Young Hunting- Dunagan (KY) 1917 Sharp H
[Sharp's generic title. From English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians, I, 1932 (Sharp/Karpeles). Notes from the 1932 edition follow.
R. Matteson 2012, 2014]
Notes from the 1932 Edition: No. 18. Young Hunting.
Texts without tunes: — Child's English and Scottish Popular Ballads, No. 68. Cox's Folk Songs of the South, p. 42 (see also further references). Journal of American Folk-Lore, XX. 252.
Texts with tunes: — Child, v. 416. Reed Smith's South Carolina Ballads, p. 107. Journal of American Folk-Lore, xviii. 295 (tune only); XXX. 289. British Ballads from Maine, p. 122. Davis's Traditional Ballads of Virginia, pp. 182 and 566. Sandburg's American Songbag, p. 64. Compare And you shall have the cheers of the cheer cold girl' of D. 4 with 'Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear' in Child's version K 4. Tune H, with text of version G, is published with pianoforte accompaniment in Folk Songs of English Origin, 1st Series.
H. Young Hunting- Sung by Mrs. MARGARET DUNAGAN at St. Helen's, Lee Co., Ky., Sept. 5, 1917
Hexatonic (no 7th).
1. She sharpened her knife both sharp and keen,
She hung it by her side,
As she rode up to the barroom hall
And passed it by and by.
2 Her true love a-being standing there,
He looked well and pleased;
As she stepped on up by his side,
She pierced it through his heart.
3 All of my friends come to me now
And see me what I've done.
Now don't you see my own heart's blood
Come sprinkling down my knee ?
4 Must I ride East, or must I ride West,
Or must I ride under the shining sun,
To find that doctor for to come here
And cure those wounded wounds?
5 You needn't ride East, you needn't ride West,
You needn't ride under the shining sun;
There hain't a doctor but God alone
Can cure those wounded wounds.
6 This young lady walked out on the street
For to hear the small birds sing.
Go home, go home, you mourny little girl,
And weep and mourn for me.
7 Come to me, my pretty little bird,
Come and go along with me.
I've got a cage beside the willow tree
For you to sit in and sing.
8 I won't come there, and I won't go there,
For I'll tell you the reason why.
You've just now killed your own true love,
Just what might happen to me.
9 I wish I had my bowing little spain,
And it was bow-end on the string,
Then surely I'd shoot that pretty little bird
That sits on the briers and sings.
10 I wish you had your bowing little Spain,
And it was bow-end on the string,
Then surely I would fly from brier to brier,
And I'd sing on as I fly.