Lovin' Henry- Ritchie (KY-AR) 1934 Ritchie REC
[From Folk songs of the southern Appalachians as sung by Jean Ritchie. Also folkways recording. Taken from Aunt Mary Ann's house members in Kentucky when Jean (b. 1922) was just a child.
R. Matteson 2014]
Lovin' Henry- Adapted and arranged by Jean Ritchie
Light down, light down, lovin' Henry she cried
And stay all night with me;
The golden cords all around my bed
Shall be supplied to thee.
I can't light down, I can't light down
And stay all night with thee,
For I have a little girl in the old Scotland
And tonight she's a-lookin for me.
Lean down, lean down, lovin' Henry she cried
And give a sweet kiss to me,
And then you may ride to the old Scotland
And ride the more merrily.
Well he leant down and they kissed so sweet,
She had her knife so sharp;
She wound her arms all around and around
And stabbed him to the heart.
Ride on, ride on, lovin' Henry she said
Beneath the moon and the sun,
And your little girl can weep for you
And I hope she will weep alone.
I can't ride on, Lady Margret he said,
Beneath the moon nor the sun.
If there are physicians in your land
I pray you to bring me a-one.
There's no physicians in all of this land
Can cure such a deadly wound;
But if I had a hundred at my command
I would not bring you a-one.
She's call-ed to her waiting men
And to her waiting maids,
There's lying a dead man down in the road-
I pray you take him away
Some took him by his long yellow hair
Some took him by his feet,
They sunk him down to the bottom of the well
It was so dark and deep.
Lay there, lay there, you falsehearted man,
Till the flesh rots off your bones,
And that little girl in the old Scotland,
Will think long of your coming home.
There sits a little bird in the willow tree,
She sings so clear and shrill
That fair young man from the old Scotland
Lies dead in my lady's well
Fly down, fly down, you pretty little bird
And sit upon my knee,
Your cage shall be of the finest yellow gold
With bands[1] of ivory.
I won't fly down, no I won't fly down
And sit upon your knee,
For as you have killed your own truelove
I fear that you I fear that you would kill me.
O I wish I had my bended bow
With an arrow in the string,
I'd shoot it through your tender little heart
So none could hear you sing.
Well it's if you had your bended bow
With an arrow in the string,
I'd rise up high, high above your mark
And there my song I'd sing
1. Also sung, "With spokes of ivory," Jean adds: The vowel sound is the same, so I suppose a long-ago Someone heard "door" instead of "spokes.