie; if this be me he'll fawn; And Johnnie, he'll come to the door, and kindly welcome gi'e, And a' the the (sic.) bairns on the floor will dance if this be me. But this is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. The nicht was late and dang out weet, and oh but it was dark; The doggie heard a body's foot, and he began to bark. And when she heard the doggie bark, and kennin' it was he, Oh, weel ken ye, Doussie, quo' she, this is nae me. This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. When Johnnie heard his Bessie's word, fast to the door he ran: Is that you, Bessukie? -- Wow, na, man! Be kind to the bairns a', and weel may ye be; And fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me! This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. John ran to the minister, his hair stood a' on end, I've gotten sic a fright, sir, I fear I'll never mend; My wife's come hame without a head, crying out most piteously, Oh, fareweel, Johnnie, quo' she, this is nae me! This is nae me, quo' she, this is nae me, Somebody has been felling me, and this is nae me. The tale you tell, the parson said, is wonderful to me. How that a wife, without a head could speak, or hear, or see! But things that happen hereabout so strangely alter'd be, That I could maist wi' Bessie say, 'tis neither you nor me. Neither you nor she, quo' he, neither you nor she, Wow na, Johnnie man, 'tis neither you nor she. Now Johnnie he cam' hame again, and oh! but he was fain To see his little Bessukie come to hersel' again. He got her sitting on a stool, wi' Tibbuk on her knee; Oh! come awa', Johnnie, quo' she, come awa' wi' me, For I've got a nap wi' Tibbuckie, and this is now me. This is now me, quo' she, this is now me. I've got a nap wi' Tibbuckie, and this is now me.
File: HHH714
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 198-199. Apparently from Mrs. E. W. White of Westminster Station, Vermont. We've got a little railroad And it isn't very wide. We put in twenty thousand And quite a lot beside. They took all our money -- It was something of a chunk; It is being run now By the old Grand Trunk. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FlBr198
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 393-394. Said to be from the MS. of Mr. Holmes of Craven. The first that enters on the floor, His name is Captain Brown; I think he is as smart a youth As any in this town: In courting of the ladies gay, He fixes his delight; He will not stay from them all day, And is with them all the night. (6 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo393
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders & George Brown, Vermont Folk-Songs & Ballads, pp. 185-186. Collected from Mrs. George Tatro, Springfield, Vermont, November 12, 1930. I went to the barn To see the old hen Go cluckity scratch With her chickens ten. She clucked and she scratched And she brustled away Now what do you think That I heard the hen say? (7 additional stanzas)
File: RcWTOHS
Partial text(s)
From Peter J. Seng, _Tudor Songs and Ballads from MS Cotton Vespasian A-25_, Harvard University Press, 1978, #17, pp. 32-33. Derived from folios 154-155 of London, British Library MS. Cotton Vespasian A.xxv (67), folio 137. Where gripinge greues the hart wold wound & dolefull dumpes the mynde oppresse ther musicke with her silver sounde with spede ys wonte to sende Redress of trobled mynds for every soore swete musike haithe A salve in store (3 additional stanzas) The above would modernize as Where grasping griefs the heart would wound, And doleful dumps the mind oppreess, There music with her silver sound With speed is wont to send redress Of troubled minds for every sore Sweet music has a salve in store.
File: PJSwgghw
Complete text(s)
Going to See My Gal From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 158. As remembered by Fuson himself. When I git on my brand-new suit, Boots to my knees, Go to see my lovely gal, And kiss her when I please.
File: Fus158A
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #104, p. 389. From the recitation of Celia Kelder (who had not heard it sung), August 23, 1957. When I leave this earthly shore And mosey 'round this world no more, Don't weep, don't sob; I may have got a better job. And if you have roses, bless your soul, Just pin one in my buttonhole While I'm alive and well, today; Don't wait until I go away. (Stanzas 1, 4 of 4)
File: FSC104
Partial text(s)
The Begging Song
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 212.
"From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses."
When I set out for glory, I left this world behind,
Determined for a city that's hard to find,
And to begging I will go.
Chorus
And to begging I will go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go, I'll go,
And to begging I will go.
(4 additional stanzas)
File: Fus212
Complete text(s)
As sung by Angelo Dornan, Elgin, N. B., for Helen Creighton in 1954. The transcription is from Creighton's Maritime Folk Songs album. When I Wake in the Morning When I wake in the morning I go to my window I take a long look o'er the place that I know I'm surrounded by sorrow, will I never see tomorrow? O Jimmie, lovely Jimmie, if you knew what I know. When the boys come to court they all swear they love me But I like a hero I do them disdain My love's gone and left me, no other man will get me And I never will marry till he comes back again.
File: CrMa091
Partial text(s)
From Helen Creighton, Songs and Ballads from Nova Scotia, #50, pp. 101-102. "Sung by Mr. Enos Hartlan, of South-East Passage." When I was a young man I took delight in love, I gave my heart unto a girl Who did inconstant prove. She promised for to be My own true love, Which makes me sigh and say, But now I find she has changed her mind To a quite contrary way. (4 additional stanzas)
File: CrNS050
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #71, p. 311865. From Mrs. Galen W. Summer, Canton, Ohio. When I was single I lived gaily. Cold and winter nights alone; I courted a girl I loved dearly, She always told me her heart was mine. She sat me down to rock the cradle, And then for water I must run; The women swear they will have pleasure, And the poor man's labor is never done.
File: E071
Complete text(s)
Don't Never Trust a Sailor From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume IV, pp. 328-329. Collected from George E. Hastings of Fayetteville, Arkansas, December 7, 1941. Once I loved a sailor as dear as my life, Oft-times he promised for to make me his wife. But now he is sick for another one you see, So he got me with child and he turned his back on me. My parents they chastised me because I done so, And now I am despised by the other girls I know, My father and my mother they turned me from their door, So now I go a-begging because I am poor. Come all you pretty maidens wherever you may be, Don't never trust a sailor an inch above your knee, They'll kiss you and court you and swear they will be true, Then get sick for another and bid you adieu.
File: EM075
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1863 by Henry Tolman & Co.
Title page inscribed
To the
Army & Navy
OF THE UINON. <-- (sic)
When Johnny comes marching home
Music introduced in the Soldier's Return March.
by
GILMORE'S BAND
WORDS & MUSIC BY
LOUIS LAMBERT
Solo Chorus
1. When Johnny comes marching home again, Hurrah, Hurrah,
We'll give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah, Hurrah,
The men will cheer, the boys will shout,
The ladies, they will all turn out, And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.
2. The old church bell will peal with joy, Hurrah, Hurrah,
To welcome home our darling boy, Hurrah, Hurrah,
The village lads and lassies say,
With roses they will strew the way, And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.
3. Get ready for the Jubilee, Hurrah, Hurrah,
We'll give the hero three times three, Hurrah, Hurrah,
The laurel wreath is ready now,
To place upon his loyal brow, And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.
4. Let love and friendship on that day, Hurrah, Hurrah,
Their choicest treasures then display, Hurrah, Hurrah,
And let each one perform some part,
To fill with joy the warriors heart, And we'll all feel gay,
When Johnny comes marching home.
File: RJ19233
Partial text(s)
Death-Bed Song From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 217-218 "From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses." While sorrows encompass me round, And endless distresses I see, Astonished, I cry, "Can a mortal be found That's surrounded with troubles like me!" Few hours of peace I enjoy, And these are succeeded by pain; If a moment of praising my God I employ, I have hours and days to complain. (7 additional stanzas)
File: Wa094
Complete text(s)
From John W. Work, American Negro Songs and Spirituals (1940), p. 94. Source not listed. [Chorus] When the train comes along, when the train comes along, I'll meet you at the station when the train comes along. When the train comes along, when the train comes along, I'll meet you at the station when the train comes along. Leader 1. I may be blind an' cannot see, But I'll meet you at the station when the train comes along. 2. I my be lame an' cannot walk, But I'll meet you at the station when the train comes along.
File: LSRai633
Complete text(s)
Weeping Sad and Lonely
From Irwin Silber, Soldier Songs and Home Front Ballads of the
Civil War, pp. 42-43.
1. Dearest love, do you remember,
When we last did meet,
How you told me that you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! how proud you stood before me
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country
Ever to be true.
Chorus:
Weeping sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain!
When this cruel war is over,
Praying that we meet again.
2. When the summer breeze is sighing
Mournfully along;
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song,
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Calling, but in vain. (Chorus)
3. If, amid the din of battle,
Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you,
None to hear you call,
Who would whisper words of comfort,
Who would soothe your pain?
Ah! the many cruel fancies
Ever in my brain. (Chorus)
4. But our country called you, darling,
Angels cheer your way;
While our nation's sons are fighting,
We can only pray.
Nobly strike for God and liberty,
Let all nations see,
How we love the starry banner,
Emblem of the free. (Chorus)
I (RBW) learned this with a slightly different set of words.
Variants noted below.
1.4: Kneeling ] While kneeling
1.7: When you ] There you
Cho.4: Praying that ] Pray that
3.4: None to ] I think I've heard this as "Who would," though
it's not the version I learned.
3.6: soothe ] ease
4.3: Whole line ] While you fight for me and country
(Confederate version)
From [H. M. Wharton], War Songs and Poems of the Southern Confederacy,
pp. 377-378.
Dearest one, do you remember
When we last did meet;
When you told me how you loved me,
Kneeling at my feet?
Oh! how proud you stood before me
In your suit of gray,
When you vowed to me and country
Ne'er to go astray.
CHORUS:
Weeping sad and lonely,
Sighs and tears how vain,
When this cruel war is over,
Pray that we meet again.
When the summer breeze is sighing
Mournfully along,
Or when autumn leaves are falling,
Sadly breathes the song.
Oft in dreams I see thee lying
On the battle plain,
Lonely, wounded, even dying,
Calling, but in vain. -- Chorus
If amid the din of battle
Nobly you should fall,
Far away from those who love you --
None to hear you call --
Who would whisper words of comfort?
Who would soothe your pain?
Ah, the many cruel fancies
Ever in my brain! -- Chorus
But our country called you, loved one --
Angels guide your way;
While our "Southern Boys" are fighting,
We can only pray.
When you strike for God and freedom,
Let all nations see
How you love our Southern banner --
Emblem of the free. -- Chorus
File: SCW42
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1866 by J A Butterfield.
Title page inscribed
Inscribed to Mrs. S. L. Atwell
--
When You and I were
Young, Maggie;
SONG AND CHORUS
WORDS BY
GEORGE W. JOHNSON,
MUSIC BY
J. A. BUTTERFIELD
1. I wandered today to the hill, Maggie,
To watch the scene below;
The creek and the creaking old mill, Maggie,
As we used to long, long ago.
The green grove is gone from the hill, Maggie,
Where first the daisies sprung;
The creaking old mill is still, Maggie,
Since you and I were young.
CHORUS.
And now we are aged and gray, Maggie,
And the trials of life nearly done;
Let us sing of the days that are gone, Maggie,
When you and I were young.
2. A city so silent and lone, Maggie,
Where the young and the gay and the best,
In polished white mansions of stone, Maggie,
Have each found a place of rest,
Is built where the birds used to play, Maggie,
And join in the songs that were sung:
For we sang as gay as they, Maggie,
When you and I were young.
3. They say I am feeble with age, Maggie,
My steps are less sprightly than then,
My face is a well-written page, Maggie,
But time alone was the pen.
They say we are aged and gray, Maggie,
As sprays by the white breakers flung;
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie,
When you and I were young.
File: RJ19237
Complete text(s)
From Sigmund Spaeth, Read 'Em and Weep (revised edition), pp. 137-138. Now how I came to get this hat 'tis very strange and funny: Grand father died and left to me his property and money. And when the will it was read out, they told me straight and flat, If I would have his money, I must always wear his hat! [chorus] Where did you get that hat? Where did you get that tile? Isn't it a nobby one, and just the proper style? I would like to have one just the same as that! Wherever I go, they shout, "Hello! Where did you get that hat?" If I go to the op'ra house in the op'ra season, There's someone sure to shout at me, without the slightest reason. If I go to a "chowder club," to have a jolly spree; There's someone in the party, who is sure to shout at me: [Chorus] At twenty-one I thought I would to my sweetheart be married, The people in the neighborhood had said too long we'd tarried. So off to church we went right quick, determined to be wed; I had not long been in there, when the parson to me said: [Chorus]
File: SRW137
Partial text(s)
Safe At Home in the Promised Land From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, p. 205. "From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses." Where now is good old Moses, Where now is good old Moses, Where now is good old Moses, Safe at home in the Promised Land. (5 additional stanzas)
From H. M. Belden, Ballads and Songs Collected by the Missouri Folk-Lore Society, 1955 edition, pp. 458-459. Supplied by G. C. Broadhead. Where, oh where are the good old patriarchs? Where, oh where are the good old patriarchs? Where, oh where are the good old patriarchs? Safely over in the promised land. By and by we will go and meet them, By and by we will go and meet them, By and by we will go and meet them, Way yonder in the promised land. (5 additional stanzas)
Where O Where is Old Elijah? From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 92-93. "[F]rom Lloyd Lewis, Free Quaker, and former and early resident of Pendleton, Indiana." Where O where is old Elijah? Where O where is old Elijah? Where O where is old Elijah? 'Way over in the promised land. He went up in a fiery chariot, He went up in a fiery chariot, He went up in a fiery chariot, 'Way over in the promised land. Refrain: By and by we will go and see him, By and by we will go and see him, By and by we will go and see him, 'Way over in the promised land. Where O where are the Hebrew children? Where O where are the Hebrew children? Where O where are the Hebrew children? 'Way over in the promised land. They went up in the fiery furnace, They went up in the fiery furnace, They went up in the fiery furnace, 'Way over in the promised land. (2 additional stanzas)
File: San092
Complete text(s)
Oh! Gin I Were Where Gaudie Rins
From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 347-348
Oh! gin I were where Gaudie rins, where Gaudie rins, where Gaudie rins,
Oh! gin I were where Gaudie rins, at the fit o' Bennachie;
Oh! I should ne'er come back again, come back again, come back again,
Oh! I should ne'er come back again, your Lowland lads to see.
I never had but twa right (sic) lads, but twa richt lads, but twa richt lads,
I never had but twa richt lads that dearly loved me.
The teen was killed in Lourin Fair, in Lourin Fair, in Lourin Fair,
The teen was killed in Lourin Fair, and the tither drowned in Dee.
Had they gien my lovie man for man, man for man, man for man,
Had they gien my lovie man for man, or yet a man for three,
He wudna have lien so low th' day, so low th' day, so low th' day,
He wudna have lien so low th' day at the foot o' yon arn tree.
But they crooded in so thick on him, so thick on him, so thick on him,
They crooded in so thick on him he cudna fecht nor flee;
And wisna that a dowie day, a dowie day, a dowie day,
And wisna that a dowie day, a dowie day for me?
The Dee was flowin' frae bank tae bank, frae bank tae bank,
frae bank tae bank,
The Dee was flowin' frae bank tae bank when my lovie dreed his dree --
And wisna that a dowie day, a dowie day, a dowie day,
And wisna that a dowie day, a dowie day for me?
He bought for me a braw new goon, a braw new goon, a braw new goon,
He bought for me a braw new goon and ribbons to busk it we'!
And I bought him the linen fine, the linen fine, the linen fine,
And I bought for him the linen fine, his winding sheet to be.
And now this twice I've been a bride, I've been a bride, I've been a bride,
And now this twice I've been a bride, but a wife I'll never be.
Oh! gin I were where Gaudie rins, where Gaudie rins, where Gaudie rins,
Oh! gin I were where Gaudie rins, at the fit o' Bennachie.
File: Ord347
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #88, pp. 222-223. From the singing of Buna Vista Presnell Hicks, Beech Mountain, North Carolina, 1974. I want to see my mother sometime, sometime, I want to see my mother sometime, Where the flowers will bloom forever, And the sun don't never go down. Chorus: Where the sun don't never go down, go down, Where the sun don't never go down, Where the flowers will bloom forever, And the sun don't never go down. (4 additional stanzas)
File: Wa088
Complete text(s)
My Name is Donald Blue From John Ord, Ord's Bothy Songs and Ballads, pp. 52-53. My name is Donald Blue, an' ye ken me fu' weel, Straik me canny by the hair, I'm a quiet, simple ohiel; But gin ye rouse the bear, I'm as rouche as the deil, Gin I get a claucht o' yer noddle. But I'll tell ye o' a trick, man, that happened in the South; A smith got a wife, an' she had an unco drouth; She likes it sae weel, put sae muckle in her mouth, She was aften helpet hame in the mornin'. So it happen'd ae day, the smith he was thrang, They brocht a wife till him -- a wife that couldna gang; He took her on his back, an' up the stair he ran, An' flang her on the bed wi' a fury. He lockit the door, brocht the key in his han', And cam' doon the stairs, cryin', "Oh, bewitched man! This conduct o' her's I'm no' fit to stan'; I'll enlist for a sodger in the mornin'." He fell to his work -- he was shoein' a horse; They cried, "Tak' in your wife, smith, she's lyin at the cross," He lifted up his hammer, and he strack wi' siccan force, He knockit doon the studdy in his fury. "The deil's in the folk. What do they mean ava? Gin I've ae drucken wife, L'od, I'm no' needin' twa." But they cried a' the louder -- " Tak her in frae the snaw. Or surely she will perish ere the mornin'." So the smith he gaed oot, an' viewed her a' roun', "By my sooth! an' it's her; but hoo did she win doon?" He hoisted her awa' on his back up to the room, Whaur the ither wife was lyin' soondly snorin'. The smith, to his surprise, couldna tell which was his, Frae the tap to the tae they were dressed in a piece, An' sae closely they resembled each ither in the face, He couldna tell which was his Jeanie. "Deil ma' care!" says the smith; "let them baith lie still, When ance she's sober she'll surely ken hersel'." Noo frae that day to this Jeanie never buys a gill, Nor will she wet her mou' in the mornin'.
File: HHH835
Partial text(s)
Chorus as learned by Sue Allan of Wigmore, England. She reports, that she recovered it from her "notebook where I wrote little local and family rhymes, songs and sayings... c.1973-1974, when my grandmothers [the likely sources] were both still alive.... [T]he rhyme [is] very similar to the sheet music. The tune is more hazy in my memory, but certainly the go to sleep my babies line In the sheet music is as I remember it." Wisht, wisht, wisht, here comes the bogeyman, Go to sleep my babies, Tom, Nell and Anne. Wisht, wisht, wisht, he ll catch you if he can, Go to sleep my babies, here comes the bogeyman. [The original runs, Oh, whist, whist, whist, Here comes the bogie man! Now go to bed, your (sic.) baby, You Tommy, Nell, and Dan, Oh, whist, whist, whist, He'll catch ye, if he can, And all the popseys, wopsey wop, Run from the bogeyman.
File: HaBrWtBM
Partial text(s)
From Vance Randolph, Ozark Folksongs, Volume I, #109B, p. 411. Collected from May Kennedy McCord, July 12, 1936. Whistle, daughter, whistle, and you shall have a cow, I cannot whistle, mother, you never showed me how. Whistle, daughter, whistle, and you shall have a sheep. I cannot whistle, mother, and neither can I sleep. (8 additional stanzas)
File: R109
Complete text(s)
From James Johnson, "The Scots Musical Museum," Volume III, #272, p. 281. As found in the 1853 edition (punctuation is somewhat uncertain, given the state of the facsimile). My love was born in Aberdeen, The boniest lad that e'er was seen, But now he makes our hearts fu' sad, He takes the field wi' his White Cockade. Oh, he's a ranting, roving lad, He is a brisk an' a bonny lad, Betide what may, I will be wed, And follow the boy wi' the White Cockade. I'll sell my rock, my reel, my tow, My gude gray mare and hawkit cow; To buy myself a tartan plaid, To follow the boy wi' the White Cockade.
File: R120
Partial text(s)
From Edith Fulton Fowke, editor, and Richard Johnston, music editor, Folk Songs of Canada (first edition), pp. 32-33. Seemingly the version collected by Peacock from Philip Foley of Fogo in 1952. Let me go to my home in the far distant west, To the scenes of my childhood that I loved the best, Where the tall cedars wave and the bright waters flow; To my home in the forest, white man, let me go. (5 additional stanzas)
File: FJ032
Complete text(s)
As printed in Douglas Gilbert on pp. 144-145 of Lost Chords.
Sail home as straight as an arrow;
My yacht shoots along on the crest of the sea.
Sail home to sweet Maggie Darrow;
In her little white cot she is waiting for me.
High up where the cliffs they are craggy --
That's where the girl of my heart waits for me.
Hi ho, I long for you Maggie,
I'll spread out my white wings
And sail home to thee.
Yo ho, how we go, Oh, how the winds blow.
Chorus: White wings they never grow weary.
They carry me cheerily over the sea.
Night comes -- I long for my dearie.
I'll spread out my white wings
And sail home to thee.
File: R779
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 458-459. Source not clearly indicated.
How pleasant a sailor's life passes,
Who roams o'er the watery main!
No treasure he ever amasses,
But cheerfully spends all his gain.
We're strangers to party and faction,
To honour and honesty true;
And would not commit a band action
For power or profit in view.
Then why should we quarrel for riches,
Or any such glittering toys;
A light heart, and a thin pair of breeches,
Will go through the world, my brave boys.
(2 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo458
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 138-139. "Copy furnished by Prof. Leon Denny Moses." My sister, hear and I will relate The troubles I have seen, What sorrows I have seen of late Which are the fruit of sin. My father laid his chastening rod, The stroke has not been light; But sure he has been a faithful God, A judge that will do right. I had a loving daughter dear, Most precious to my sight; Alas, the stroke it was severe Which took my heart's delight. There I shall join and praise with him, And tell my troubles here, How much I heard and felt and seen Since he has landed there. (Stanzas 1, 2, 3, 12 of 12.)
File: Fus138
Partial text(s)
From Emelyn Elizabeth Gardner and Geraldine Jencks Chickering, Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan, pp. 355-356. Reprinted from the April 29, 1934 Detroit News. I strolled into a courtroom not many miles from here; A lad stood in the prisoner's box, his mother she stood near. The lad was quite a youngster, but he had gone astray, And from the master's cash box had stole some coins away. (7 additional stanzas)
File: GC146
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #47, pp. 185-186. From the singing probable author Jared MacLean of Strathadam in 1948. Come all you young men of the Murrymashee, And sit by my side and listen to me, And I'll tell you a story, and I'll make it rhyme, About that big wild cat back on the pipe line. The first one that saw, (sic.) it, Norman Matchett by name, He said 'twas a monkey, and that it was tame, It had a long tail and whiskers to match, And clawed like a wild cat all ready to scratch. (3 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi047
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs of the Catskills, #112(A), pp. 421-422. From the singing of George Edwards. When I first came to this country, I had brogues on my feet, I'd on corduroy britches, although they looked neat; The girls would laugh at me, which gave me great joy; They called me their hero, their wild Irish boy. (4 additional stanzas)
File: FSC112
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From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #95, pp. 235-236. From the singing of Homer Cornett, Beech Mountain, North Carolina, 1959. On the wild stormy deep With Jesus I'll sleep, And hold to His loving hand. In a home above I'll be there with God, And rejoice in a happy land. Chorus: My soul was sad, My heard was sore, Out on this stormy sea. I spoke to God In humble ways, And there He appeared to me. (2 additional stanzas)
File: Wa095
Partial text(s)
From Norman Cazden, Herbert Haufrecht, Norman Studer, Folk Songs
of the Catskills, #88, pp. 331-332. From the singing of Etson Van Wagner.
Where is the girl that will go out west with me?
We'll live in some desired place, and happy we will be,
We'll have a little cabin, the ground for a floor,
A distance for the window and a plank for the door.
Refrain:
So will you go out west, will you go out west.
Will you go out west with me?
Will you go out west, will you go out west?
Oh, say, will you go out west with me?
(1 additional stanza)
File: FSC088
Complete text(s)
Reily's Jailed As printed in Huntington, Songs the Whalemen Sang, pp. 224-225. A very abbreviated version (but with most of the more recognizable lyrics) from the journal of the ship Sharon, sailing from New Bedford in 1845. Come rise up William Reily and come along with me I mean for to go with you and leave this country I'll forsake my father's dwellings his houses and rich land And go along with you my love my dear Colleen Bawn Over lofty hills and mountains along the lonesome dales Through shady groves and fountains rich meadows and sweet vales We climbed the rugged woods and sped on the silent lawn But I was overtaken with my dear Colleen Bawn They hurried me to prison and my hands and feet they bound Confined me like a murderer with chains unto the ground But this cruel hard treatment most cheerfully I'll stand Ten thousand deaths I'd suffer for my dearest Colleen Bawn
File: LM10
Complete text(s)
As recorded by Burnett & Rutherford, Columbia 15314-D,
November 3, 1927. Some words are unclear; possible
alternatives are noted.
Willie Moore was a king, his age twenty-one;
He courted a damsel fair.
O, her eyes were as bright as the diamonds of the night
And wavy black was her hair.
He courted her both night and day,
Till to marry[1] they did agree;
But when he came to get her parents' consent,
They said it could never be.
She threw herself in Willie Moore's arms,
As oftime had done before,
But little did he think when they parted that night,
Sweet Anna[2] he would see no more.
It was about the tenth of May,
The time I remember well;
That very same night her body disappeared
In a way no tongue could tell.
Sweet Anna[3] was loved both far and near,
Had friends most all around,
And in a little brook before the cottage door
The body of sweet Anna was found.
She was taken by her weeping friends
And carried to her parents' room,
And there she was dressed in a gown of[4] snowy white,
And laid in a lonely tomb.
Her parents now were left all alone,
One mourn and the other one weeps;
And in a grassy mound before the cottage door
The body of sweet Anna still sleeps.
This song was composed in the flowery West
By a man you may never have seen;
Oh, I tell you his name, but it is not in full,
His initials are J. R. G.[5]
[1] to marry: recording appears to have "on marry" ("on marriage"?)
[2] Anna: In this instance, sounds like "Ellen"
[3] Anna: In this instance, sounds like "Sally"
[4] a gown of: or "the snowy"
[5] J. R. G.: Or "J. R. D."
File: R796
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #101, pp. 308-310. From the singing of Mrs. Earle J. Dickson, Centre Napan, in 1961. Willie was as fine a sailor As ever spliced a rope, And Mary was his own true love, His only pride and hope, And as they walked they often talked Of joining wedlock banns, But Willie's ship, it was commissioned To sail for a foreign land. (8 additional stanzas)
File: MaWi101
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, p. 107. Reprinted from George Allan England's Vikings of the Ice (1924), republished 1969 as The Greatest Hunt in the World. "De home of his childhood, in Nothren Bay, He quit it for pleasure, much more 'an for pay. On de icefields he ventured, most yout'ful an' brave, Whereon he fought death, but his life could not save. (6 additional stanzas)
File: Doy80
Complete text(s)
The Wind From Alice B. Gomme, The Traditional Games of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Volume II, p. 387. Supplied by Miss Matthews and found in the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. The wind, the wind, the wind blows high, The rain comes pouring from the sky; Miss So-and-so says she'll die For the sake of the old man's eye. She is handsome, she is pretty, She is the lass of the golden city; She goes courting one, two, three, Please to tell me who they be. A. B. says he loves her, All the boys are fighting for her, Let the boys say what they will A. B. has got her still.
File: RcRRtWDB
Partial text(s)
From Louise Manny and James Reginald Wilson, Songs of Miramichi, #48, pp. 187-190. From the singing of Nicolas Underhill of Nor'west Bridge in 1961. On the ninth day of October, In the year of nineteen-four, The day I left old Indiantown, As I ofttimes did before. I did not like the country, And I did not love their ways, For to spend the winter on Renous With the sons of Morgan Hayes. (11 additional stanzas plus a half stanza)
File: MaWi048
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From Fred High, Old, Old Folk Songs, p. 9. See the woman at the well Disputing her With her Savior Soon she found that he could tell Her of all her past-behavor When she asked and when she got a Drink . her Hear was aflaming She for-got her water pot (5 additional lines as presented. Printed using High's orthography and punctuation.)
File: High009B
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From John Ashton, A Century of Ballads, Elliot Stock, London, 1887 (reprinted 1968 by Singing Tree Press), pp. 20-23. Said to have been printed by John Andrews "at the White Lion in Pye Corner." As I was wandring on the way, I heard a married Woman say, That she had lived a sollid life, Ever since the time she was made a wife. For why (quoth she) my Labor is hard, And all my pleasures are debarr'd; Both Morning, Evening, Night and Noon, I'm sure a Woman's work is never done. And now (quoth she) I will relate The manner of my Woful Fate; And how myself I do bestow, As all my neighbours well do know; And therein all that will it hear, Unto my song I pray a while give ear; I'le make it plainly to appear right soon, I'm sure a Woman's work is never done. (10 additional stanzas)
File: AsCB020
Complete text(s)
(Probably should be entitled "The Skunk's Hole.") From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 66, August 31, 2021, as posted by user descartes2. Oh, I stuck my head in a little skunk's hole; and the little skunk said; well bless my soul; take it out, take it out, take it out, take it out; r e m o v e i t well I didn't take out; and the little skunk said; if you don't take it out; you will wish you were dead; take it out, take it out, take it out, take it out; r e m o v e i t ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss; I r e m o v e d i t; too late! User John5918 responded with this summary of another version: I know that one as the woodpecker's hole, with several more verses - remove it, replace it, revolve it, return it, rotate it, reverse it, reciprocate it, etc, and the last verse you smell your finger, "revolting".
File: EM226
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 52, August 31, 2021, as posted by user 2wonderY. Don't ever laugh as a Hearse goes by For you may be the next to die They wrap you up in a big white sheet From your head down to your feet They put you in a big black box And cover you up with dirt and rocks And all goes well for about a week And then your coffin begins to leak And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out The worms play pinochle on your snout They eat your eyes, they eat your noes They eat the jelly between your toes A big green worm with rolling eyes Crawls in your stomach and out your eyes Your stomach turns a slimy green And puss comes out like whipping cream You spread it on a slice of bread And that's what you eat when your dead And the worms crawl out and the worms crawl in The worms that crawl in are lean and thin The ones that crawl out are fat and stout Your eyes fall in and your hair falls out Your brain comes tumbling down your snout And the worms crawl in, the worms crawl out They crawl all over your dirty snout Your chest caves in and your eyes pop out And your brain turns to sauerkraut They invite their friends, and their friends too They all come down to chew on you And this is what it is to die I hope you had a nice goodbye Did you ever think as a Hearse goes by That you may be the next to die And your eyes fall out and your teeth decay And that is the end of a perfect... day.
File: San444
Partial text(s)
From LibraryThingCampSongsThread, post 78, September 19, 2021, as posted by user John5918. "Wot Cher!", all the neighbours cried Who yer gonna meet, Bill Have yer bought the street, Bill? Laugh! I thought I should've died Knocked em in the Old Kent Road...
File: JoMS160
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From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 114-115. They called for a train crew at Paintsville, On a night that was rainy and drear, And the men started out at the summons With no thought of danger so near. (8 additional stanzas)
File: ThBa114
Complete text(s)
On Lac San Pierre From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy (1926), pp. 93-94. From A. C. Hannah of Bemidji, Minnesota. Fragmentary text, but it preserves the original dialect better than some. Von night on the Lac San Pierre The vind she blow, blow, blow; The vind she blow from the nor', sout', eas', She blow our crib from the shore.... ... ... Our raf' she struck on a great beeg rock In the big Lachine canawl. Come all ye jolly raf'smen, I tell you von good plan. You marry von good French voman An' leev on von good farm. For the vind she may blow from the nor', sout', eas', Bime by she be blow some more; But you never git drown in the Lac San Pierre So long's you stay on the shore.
The Wreck of the "Julie Plante"
A Legend of Lac-St. Pierre
The presumed original, from William Henry Drummond, M.D.,
The Habitant and other French Canadian Poems, Putnam,
1897, pp. 8-10. Note the curious inconsistencies in
punctuation (e.g. stanza 1, lines 5-7, and the equivalent
lines in stanza five).
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
De win' she blow, blow, blow,
An' de crew of de wood scow "Julie Plante"
Got scar't an' run below --
For de win' she blow lak hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more,
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre
Went arpent from de shore.
De captinne walk on de fronte deck
An' walk de hin' deck too --
He call de crew from up de hole
He call de cook also.
De cook she's name was Rosie,
She came from Montreal,
Was chambre maid on lumber barge,
On de Grande Lachine Canal.
De win' she blow from nor'eas'-wes',--
De sout' win' she blow too,
W'en Rosie cry, "Mon cher captinne,
Mon cher, w'at I shall do?"
Den de Captinne t'row de big ankerre,
But still the scow she dreef,
Do cre he can't pass on de shore,
Becos' he los' hees skeef.
De night was dark lak' wan black cat,
De wave run high an' fas',
W'en de cpatinne tak' de Risie girl
An' tie her to de mas',
Den he also tak' de life preserve,
An' jomp off on de lak',
An' say, "Good-by, ma Rosie dear,
I go drown for your sak."
Nex' morning very early
'Bout ha'f-pas' two -- t'ree -- four --
De captinne -- scow -- an' de poor Rosie
Was corpses on de shore,
For de win' she blow lak' hurricane
Bimeby she blow some more,
An' de scow bus' up on Lac St. Pierre,
Went arpent from de shore.
MORAL
Now all good wood scow sailor man
Tak' warning by dat storm
An' go an' marry some nice French girl
An' leev on wan beeg farm.
De win' can blow lak' hirricane
An' s'pose she blow some more,
You cant' get drown on Lac St. Pierre
So long you stay on shore.
File: FJ174
Partial text(s)
As printed in Ryan & Small, Haulin' Rope & Gaff, pp. 42-43. Reprinted from Leach, Folk Ballads and Songs of the Lower Labrador Coast. Sung by Abram Roberts. The scene that followed -- O God is branded on my brain, And rather would I join the drowned than witness it again. The cries of sweethearts pierced the air in a desp'rate fight for life, When a brother saw a brother sink and a husband saw his wife. At ten forenoon November five the Maggie sailed away From her happy home near Brooklyn in Bonavista Bay. Light winds did waft her on her course; light hearted was her crew; And Friday off the Narrows the city came in view. (Stanzas 1-4 of 11 -- or, properly, 1 and 2 of 5-1/2; the lyrics are printed in half-stanzas of two long lines even though the tune extends over four long lines)
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: LLab080
Complete text(s)
From the Frank C. Brown collection, Volume II, #219, pp. 522-523. Collected from Mary Canada, Durham, March 1941. 1. At four o'clock one evening On a warm September day A great and mighty airship From Lakehurst flew away. 2. The mighty Shenandoah, The pride of all this land, Her crew was of the bravest, Captain Lansdowne in command. 3. At four o'clock next morning, The earth was far below When a storm with all its fury Gave her a fatal blow. 4. Her side was torn asunder, Her cabin was torn down. The captian and his brave men Went crashing to the ground. 5. And fourteen lives were taken. But they've not died in vain. Their names will live forever Within the hall of fame. 6. In the little town of Greenville A mother's watchful eye Was waiting for the airship, To see her son go by. 7. Alas! Her son lay sleeping; His last great flight was o'er. He's gone to meet his maker; His ship will fly no more.
File: BrII219
Partial text(s)
From Jean Thomas, Ballad Makin', p. 112-113. It was on one July morning About eight o'clock they say, When Thirty-Six left Ashland And thundered on her way. McDonney at the throttle A man both tried and true And Bubby Cheap, his fireman, And a faithful engine crew. (4 additional stanzas, with stanza 2 having 12 lines instead of 8.)
File: ThBa112
Complete text(s)
From Mary O. Eddy, Ballads and Songs from Ohio, #117, pp. 264-265.
From Eunice Lea Ketterling, Ashland, Ohio.
1. Adieu to the graves where my fathers now rest!
For I must be going afar to the West;
I've sold my possessions, my heart's filled with wore,
To think I must leave them. Alas! I must go.
2. Farewell, ye tall oaks, in whose pleasant green shade
In childhood I rambled, in innocence played;
My dog and my hatchet, my arrows and bow,
Are still in remembrance. Alas! I must go.
3. Adieu, ye loved scenes which bind me like chains,
Where on my gay pony I chased o'er the plains;
The deer and the turkey I tracked in the snow,
But now I must leave them. Alas! I must go.
4. Adieu to the trails which for many a year
I have traveled to spy out the turkey and deer;
The hills, trees, and flowers that pleased me so
I must leave now forever. Alas! I must go.
5. Sandusky, Tymocktee, and Brockensword streams
Nevermore shall I see you except in my dreams;
Adieu to the marshes where the cranberries grow,
O'er the great Mississippi. Alas! I must go.
6. Adieu to the road which for many a year
I travelled each Sabbath the Gospel to hear;
The news was so joyful and pleased me so,
From hence where I heard it it grieves me to go.
7. Farewell, my white friends, who first taught me to pray
And worship my Maker and Saviour each day;
Pray for the poor native whose eyes overflow
With tears at our parting. Alas! I must go.
File: E117
Partial text(s)
From Franz Rickaby, Ballads and Songs of the Shanty-Boy
(1926), #12, pp. 62-64. From the author, W. N. Allen
("Shan T. Boy") of Wausau, Wisconsin.
'Twas on a cold and frosty morning
When the sunshine was adorning
The boughs of ev'ry lofty pine,
Making them in radiance shine.
Through the forest lone I wandered
Where a little brook meandered,
Gutgling o'er the rocks below,
Wading deep through ice and snow.
(17 additional stanzas)
File: Rick062
Complete text(s)
From sheet music published 1886 by Wm. A. Pond & Co., probably
derived from the 1858 edition published by the same company and
by Charles H. Brown. Title page inscribed
THE
YELLOW ROSE OF TEXAS
SONG & CHORUS
COMPOSED AND ARRANGED EXPRESSLY FOR
CHARLES H. BROWN
by
J.K.
There's a yellow rose in Texas that I am going to see,
No other darkey knows her, no darkey only me;
She cried so when I left her, it like to broke my heart,
And if I ever find her we never more will part.
CHORUS.
She's the sweetest rose of color this darkey ever knew,
Her eyes are bright as diamonds, they sparkle like the dew,
You may talk about your Dearest May, and sing of Rosa Lee,
But the yellow rose of Texas beats the belles of Tennessee.
2d. Verse
Where the Rio Grande is flowing, and the starry skies are bright,
She walks along the river in the quiet summer night;
She thinks if I remember, when we parted long ago,
I promis'd to come back again, and not to leave her so.
3d verse.
Oh! now I'm going to find her, for my heart is full of woe,
And we'll sing the song together, that we sung so long ago;
We'll play the banjo gaily, and we'll sing the songs of yore,
And the yellow rose of Texas shall be mine for evermore.
File: RJ19253
Partial text(s)
From Robert Bell, Editor, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, combined edition which incorporates this with Early Ballads Illustrative of History, Traditions, and Customs, 1877, pp. 429-430. Source not indicated. Bane to Claapam town-gate lived an oud Yorkshire tike, Who i' dealing i' horseflesh hed ne'er met his like; 'Twor his pride that i' aw the hard bargains he'd hit, He'd bit a girt monny, but nivver bin bit. This oud Tommy Towers (bi that naam he wor knaan), Hed an oud carrion tit that wor sheer skin an' baan; Ta hev killed him for t' curs wad hev bin quite as well, But 'twor Tommy opinion he'd dee on himsel! (6 additional stanzas)
File: BeCo429
Partial text(s)
From Anne Warner, Traditional American Folk Songs from the Anne & Frank Warner Collection, #172, p. 390. From the singing of Sue Thomas of North Carolina, 1941. Though the path you tread may seem so dark and dreary, Burdened with care, no light anywhere; 'Neath your heavy load you may become so weary, But He will come and answer prayer. Chorus You can't hurry God, why don't you wait brother? Just obey the word that you have heard. Keep on calling Him, for in some day or 'nother, He will come and answer prayer. (3 additional stanzas)
File: Wa172
Complete text(s)
From the recording by Robert Cinnamond (IRRCinnamond01: "Songs of Comment" FOLKTRAX-157). Transcribed and with notes by John Moulden; quoted with his permission. - BS Oh you Ribbonmen of Ireland Long may you reign May you roll in joy and splendour Till you raise your flag again. We were going down by Segimore Looking for some fun Sure that was the very night We took the Orange drum. Oh you Ribbon boys of Ireland Long may you reign May you roll in joy and splendour Till you raise your flag again. She hates our religion And our ways very much And she gives her curse to any man And turns and goes to church. [As Lew Becker suggests, this would make more sense as 'That'.] [Seggy Moor is what he sings but the Index to Town and Townlands of the 1871 Census of Ireland has no similar name. However, since a friend of mine has 120 names, describing some forty distinct locations within a single townland, the absence of a name from even such a relatively detailed official record is not a demonstration of its non-existence. Many of these songs are strictly local and the names uniquely mentioned.]
File: RcYRiMoI
Partial text(s)
Young Kitty Lee From Kenneth Peacock, Songs of the Newfoundland Outports, Volume II, pp. 605-606. Sung by William Holloway, King's Cove, July 1952. As I walked out on a beautiful morning To view the fair fields as the day was a-dawning The lark and the linnet were charming in the morning, And nature seemed pleasant in every degree, Yes, nature was humming in every degree. (9 additional stanzas)
File: Pea605
Partial text(s)
As printed by W. H. Logan, The Pedlar's Pack of Ballads and Songs,
pp. 343-344. Apparently from a broadside printed by W. Armstrong of
Liverpool.
Young Roger of the Mill, one morning very soon,
Put on his best apparel, new hose, and clouten shoon,
ANd he a wooing went, to bonny buxom Nell,
"Adzooks! said he, can thou fancy me, for I like thee
wondrous well, well,
For I like," &c.
It was early the next morning and on a holiday,
Young Roger drest his horses and he gave them corn and hay,
"I am come to speak my mind, what say'st thou bonny Nell?
Adzooks! says he, can thou fancy me, for I like thee
wondrous well, well."
(5 additional stanzas)
File: Log343
Partial text(s)
From Helen Hartness Flanders, Elizabeth Flanders Ballard, George Brown, & Philips Barry, The New Green Mountain Songster, Traditional Folk Songs of Vermont, pp. 210-212. From a manuscript of the version by Susan A. Warner. To Dartmouth Scientific Halls In olden times there came A likely youth who was known full well And Strongbow was his name. Much he had heard of book-learned skill The white man's pride and boast An ardent wish that skill to gain His honest mind engrossed. (7 additional stanzas)
File: FlNG210
Complete text(s)
From Percy/Wheatley, II.ii.18, pp. 229-231 "[G]iven from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo." About Yule, quhen the wind blew cule, And the round tables bevan, A'! there is cum to our kings court Mony a well-favourd man. The queen luikt ower the castle wa, Beheld baith dale and down, And then she saw young Waters Cum riding to the town. His footmen they did rin before, His horsemen rade behind, Ane mantel of the burning gowd Did keip him frae the wind. Gowden graith'd hos horse before And siller shod behind, The horse yong Waters rade upon Was fleeter than the wind. But then spake a wylie lord, Unto the queen said he, O tell me quha's the fairest face Rides in the company. I've sene lord, and I've sene laird, And knights of high degree; Bot a fairer face than young Waters Mine eyne did never see. Out then spack the jealous king, (And an angry man was he) O, if he had been twice as fair, You micht have excepted me. You're neither laird nor lord, she says, But the king that wears the crown; Ther is not a knight in fair Scotland Bot to thee maun bow down. For a' that she could do or say, Appeased he wad nae bee; Bot for the words which she had said Young Waters he maun dee. They hae taen young Waters, and Put fetters to his feet; They hae taen young Waters, and Thrown him in dungeon deep. Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town In the wind both and the weit; Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town Wi fetters at my feet. Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town In the wind both and the rain; Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town Neir to return again. They hae taen to the heiding-hill His young son in his craddle, And they hae taen to the heiding-hill, His horse both and his saddle. They hae taen to the heiding-hill His lady fair to see. And for the words the Wueen had spoke, Young Waters he did dee.
File: C094
Complete text(s)
As recorded by Vernon Dalhart, 1926. Transcribed by Robert B. Waltz. Down in the Tennessee mountains, Away from the sins of the world, Old Dan Kelly's son there he leaned on his gun, A-thinking of Zeb Turney's girl. Dan was a hot-blooded youngster, His pap raised him sturdy and right. And he had him sworn from the day he was born To shoot every Turney on sight. "Powder and shot for the Turneys, Don't save a hair on their heads!" Old Dan Kelly cried as he laid down and died With young Danny there by his bed. Dan took the vow to his pappy And swore he would kill every one. His heart in a whirl with his love for the girl, He loaded his double-barreled gun. The moon shining down on the mountains, The moon shining down on the still, Young Dan took a sip, swung his gun to his hip, And set out to slaughter and kill. Over the mountains he wandered, This son of a Tennessee man, With fire in his eye and his gun on his thigh, A-looking for Zeb Turney's clan. Shots ringing out through the mountains, Shots ringing out through the breeze. Old Dan Kelly's son with the smoke in his gun, The Turneys all down on their knees. The story of Dan Kelly's moonshine Has spread far and wide o'er the world, How Dan killed the clan, shot them down to a man And brought back old Zeb Turney's girl.
File: LE18
Complete text(s)
From Carl Sandburg, The American Songbag, pp. 449-450. From the singing of
Rebecca Taylor of South Carolina.
1 Zek'l weep, Zek'l moan,
Flesh come a-creepin' off o' Zek'l bones;
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When I'm gone to come no mo',
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
2 Star in the east, star in the west,
Wish that star was on my breast,
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When I'm gone to come no mo',
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
3 Hush little baby, don' you cry,
Know that yo' mama was born to die,
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When I'm gone to come no mo',
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
File: San449
Partial text(s)
From Harvey H. Fuson, Ballads of the Kentucky Highlands, pp. 214-215. "From singing of Mrs. Louisa Moses." See the fountain opened wide That from sinning frees us, Flowing from the wounded side Of our Immanuel Jesus. Ho, everyone that thirsts, Come ye to the waters; Freely drink and quench your thrist (sic.) With Zion's sons and daughters. Dying sinners, come and try, The waters will relieve you; Without money come and buy, For Christ will freely give you. (5 additional stanzas)
File: Fus214