The English and Scottish Popular Ballads Edited by Francis James Child. |
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THE UNQUIET GRAVE |
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 | The English and Scottish Popular Ballads |  |
234
78
THE UNQUIET GRAVE
236
The Unquiet Grave
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—A
[_]
Communicated to the Folk Lore Record, I, 60, by Miss Charlotte Latham, as written down from the lips of a girl in Sussex.
1
‘The wind doth blow today, my love,And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.
2
‘I'll do as much for my true-loveAs any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.’
3
The twelvemonth and a day being up,The dead began to speak:
‘Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?’
4
‘'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.’
5
‘You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.
6
‘'Tis down in yonder garden green,Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
7
‘The stalk is withered dry, my love,So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.’
237
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—B
[_]
Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 436, cited by W. R. S. R., from the Ipswich Journal, 1877: from memory, after more than seventy years.
1
‘How cold the wind do blow, dear love,And see the drops of rain!
I never had but one true-love,
In the green wood he was slain.
2
‘I would do as much for my own true-loveAs in my power doth lay;
I would sit and mourn all on his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.’
3
A twelvemonth and a day being past,His ghost did rise and speak:
‘What makes you mourn all on my grave?
For you will not let me sleep.’
4
‘It is not your gold I want, dear love,Nor yet your wealth I crave;
But one kiss from your lily-white lips
Is all I wish to have.
5
‘Your lips are cold as clay, dear love,Your breath doth smell so strong;’
‘I am afraid, my pretty, pretty maid,
Your time will not be long.’
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—C
[_]
“From a yeoman in Suffolk, who got it from his nurse;” B. Montgomerie Ranking, in Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
1
‘Cold blows the wind oer my true-love,Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one sweetheart,
In the greenwood he was slain.
2
‘I did as much for my true-loveAs ever did any maid;
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
3
‘One kiss from your lily-cold lips, true-love,One kiss is all I pray,
And I'll sit and weep all over your grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.’
4
‘My cheek is as cold as the clay, true-love,My breath is earthy and strong;
And if I should kiss your lips, true-love,
Your life would not be long.’
The Ghost and Sailor
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—D
1
‘Proud Boreas makes a hideous noise,Loud roars the fatal fleed;
I loved never a love but one,
In church-yard she lies dead.
2
‘But I will do for my love's sakeWhat other young men may;
I'll sit and mourn upon her grave,
A twelvemonth and a day.’
3
A twelvemonth and a day being past,The ghost began to speak:
‘Why sit ye here upon my grave,
And will not let me sleep?’
4
‘One kiss of your lily-white lipsIs all that I do crave;
And one kiss of your lily-white lips
Is all that I would have.’
5
‘Your breath is as the roses sweet,Mine as the sulphur strong;
If you get one kiss of my lips,
Your days would not be long.
6
‘Mind not ye the day, Willie,Sin you and I did walk?
The firstand flower that we did pu
Was witherd on the stalk.’
238
7
‘Flowers will fade and die, my dear,Aye as the tears will turn;
And since I've lost my own sweet-heart,
I'll never cease but mourn.’
8
‘Lament nae mair for me, my love,The powers we must obey;
But hoist up one sail to the wind,
Your ship must sail away.’
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—E
1
‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,Cold blows the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one sweet-heart,
In the green wood he was slain.
2
‘But I'll do as much for my true loveAs any young girl can do;
I'll sit and I'll weep by his grave-side
For a twelvemonth and one day.’
3
When the twelvemonth's end and one day was past,This young man he arose:
‘What makes you weep by my grave-side
For twelve months and one day?’
4
‘Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,One kiss is all I crave;
Only one kiss from your lily cold lips,
And return back to your grave.’
5
‘My lip is cold as the clay, sweet-heart,My breath is earthly strong;
If you should have a kiss from my cold lip,
Your days will not be long.’
6
‘Go fetch me a note from the dungeon dark,Cold water from a stone;
There I'll sit and weep for my true love
For a twelvemonth and one day.
7
‘Go dig me a grave both long, wide and deep;I will lay down in it and take one sleep,
For a twelvemonth and one day;
I will lay down in it and take a long sleep,
For a twelvemonth and a day.’
Cold blows the wind
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—F
[_]
Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883-86, p. 542; “sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond, 1870-80.”
‘Cold blows the wind over my true love,
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one true love,
And in Camvile he was slain.
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one true love,
And in Camvile he was slain.
‘I'll do as much for my true love
As any young girl may;
I'll sit and weep down by his grave
For twelve months and one day.’
As any young girl may;
I'll sit and weep down by his grave
For twelve months and one day.’
But when twelve months were come and gone,
This young man he arose:
‘What makes you weep down by my grave?
I can't take my repose.’
This young man he arose:
‘What makes you weep down by my grave?
I can't take my repose.’
‘One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,
One kiss is all I crave;
One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,
And return back to your grave.’
One kiss is all I crave;
One kiss, one kiss, of your lily-white lips,
And return back to your grave.’
‘My lips they are as cold as my clay,
My breath is heavy and strong;
If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,
Thy days would not be long.
My breath is heavy and strong;
If thou wast to kiss my lily-white lips,
Thy days would not be long.
‘O don't you remember the garden-grove
Where we was used to walk?
Pluck the finest flower of them all,
'Twill wither to a stalk.’
Where we was used to walk?
Pluck the finest flower of them all,
'Twill wither to a stalk.’
‘Go fetch me a nut from a dungeon deep,
And water from a stone,
And white milk from a maiden's breast
[That babe bare never none].’
And water from a stone,
And white milk from a maiden's breast
[That babe bare never none].’
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—G
[_]
From the singing of a wandering minstrel and story-teller of the parish of Cury, Cornwall. After the last stanza followed “a stormy kind of duet between the maiden and her lover's ghost, who tries to persuade the maid to accompany him to the world of shadows.” Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, First Series, 1865, p. xvi.
1
‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,Cold are the drops of rain;
The first truelove that ever I had
In the green wood he was slain.
2
‘'Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart,Where you and I did walk;
The fairest flower that in the garden grew
Is witherd to a stalk.
3
‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,The flowers will neer return,
And since my truelove is dead and gone,
What can I do but mourn?’
4
A twelvemonth and a day being gone,The spirit rose and spoke:
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
5
‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,My breath smells heavy and strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips
Your time will not be long.’
THE UNQUIET GRAVE—H
[_]
a. Sent Rev. S. Baring-Gould by Mrs Gibbons, daughter of the late Sir W. L. Trelawney, as she remembered it sung by her nurse, Elizabeth Doidge, a woman of the neighborhood of Brentor, about 1828. b. Obtained by the same from John Woodrich, blacksmith, parish of Thrustleton, as heard from his grandmother about 1848. c. By the same, from Anne Roberts, Scobbeter.
1
‘Cold blows the wind tonight, sweet-heart,Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had
In greenwood he was slain.
2
‘I'll do as much for my sweet-heartAs any young woman may;
I'll sit and mourn on his grave-side
A twelve-month and a day.’
3
A twelve-month and a day being up,The ghost began to speak:
‘Why sit you here by my grave-side
And will not let me sleep?
4
‘What is it that you want of me,Or what of me would have?’
‘A kiss from off your lily-white lips,
And that is all I crave!’
5
‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;
To gain a kiss of my cold lips,
Your time would not be long.
6
‘If you were not my own sweet-heart,As now I know you be,
I'd tear you as the withered leaves
That grew on yonder tree.’
7
‘O don't you mind the garden, love,Where you and I did walk?
The fairest flower that blossomd there
Is withered on the stalk.
8
‘And now I've mourned upon his graveA twelvemonth and a day,
We'll set our sails before the wind
And so we'll sail away.’
b.
1
Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,Cold are the drops of rain;
The very first love that ever I had
In greenwood he was slain.
2
‘I'll do as much for my true-loveAs any young woman may;
I'll sit and mourn upon his grave
A twelve-month and a day.’
3
When a twelve-month and a day were up,His body straight arose:
‘What brings you weeping oer my grave
That I get no repose?’
4
‘O think upon the garden, love,Where you and I did walk;
The fairest flower that blossomd there
Is withered on the stalk.
5
‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart,The flower will neer return,
And my true-love is dead, is dead,
And I do naught but mourn.’
6
‘What is it that you want of meAnd will not let me sleep?
Your salten tears they trickle down
And wet my winding-sheet.’
7
‘What is it that I want of thee,O what of thee in grave?
A kiss from off your lily-white lips,
And that is all I crave.’
8
‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;
If you do touch my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.’
9
‘Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,One kiss is all I crave;
I care not, if I kiss but thee,
That I should share thy grave.’
10
‘Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,Wring water from a stone,
And likewise milk from a maiden's breast
That never maid hath none. (Read babe had.)
11
‘Now if you were not true in word,As now I know you be,
I'd tear you as the withered leaves
Are torn from off the tree.’
| The English and Scottish Popular Ballads | |