Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 30

We have been rambling all the night, And almost all the day; And now returned back again, We have brought you a branch of May.

A branch of May we have brought you, And at your door it stands; It is but a sprout, But it's well budded out By the work of our Lord's hand.

The hedges and trees they are so green, As green as any leek; Our heavenly Father he watered them With his heavenly dew so sweet.

The heavenly gates are open wide, Our paths are beaten plain; And if a man be not too far gone, He may return again.

The life of man is but a span, It flourishes like a flower; We are here to-day, and gone to-morrow, And we are dead in an hour.

The moon s.h.i.+nes bright, and the stars give a light, A little before it is day; So G.o.d bless you all, both great and small, And send you a joyful May!

Ballad: THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG.

[At Helstone, in Cornwall, the 8th of May is a day devoted to revelry and gaiety. It is called the Furry-day, supposed to be a corruption of Flora's day, from the garlands worn and carried in procession during the festival. {37} A writer in the Gentleman's Magazine for June, 1790, says, 'In the morning, very early, some troublesome rogues go round the streets [of Helstone], with drums and other noisy instruments, disturbing their sober neighbours, and singing parts of a song, the whole of which n.o.body now re-collects, and of which I know no more than that there is mention in it of the 'grey goose quill,' and of going 'to the green wood' to bring home 'the Summer and the May, O!'' During the festival, the gentry, tradespeople, servants, &c., dance through the streets, and thread through certain of the houses to a very old dance tune, given in the appendix to Davies Gilbert's Christmas Carols, and which may also be found in Chappell's Popular Music, and other collections.

The Furry-day Song possesses no literary merit whatever; but as a part of an old and really interesting festival, it is worthy of preservation. The dance-tune has been confounded with that of the song, but Mr. Sandys, to whom we are indebted for this communication, observes that 'the dance-tune is quite different.']

Robin Hood and Little John, They both are gone to the fair, O!

And we will go to the merry green-wood, To see what they do there, O!

And for to chase, O!

To chase the buck and doe.

With ha-lan-tow, rumble, O!

For we were up as soon as any day, O!

And for to fetch the summer home, The summer and the may, O!

For summer is a-come, O!

And winter is a-gone, O!

Where are those Spaniards That make so great a boast, O?

They shall eat the grey goose feather, And we will eat the roast, O!

In every land, O!

The land where'er we go.

With ha-lan-tow, &c

As for Saint George, O!

Saint George he was a knight, O!

Of all the knights in Christendom, Saint George is the right, O!

In every land, O!

The land where'er we go.

With ha-lan-tow, &c.

Ballad: CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG.

[The very ancient custom of lighting fires on Midsummer-eve, being the vigil of St. John the Baptist, is still kept up in several parts of Cornwall. On these occasions the fishermen and others dance about the fires, and sing appropriate songs. The following has been sung for a long series of years at Penzance and the neighbourhood, and is taken down from the recitation of the leader of a West-country choir. It is communicated to our pages by Mr.

Sandys. The origin of the Midsummer bonfires is fully explained in Brand's Popular Antiquities. See Sir H. Ellis's edition of that work, vol. i. pp. 166-186.]

The bonny month of June is crowned With the sweet scarlet rose; The groves and meadows all around With lovely pleasure flows.

As I walked out to yonder green, One evening so fair; All where the fair maids may be seen Playing at the bonfire.

Hail! lovely nymphs, be not too coy, But freely yield your charms; Let love inspire with mirth and joy, In Cupid's lovely arms.

Bright Luna spreads its light around, The gallants for to cheer; As they lay sporting on the ground, At the fair June bonfire.

All on the pleasant dewy mead, They shared each other's charms; Till Phoebus' beams began to spread, And coming day alarms.

Whilst larks and linnets sing so sweet, To cheer each lovely swain; Let each prove true unto their love, And so farewell the plain.

Ballad: SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG.

[In no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater spirit than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general favourite on such occasions.]

Here's a health unto our master, The founder of the feast!

I wish, with all my heart and soul, In heaven he may find rest.

I hope all things may prosper, That ever be takes in hand; For we are all his servants, And all at his command.

Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill, For if you do, you must drink two,--it is your master's will.

Now our harvest is ended, And supper is past; Here's our mistress' good health, In a full flowing gla.s.s!

She is a good woman, - She prepared us good cheer; Come, all my brave boys, And drink off your beer.

Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me, The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!

In yon green wood there lies an old fox, Close by his den you may catch him, or no; Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.

His beard and his brush are all of one colour, - [Takes the gla.s.s and empties it off.

I am sorry, kind sir, that your gla.s.s is no fuller.

'Tis down the red lane! 'tis down the red lane!

So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane! {38}

Ballad: THE HAYMAKER'S SONG.