Spanish Lady- Joseph Campbell (Belfast) c.1913
[My date, a guestimation but probably before 1917. A poem by Campbell later set to music by Hughes (1930) and others. The first stanza (2 verses) is traditional and has entered tradition as a song (see: D. Spanish Lady III) and has been recorded a number of times under the title Spanish Lady, Dublin City, and with textual variations as "Galway City," "Madam I'm a Darling" and "Ettrick Lady."
R. Matteson 2017]
Joseph Campbell included the two traditional stanzas of The Spanish Lady that he took down in Donegal in 1911 in his play:
Judgment: A Play in Two Acts
By Joseph Campbell, 1912
The Stranger breaks into a verse of a song.
As I walked down thro' Dublin City
At the hour of twelve in the night,
Who should I see but a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candlelight.
First she washed them, and then she dried them
Over a fire of amber coal:
Never in all my life did I see
A maid. . .
John (endeavouring to talk the song down). When'll the coffin be here, Owen?
Stranger. Can't you listen? It's a good song.
Never in all my fife did I see
A maid so neat about the sole!
For these two traditional stanzas Campbell wrote his poem which appears:
"Spanish Lady" by Joseph Campbell (1879-1944), a native of Belfast.
As I went out through Dublin City,
At the hour of twelve o´clock at night,
Who should I see but a Spanish lady,
Washing her feet by candle light.
First she washed them and then she dried them,
Over a fire of ambery coal,
In all my life I never did see,
A maid so neat about the sole.
I stopped to peep but the watchman passed,
And says, "Young fellow, the night is late,
Get home to bed or I'll wrastle you,
At a double trot through the Bridewell gate!
So I waved a kiss to the Spanish lady
Hot as the fire of cramsey coals
I've seen dark maids though never one
So white and neat about the sole.
Oh she´s too rich for a poddle swaddy
With her tortoise comb and her mantle fine
A hellfire buck would fit her better,
Drinking brandy and claret wine.
I'm just a decent college sizar,
Poor as a sod of smouldering coal,
And how would I dress the Spanish lady,
And she so neat about the sole?
O, she'd make a mott for the Provost Marshal,
Or a wife for the Mayor in his coach so high,
Or a queen of Andalusia,
Kicking her heel in the Cardinal's eye.
I'm as blue as cockles, brown as herrings,
Over a grid of glimmery coal,
And all because of the Spanish lady,
So mortial neat about the sole.
I wandered north and I wandered south,
By Golden Lane and Patrick's Close,
The Coombe, Smithfield and Stoneybatter,
Back by Napper Tandy's house.
Old age has laid its hand upon me
Cold as a fire of ashy coal
And where is the lovely Spanish lady
The maid so neat about the sole?