Lady Bride and Three Babes- (NC) 1982 Helms
[No informant or date given. From the book and Album (Seena Helms FW34151_107) Hand-Me-Down Music: Old Songs, Old Friends - Vol. 1 Traditional Music of Union County, North Carolina. Helms notes follow.
Lack of information about the origin of this version is typical of Helm's book and CD. The firth stanza is similar to Niles B.
R. Matteson 2015]
This ballad is a form of child Ballad #79, The wife of Usher's well. It was popular especially during the early 1900's in the southern Appalachian mountains, with many variants existing there and over the state. The story tells of a mother who centuries ago in England sends her three young children away "to learn some grammary," which to many people suggests a formal boarding school education. others feel this refers to a form of witchcraft popular in that region of the world. This supernatural element was not very popular in certain parts of this country, however, so the use of this aspect has diminished over the years. There is a great flood which sweeps over the land and drowns the three children. The mother tries to call them back to partake of her nice bed and food, but they refuse. The version included here ends, with a warning not to weep excessively over the dead, for it will only "wet there winding sheet"- a covering of linen in which they buried the dead, in other words make the departed's paradise miserable.
Lady Bride and Three Babes
Once there was a lady bride,
And three little babes had she,
She sent them away to another land,
to learn some grammary.
They hadn't been gone but a short tittle while,
About three months to a day,
When the water shed abroad all over the land,
And swept those babes away.
Come along, come along, my three little babes,
Come eat and drink of mine,
No, mama, no mama, we cannot come,
Nor eat or drink of yourn.
Come along, come along, my sweet little babes,
Come sleep on my nice bed,
No mama, no mama, we cannot come,
Nor sleep on your nice bed.
No mama, no mama, we cannot stay,
Nor even eat-a-ree,
For Christ our Savior has called us home,
To pray at His feet-a-ree,
Cold clods of clay roll over our heads,
Green grass grows at our feet,
But the tears you shed, sweet mother dear,
Would only wet our winding sheet.