G
From the singing of a wandering minstrel and story-teller of the parish of Cury, Cornwall. After the last stanza followed “a stormy kind of duet between the maiden and her lover’s ghost, who tries to persuade the maid to accompany him to the world of shadows.” Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, First Series, 1865, p. xvi.
1
‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The first truelove that ever I had
In the green wood he was slain.
2
‘’Twas down in the garden-green, sweetheart,
Where you and I did walk;
The fairest flower that in the garden grew
Is witherd to a stalk.
3
‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,
The flowers will neer return,
And since my truelove is dead and gone,
What can I do but mourn?’
4
A twelvemonth and a day being gone,
The spirit rose and spoke:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
5
‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,
My breath smells heavy and strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips
Your time will not be long.’
235 f. Add: Gaspé, Les anciens Canadiens, Québec, 1877, I, 220 ff.; cited by Sébillot, Annuaire des Traditions populaires, 1887, p. 38 ff..
236. A 5, etc. So Nigra, ‘La Sposa morta,’ p. 122, No 17, D 12: ‘Mia buca morta l’à odur di terra, ch’a l’era, viva, di roze e fiur.’
Little-Russian tale, Trudy, II, 416, No 122. A girl who is inconsolable for the death of her mother is advised to hide herself in the church after vespers on Thursday of the first week in Lent, and does so. At midnight the bells ring, and a dead priest performs the service for a congregation all of whom are dead. Among them is the girl’s godmother, who bids her begone before her mother remarks her. But the mother has already seen her daughter, and calls out, You here too? Weep no more for me. My coffin and my grave are filled with your tears; wretched it is to bathe in them! (W. W.) After this the mother’s behavior is not quite what we should expect. Cf. the tale in Gaspé, just cited.
79. The Wife of Usher’s Well.
II, 238.