The next is the only example of pure fiction that I have met with:—
5th Figure.
|
Feather, feather, feather, Baby da born with feather. You cut off the fowl head an' boil it in a 'tew-pan, Baby da born with feather. Feather, feather oh! Baby da born with feather. Feather, feather oh! Baby da born with feather. You cut off the fowl head an' boil it with the feather, So the baby go born with feather. I hear the news as I re'ch to Hagley Gap, Say baby da born with feather. Something me never hear, Something me never hear that Baby can born with feather. Something me never hear, Something me never hear that Baby can born with feather. |
All the other sings are chronicles of true events, and it is an exceptional case to find one purely the offspring of imagination like this one. The compiler of the words could not get quite free of actuality; he puts in Hagley Gap, which is the name of a pass through the hills. I once asked why it was so called and was told because it was a hugly place. The cooking described savours of Obeah.