Gosport Tragedy- Carrie Grover (NS-ME) 1890s
[From: "A Heritage of Songs" 1973. Reprinted Cohen. This rare version of Gosport from North America comes from Carrie Grover of Gorham, Maine whose family versions date back at least to the mid-1800s in Canada. Carrie Spinney (Grover) was born in 1879 in Black River, Nova Scotia. She moved to Maine when she was 12.
The spelling of "ere" is same as in the Deming broadside/ Forget-Me-Not Songster which makes me think a print version may have been used to supplement her text. Cf 1844 Songster; Brown A and B; and especially Mackenzie (Nova Scotia version).
R. Matteson 2016]
Gosport Tragedy- As sung by Carrie Grover of Gorham, Maine. "A Heritage of Songs" 1973.
In Gosport of late, a young damsel did dwell
For wit and for beauty, few could her excel
A young man did court her for to be his dear,
And he by his trade was a ship's carpenter.
He said, "Dearest Mary, if you will agree,
And give your consent dear for to marry me;
Your love, dear, can cure me of sorrow and care,
Consent then to wed with a ship carpenter."
With blushes as charming as roses in bloom,
She said, "Dearest William, to wed I'm too young;
For young men are fickle, I see very plain;
If a maid is kind, her they quickly disdain."
"My charming Mary, how can you say so?
Your beauty is the haven to which I would go,
And if I find channel when I chance for to steer,
I there will cast anchor and stay with my dear."
It was all in vain that she strove to deny,
For he, by his cunning, soon made her comply;
And by his base deception he did her betray,
And in sin's hellish path he did lead her astray.
Now when this[1] young damsel with child she did prove,
She soon sent the tidings to her faithless love,
He swore by the heavens that he would prove true,
And said "I will marry no damsel but you."
At length these sad tidings she came for to hear,
His ship is a-sailing, for sea he must steer,
Which pained this poor damsel and wounded her heart
To think with her true love so soon she must part.
She said, "Dearest Willie 'ere you go to sea,
Remember the vows you have made unto me,
If you go and leave me, I never can find rest,
Oh, how can you leave me with sorrow oppressed?"
With tender embraces he to her did say,
"I'll marry my true love 'ere I go to sea,
And on the morrow my love I can ride down,
The ring I can buy our fond union to crown."
With tender embraces they parted the night,
And promised to meet the next morning at light;
William said, "Dearest Mary you must now go with me,
Before we are married, our friends for to see.
He led her o'er hills and through hollows so deep,
Till at length this fair damsel began for to weep;
"Oh Willie, I fear you have led me astray,
On purpose my innocent life to betray."
He said, "You've guessed right, for no power can you save,
For 'twas only last night I was digging your grave."
When poor wretched Mary did hear him say so,
The tears from her eyes like a fountain did flow.
Then down on her knees Mary to him did say,
"Oh take not my life lest my soul you betray.
Oh pity my infant, and spare my poor life;
Let me live full of shame if I can't be your wife."
"Oh there is no time thus disputing to stand,"
And taking his sharp cruel knife in his hand,
He pierced her fair breast whence the blood it did flow,
And into the grave her fair body did throw.
He covered her body and quick hastened home,
And left nothing but the small birds her fate for to mourn.
He returned to the ship without any delay,
And set sail for Plymouth to plow the salt sea.
One night to the captain this fair maid did appear
And she in her arms held an infant most dear.
"Oh help me, oh help me," she to him did say.
Then to his amazement she vanished away.
The captain then summoned his jovial ship's crew
And said, "My brave fellows, I fear some of you
Have murdered some damsel ere you came away
Whose injured ghost haunts you all on the salt sea."
Then poor, frightened Willie he fell on his knees
The blood in his veins seemed with horror to freeze.
It's "Oh cruel monster, and what have I done?
God help me, I fear my poor soul is undone.
Oh poor, injured Mary, your forgiveness I crave,
For soon must I follow you down to the grave."
No one but this poor wretch beheld the sad sight,
And, raving distracted, he died the next night.
1.