Songs of the West. S. (Sabine) Baring-Gould

Songs of the West - S. (Sabine) Baring-Gould


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twelvemonth and a day being up,

       The ghost began to speak;

       "Why sit you here by my grave-side

       From dusk till dawning break?"

      4

      "O think upon the garden, love,

       Where you and I did walk.

       The fairest flower that blossomed there

       Is withered on its stalk."

      5

      "What is it that you want of me,

       And will not let me sleep?

       Your salten tears they trickle down

       My winding sheet to steep."

      6

      "Oh I will now redeem the pledge

       The pledge that once I gave;

       A kiss from off thy lily white lips

       Is all of you I crave."

      7

      "Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

       My breath is earthy strong.

       If you do touch my clay-cold lips,

       Your time will not be long."

      8

      Then through the mould he heaved his head,

       And through the herbage green.

       There fell a frosted bramble leaf,

       It came their lips between.

      9

      "Now if you were not true in word,

       As now I know you be,

       I'd tear you as the withered leaves,

       Are torn from off the tree.

      10

      "And well for you that bramble-leaf

       Betwixt our lips was flung.

       The living to the living hold,

       Dead to the dead belong."

      No 7 THE SPRIG OF THYME

       Table of Contents

      C.J.S.

music

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      1

      In my garden grew plenty of Thyme,

       It would flourish by night and by day;

       O'er the wall came a lad, he took all that I had,

       And stole my thyme away.

      2

      My garden with heartsease was bright,

       The pansy so pied and so gay;

       One slipped through the gate, and alas! cruel fate,

       My heartsease took away.

      3

      My garden grew self-heal and balm,

       And speedwell that's blue for an hour,

       Then blossoms again, O grievous my pain!

       I'm plundered of each flower.

      4

      There grows in my garden the rue,

       And Love-lies-a-bleeding droops there,

       The hyssop and myrrh, the teazle and burr,

       In place of blossoms fair.

      5

      The willow with branches that weep,

       The thorn and the cypress tree,

       O why were the seeds of such dolorous weeds,

       Thus scattered there by thee?

      No 8 ROVING JACK

       Table of Contents

      C.J.S.

music

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      1

      Young Jack he was a journey-man

       That roved from town to town,

       And when he'd done a job of work,

       He lightly sat him down.

       With his kit upon his shoulder, and

       A grafting knife in hand,

       He roved the country round about,

       A merry journey-man.

      2

      And when he came to Exeter,

       The maidens leaped for joy;

       Said one and all, both short and tall,

       Here comes a gallant boy.

       The lady dropt her needle, and

       The maid her frying-pan,

       Each plainly told her mother, that

       She loved the journey-man.

      3

      He had not been in Exeter,

       The days were barely three,

       Before the Mayor, his sweet daughter.

       She loved him desperately;

       She bid him to her mother's house,

       She took him by the hand,

       Said she, "My dearest mother, see

       I love the journey-man!"

      4

      Now out on thee, thou silly maid!

       Such folly speak no more:

       How can'st thou love a roving man,

       Thou ne'er hast seen before?

       "O mother sweet, I do entreat,

       I love him all I can;

       Around the country glad I'll rove

       With this young journey-man.

      5

      "He need no more to trudge afoot,

       He'll travel coach and pair;

       My wealth with me—or poverty

       With him, content I'll share."

       Now fill the horn with barleycorn,

       And flowing fill the can:

       Here let us toast the Mayor's daughter

       And the roving journey-man.

      No 9 BRIXHAM TOWN

       Table of Contents

      H.F.S.

music

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      1

      All ye that love to hear

       Music performed in air,

       Pray listen, and give ear,

       To what I shall perpend.

       Concerning music, who'd—

      


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