No. 78: The Unquiet Grave
[The ballad is rare in North America showing some recent currency in Newfoundland with versions collected by Greenleaf, Karpeles and Peacock.
The Blue Sky Boys recorded a version titled Twelve Months and a Day in 1956.
R. Matteson 2015]
CONTENTS:
1. Child's Narrative
2. Footnotes (Found at the end of the Narrative)
3. Brief (Kittredge)
4. Child's Ballad Texts A-D, (E-H were added in later editions; with H having 3 versions; Additionally there's a version from Buchan, "Charles Graeme.")
5. Endnotes [There are no Endnotes for this ballad]
6. Additions and Corrections
ATTACHED PAGES (see left hand column):
1. Recordings & Info: The Unquiet Grave
A. Roud No. 51: The Unquiet Grave ( Listings)
B. The Unquiet Grave- Harvey 1941
C. Wit Combats with Ballad Revenants: "Proud Lady Margaret" and "The Unquiet Grave"- Atkinson 1991
D. Shakespeare, Abelard, and "The Unquiet Grave"- Halpert
2. Sheet Music: The Unquiet Grave (Bronson's music examples and texts)
3. US & Canadian Versions
4. English and Other Versions (Including Child versions A-H with additional notes)]
Broadside by W. Wright (Birmingham) between 1820 and 1831
Child's Narrative
A. 'The Unquiet Grave,' Folk-Lore Record, I, 60, 1868.
B. Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 436.
C. Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
D. 'The Ghost and Sailor,' Buchan's Manuscripts, I, 268.
[E. 'In Gipsy Tents,' by Francis Hindes Groome, 1880, p. 141, as sung by an old woman.
F. 'Cold blows the wind,' Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883-86, p. 542; "sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond, 1870-80."
G. From the singing of a wandering minstrel and story-teller of the parish of Cury, Cornwall.
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.
'Charles Graeme,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 89, Motherwell's Manuscript, p. 624.]
The vow in the second stanza of all the copies is such as we find in 'Bonny Bee-Ho'm,' and elsewhere (see p. 156 f of this volume), and A, B, D 4, 5, C 3, 4 are nearly a repetition of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' A 5, 6, B 3, 4, C 7, 8, D 7, 10. This may suggest a suspicion that this brief little piece is an aggregation of scraps. But these repetitions would not strike so much if the ballad were longer, and we must suppose that we have it only in an imperfect form. Even such as it is, however, this fragment has a character of its own. It exhibits the universal popular belief that excessive grieving for the dead interferes with their repose. We have all but had 'The Unquiet Grave' before, as the conclusion of two versions of 'The Twa Brothers:'
She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht,
She wept the sma brids frae the tree,
She wept the starns adown frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.
'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love,
Ye but disturb my rest;'
'Is that my ain true lover, John,
The man that I loe best?'
''T is naething but my ghaist,' he said,
'That's sent to comfort thee;
O cease your weeping, my true-love,
And 't will gie peace to me.'
(I, 440, C 18-20.)
She put the small pipes to her mouth,
And she harped both far and near,
Till she harped the small birds off the briers,
And her true-love out of the grave.
'What's this? what's this, Lady Margaret?' he says,
'What 's this you want of me?'
'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips,
That 's all I want of thee.'
'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.'
(I, 439, B 10-12.)
Sir Walter Scott has remarked that the belief that excessive grieving over lost friends destroyed their peace was general throughout Scotland: Redgauntlet, Note 2 to Letter XI. See also Gregor's Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland, p. 69. We have recent testimony that this belief survives in England (1868), Folk Lore Record, I, 60. It was held in Ireland that inordinate tears would pierce a hole in the dead: Killinger, Erin, VI, 65, 449 (quoting a writer that I have not identified).
The common notion is that tears wet the shroud or grave-clothes. Scott relates a story of a Highlander who was constrained to come back and say to a kinswoman: My rest is disturbed by your unnecessary lamentation; your tears scald me in my shroud.
Mrs. Grant of Laggan tells a similar story. An only sister had lost an only brother. Night after night she sat up, weeping incessantly arid calling upon his name. At length her brother appeared to her in his shroud, and seemed wet and shivering. "Why," said he, "am I disturbed with the extravagance of thy sorrow? Till thou art humble and penitent for this rebellion against the decrees of Providence, every tear thou sheddest falls on this dark shroud without drying, and every night thy tears still more chill and encumber me." Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland, ed. New York, 1813, p. 95 f.
A dead boy appears to his mother, and begs her to cease weeping, for all her tears fall upon his shirt and wet it so that he cannot sleep. The mother gives heed, her child comes again and says, Now my shirt is dry, and I have peace. Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 109.
In another form of this tradition a child has to carry all its mother's tears in a large pitcher, and cannot keep up with a happy little band to which it would belong, 'Die Macht der Thränen,' Erk, Neue Sammlung, III, I, No 35 = Wunderhorn, IV, 95, Liederhort, p. 8, No 3, Mittler, No 557; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 341, No 290; Börner, Volkssagen aus dem Orlagau, pp 142, 152; or lags behind because its clothes are heavy with these tears, Geiler von Kaisersberg's Trostspiegel, 1510, cited by Rochholz in Wolf's Zeitschrift fur deutsche Mythologie, II, 252; Thomas Cantipratensis, Bonum Universale, "1. ii, c. 53, § 17," about 1250; or the child collects its mother's tears in its hands, Müllenhoff, No 196.
A wife's tears wet her dead husband's shirt in the German ballad 'Der Vorwirth:' Meinert, p. 13 = Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 96, Erk's Liederhort, p. 160, No 46a Mittler, No 555; Hoffmann in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 161 = Wunderhorn, IV, 98, Liederhort, p. 158, No 46, Mittler, No 556; Peter, I, 200, No 15.
Saint Johannes Eleemosynarius and a couple of his bishops are fain to rise from their graves because their stoles are wet through with a woman's tears, Legenda Aurea, c. 27, 12, Grässe, p. 132, last half of the thirteenth century (cited by Liebrecht); and Saint Vicelin, because his robes are drenched with the tears of his friend Eppo, Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, 1. i, 78, p. 15, ed. Lappenberg, last half of the twelfth century (cited by Mullenhoff).
Sigrún weeps bitter tears for Helgi's death every night ere she sleeps. The hero comes out of his mound to comfort her, but also to tell her how she discommodes him. He is otherwise well off, but every drop pierces, cold and bloody, to his breast: Helgakviða Hundingsbana II, 45. So in some of the ballads which apparently derive from this lay, the tears of Else or Kerstin fill her lover's coffin with blood: Grundtvig, II, 495, 497, No 90, A 17, B 8; Afzelius, I, 31, No 6, st. 14, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 18, st. 9.
Almost the very words of the Highland apparition in Scott's tale are used by an Indian sage to a king who is inconsolable for the loss of his wife; "the incessant tears of kinsfolk burn the dead, so it is said:" Kâlidâsas, Raghuvansa, VIII, 85, ed. Stenzler, p. 61 of his translation. Another representation is that the dead have to swallow the rheum and tears of their mourning relations, and therefore weeping must be abstained from: Yâjnavalkya's Gesetzbuch, Sanskrit u. Deutsch, Stenzler, III, 11, p. 89.
The ancient Persians also held that immoderate grief on the part of survivors was detrimental to the happiness of the dead. Weeping for the departed is forbidden, because the water so shed forms an impediment before the bridge Tchînavar (over which souls pass to heaven). Sad-der, Porta XCVII, Hyde, Veterum Persarum et Parthorum Religionis Historia, p. 486, ed. Oxford, 1700. Again, Ardai Viraf, seeing a deep and fetid river, which is carrying away a multitude of souls in all the agony of drowning, and asking what this is, is told: The river that you see before you is composed of the tears of mankind, tears shed, against the express command of the Almighty, for the departed; therefore, when you return again to the earth inculcate this to mankind, that to grieve immoderately is in the sight of God a most heinous sin; and the river is constantly increased by this folly, every tear making the poor wretches who float on it more distant from ease and relief. The Ardai Viraf Nameh, translated from the Persian, by J. A. Pope, London, 1816, p. 53 f.[1]
The Greeks and Romans also reprehend obstinate condolement as troubling the dead, and perhaps, if we had the popular views on the subject, these might be found to have taken an expression like some of the above. In Lucian De Luctu, c. 16, the ghost of a son who had died in the bloom of youth is made to reproach the disconsolate father in these words: ὦ κακόδαιμον ἄνθρωπε, τί κέκραγας; τί δέ μοι παρέχεις πράγματα.[2]
See, also, Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 312 f, No 9; Luzel, I, 65, 'La jeune fille et l'âme de sa mère;' Karadshitch, I, 272, No 368, Talvj, I, 84, ed. 1853; Kapper, Gesänge der Serben, II, 116; Nibelungen, 2302, ed. Bartsch; Blaas, in Germania, XXV, 429, No 34; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, III, 447, No 397; Müllenhoff, No 195; Wunderhorn, IV, 94, last stanza; Wolf, Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie, I, 215, No 149.
Footnotes:
1. Rochholz has cited the Raghuvansa in Deutscher Unsterblichkeits Glaube, p. 208; the other oriental citations are made by Kuhn, Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 62 f.
2. Schenkl, in Germania, XI, 451 f; who also cites Tibullus, i, 1, 67, Propertius, IV, 11, 1, and inscriptions, as Gruter, p. 1127, 8.
Brief Description by George Lyman Kittredge
This fragmentary ballad exhibits the universal popular belief that excessive grieving for the dead interferes with their repose. There are many tales and ballads that express this superstition. One of the most striking is contained in the second lay of Helgi Hundingsbani in the Elder Edda (see introduction to No. 77). Cf. 'The Twa Brothers,' No. 49, B, sts. 10-12.
Child's Ballad Texts
The Unquiet Grave- Version A; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
Communicated to the Folk Lore Record, I, 60, 1868 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-love
As 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.'
-------------
['How Cold The Wind Do Blow']- Version B; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
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-love
As 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.'
-----------
['Cold Blows The Wind'] Version C; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
"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-love
As ever did any maid;
. . . . .
. . . . .
* * * * *
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'- Version D; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
Buchan's Manuscripts, I, 268.
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 sake
What 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 lips
Is 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.'
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.'
-----------
['Cold Blows the Wind Over my True Love']- Version E; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
'In Gipsy Tents,' by Francis Hindes Groome, 1880, p. 141, as sung by an old woman.
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 love
As 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'- Version F Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, 1883-86, p. 542; "sung by Jane Butler, Edgmond, 1870-80."
1 '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.
2 '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.'
3 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 respose.'
4 '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.'
5 '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.
6 '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.'
7 '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].'
---------------
['Cold Blows the Wind To-day, Sweetheart']- Version G; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
From the singing of a wandering minstrel and story-teller of the parish of Cury, Cornwall. 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 on 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:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
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.'
----------
['Cold Blows the Wind Tonight, Sweetheart']- Version H a. Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
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.
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-heart
As 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 grave
A twelvemonth and a day,
We'll set our sails before the wind
And so we'll sail away.'
-----------
['Cold Blows the Wind Tonight, Sweetheart']- Version H b. Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
Obtained by the same (Rev. S. Baring-Gould) from John Woodrich, blacksmith, parish of Thrustleton, as heard from his grandmother about 1848.
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-love
As 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 respose?'
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 me
And 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.'
-------------
['It's for to Meet the Falling Drops'] Version H c.; Child 78 The Unquiet Grave
By the same (Rev. S. Baring-Gould), from Anne Roberts, Scobbeter.
1 'It's for to meet the falling drops,
Cold fall the drops of rain;
The last true-love that ever I had
In greenwood he was slain.
2 'I'll do as much for my fair love
as any,' etc.
the rest "[almost exactly"] as b.
Additions and Corrections
P. 235 a. Add these versions of the tale of the child that is obliged to carry its mother's tears in a pitcher, or whose clothes are wet with its mother's tears: 'Das Thränenkrüglein,' Bechstein, Märchenbuch, 1845, p. 109, 1879, p. 110; Wucke, Sagen der mittleren Werra, 1864, I, 133; also, II, 31; Krainz, Mythen u. Sagen aus dem steirischen Hochlande, p. 405, No 309 [and Sagen aus Steirmark, p. 50, No 44]; Jäcklin, Volksthümliches aus Graubünden, Cur, 1878, p. 18, versified by the editor; Friedrich Müller, Siebenbürgische Sagen, 1857, p. 47, No 64, and Wien, 1885, No 87; von Shulenburg, Wendische Volkssagen, p. 238; Krauss, Sagen u. Märchen der Südslaven, II, 307, No 132. J. W. Wolf, Deutsche Märchen u. Sagen, p. 162, No 42, gives the story from Thomas Cantipratensis, and in a note, at p. 595, says, dieselbe Sage ist auch muhammedaniscb, doch muss ich leider die nähere Nachweise darüber für ein anderes Mal ersparen. R. Köhler'.
Schambach u. Muller, Niedersächsische Sagen, No 233, p. 220, and note at p. 364; Lütolf, Sagen aus Lucern, p. 515. G.L.K.
236 a. Better in the Pahlavi text, Ardâ-Vîrâf, Haug and West, Bombay and London, 1872, ch. 16, p. 165. Srôsh, the pious, and Âtarô, the angel, said thus. This river is the many tears which men shed from tbe eyes as they make lamentation and weeping for the departed. They shed those tears unlawfully, and they swell to this river. Those who are not able to cross over are those for whom, after their departure, much lamentation and weeping were made, and those who cross more easily are those for whom less was made. Speak forth to the world thus: When you are in the world, make no lamentation and weeping unlawfully; for so, much harm and difficulty may happen to the souls of your departed.
236 b. Add: the legend Santo Antonio e a Princcza, Estacio da Veiga, Romanceiro do Algarve, p. 178, Hardung, Romanceiro Portuguez, II, 151 f; and to note ‡, Jacobs, Anthologia Græca, II, 799, Appendix Epigrammatum, 125, ed. 1814. F. Liebrecht.
E. 'In Gipsy Tents,' by Francis Hindes Groome, 1880, p. 141, as sung by an old woman.
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 love
As 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.'
F. 'Cold blows the wind,' 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.
'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.
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.'
'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.'
'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.
'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.'
'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].
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 ''T was 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:
. . .
. . .
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.'
285 f. Add: Gaspé, Les anciens Canadiens, Québec, 1877, I, 220 ff.; cited by Sébillot, Annuaire des Traditions populaires, 1887, p. 38 ff..
236. A 5, etc. So Nigra, 'La Sposa morta,' p. 122, No 17, D 12: 'Mia buca morta l'a odur di terra, ch'a l'era, viva, di roze e fiur.'
Little-Russian tale, Trudy, II, 416, No 122. A girl who is inconsolable for the death of her mother is advised to hide herself in the church after vespers on Thursday of the first week in Lent, and does so. At midnight the bells ring, and a dead priest performs the service for a congregation all of whom are dead. Among them is the girl's godmother, who bids her begone before her mother remarks her. But the mother has already seen her daughter, and calls out, You here too? Weep no more for me. My coffin and my grave are filled with your tears; wretched it is to bathe in them! (W.W.) After this the mother's behavior is not quite what we should expect. Cf. the tale in Gaspé, just cited.
P. 236 b. Add: Waldau's Böhmische Granaten, II, 121, No 176.
236 f., III, 512 f. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould has recovered several copies of 'The Unquiet Grave' in the West Country. It will be observed that the variations in this ballad do not take a wide range. The verses are not always sung in the same order; there is not story enough to keep them in place. Mr. Baring-Gould informs me that there is a Devon popular tale which is very similar (possibly a prose version of the ballad). In this, a bramble-leaf comes between the lips of the maiden and her dead lover, and her life is saved thereby. This tale is utilized in the ballad as printed in Songs of the West, No 6, 'Cold blows the wind, sweetheart!'
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-heart
As 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 tune 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 grave
A 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 lore,
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-love
As 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 me
And 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.'
c.
1 'It's for to meet the falling drops,
Cold fall the drops of rain;
The last true-love, etc.
2 'I'll do as much for my fair love
As any,' etc.
The rest "almost exactly" as b.
'Charles Graeme,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 89, Motherwell's Manuscript, p. 624, begins with stanzas which belong to this ballad. What follows after the third, or just possibly the sixth, stanza reads as if some contributor had been diverting himself with an imposition on the editor's simplicity. Buchan himself remarks in a note, p. 299: "There seems to be a very great inconsistency manifested throughout the whole of this ballad in the lady's behavior towards the ghost of her departed lover. Perhaps she wished to sit and sigh alone, undisturbed with visits from the inhabitants of the grave." (Translated by Gerhard, p. 63.)
1 'Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night,
Sair beats the heavy rain;
Young Charles Graeme's the lad I love,
In greenwood he lies slain.
2 'But I will do for Charles Graeme
What other maidens may;
I'll sit and harp upon his grave
A twelvemonth and a day.'
3 She harped a' the live-lang night,
The saut tears she did weep,
Till at the hour o one o'clock
His ghost began to peep.
4 Pale and deadly was his cheek,
And pale, pale was his chin;
And how and hollow were his een,
No light appeard therein.
5 Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair,
To mourn sae sair for me?'
'I am sae sick, and very love-sick,
Aye foot I cannot jee.
6 'Sae well's I loved young Charles Graeme,
I kent he loved me;
My very heart's now like to break
For his sweet companie.'
7 'Will ye hae an apple, lady,
And I will sheave it sma?'
'I am sae sick, and very love-sick,
I cannot eat at a'.'
8 'Will ye hae the wine, lady,
And I will drain it sma?'
'I am sae sick, and very love-sick,
I cannot drink at a'.
9 'See ye not my father's castle,
Well covered ower wi tin?
There's nane has sic an anxious wish
As I hae to be in.'
10 'O hame, fair maid, ye'se quickly won,
But this request grant me;
When ye are safe in downbed laid,
That I may sleep wi thee.'
11 'If hame again, sir, I could win,
I'll this request grant thee;
When I am safe in downbed laid,
This night ye'se sleep wi me.'
12 Then he poud up a birken bow,
Pat it in her right han,
And they are to yon castle fair,
As fast as they coud gang.
13 When they came to yon castle fair,
It was piled round about;
She slipped in and bolted the yetts,
Says, Ghaists may stand thereout.
14 Then he vanishd frae her sight
In the twinkling o an ee;
Says, Let never ane a woman trust
Sae much as I've done thee.
P. 236 b, last paragraph. See the preface to 'The Suffolk Miracle' in this volume, p. 58 ff.
This "fragment," in a small Manuscript volume entirely in C. K. Sharpe's handwriting ("Songs"), p. 21, "from the recitation of Miss Oliphant of Gask, now Mrs. Nairn" (later Lady Nairne), evidently belongs here.
O wet and weary is the night,
And evendown pours the rain, O,
And he that was sae true to me
Lies in the greenwood slain, O.
(P. 21.)
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P. 235 a, last paragraph. Servian ballad in which a child's shirt is wet with its mother's tears, Rajković, p. 143, No 186, 'Dete Lovzar i majka mu' ('The child and his mother').
[235. Tears burning the dead. Professor Lanman furnishes the following interesting parallel from the Mahābhārata, xi, 43 ff.: Dhṛtarāṣṭra is lamenting for his fallen sons. His charioteer says; — The face that thou wearest, covered with falling tears, is not approved by the sacred books; nor do wise men praise it. For they [the tears], like sparks, 'tis said, do burn those men (for whom they're shed).]