Part 7

A French round begins similarly: "Ah, the bringer of letters! What news is this? Ah, it is news that you must change your love.[58] Must I change my love, I prefer to die; he is not here, nor in France; he is in England, where he serves the gracious king." To this fragment belong the ancient verses which we have set as the motto of Chapter II. of our Introduction. All the other ladies of Paris are at the dance; the king's daughter alone "regarde à coté," "turns her head," looking at a messenger who is approaching; he brings news of her love's unfaithfulness; a rival skilled in magic arts has enchanted him, in the far country where he is warring. There is no more left of the ancient ballad, which, we presume, went on to describe her departure in man's costume, and rescue of her lover. We cannot prove the identity of our fragment, but we see how the child's game may have arisen.

No. 16.

_Uncle John._

A ring of dancers who circle and sing--

Uncle John is very sick, what shall we send him? A piece of pie, a piece of cake, a piece of apple-dumpling.[59] What shall we send it in? In a piece of paper. Paper is not fine[60] enough; in a golden saucer. Who shall we send it by? By the governor's[61] daughter. Take her by the lily-white hand, and lead her over the water.

After the words "governor's daughter" all the dancers fall down, and the last down stands apart, selects her confidential friend, and imparts with great mystery the _initials_ of some boy in whom she takes an interest. She then returns, and takes her place in the ring with face reversed, while the friend announces the initials, and the dancers sing, using the letters given--

A. B., so they say, Goes a-courting night and day, Sword and pistol by his side, And ---- ---- to be his bride; Takes her by the lily-white hand, And leads her o'er the water-- Here's a kiss, and there's a kiss For Mr. ----'s daughter.

If the person representing "Uncle John" be a boy, his full name comes first in this rhyme, and the initials of the girl are used.

The choice of the confidante is said to require as much deliberation as the selection of an ambassador of state.

_Hartford, Conn._

This is one of the most familiar of all children's rounds in our country. It is, we see, a love-history; and, thrice vulgarized as it is, bears traces of ancient origin, and may perhaps be the last echo of the mediæval song in which an imprisoned knight is saved from approaching death by the daughter of the king, or soldan, who keeps him in confinement.[62]

No. 17.

_King Arthur was King William's Son._

A row of hats of various sizes, and belonging to both sexes, are placed on the floor. The leader picks up the first hat, and puts it on his own head, marching and singing the verse. He then takes up the next hat, and places it on the head of any one he pleases; the person chosen stands behind him, and they once more march, singing. The process is continued, until all the company are arranged in line:

King Arthur was King William's son, And when the battle he had won, Upon his breast he wore a star, And it was called the sign of war.

_Orange, New Jersey._

The following rhyme is exceedingly familiar, throughout the Middle and Southern States, as a kissing-round:

King William was King James's son, And all the roy-al race he run; Upon his breast he wore a star, And it was called the sign of war. King William was King James's son,[63] And all the royal race he run; Upon his head he wore a star. Star of the East, Star of the West, Star of the one you love the best. If she's not here don't take her part, But choose another with all your heart. Down on the carpet you must kneel, As the grass grows on the field, Salute your bride, and kiss her sweet, And rise again upon your feet.

The round is also familiar in Ireland. We learn from an informant that in her town it was formerly played in a peculiar manner. Over the head of a girl, who stood in the centre of a ring, was held a shawl, sustained by four others grasping the corners. The game then proceeded as follows:

King William was King George's son-- _From the Bay of Biscay, O!_ Upon his breast he wore a star-- _Find your way to English schools._

Then followed the game-rhyme, repeated with each stanza, "Go choose you East," etc. King William is then supposed to enter--

The first girl that I loved so dear, Can it be she's gone from me?

If she's not here when the night comes on, Will none of you tell me where she is gone?

He recognizes the disguised girl--

There's heart beneath the willow-tree, There's no one here but my love and me.

"He had gone to the war, and promised to marry her when he came back. She wrapped a shawl about her head, to see if he would recognize her." This was all the reciter could recollect; the lines of the ballad were sung by an old woman, the ring answering with the game-rhyme.

_Waterford, Ireland._

The round now in use in the town whence this comes, but where the ballad is not at present known, begins:

King William was King George's son-- _From the Bay of Biscay, O!_ Upon his breast he wore a star-- _Point your way across the sea._

In the year 1287, Folke Algotson, a high-born Swedish youth, carried off to Norway (at that time the refuge of such boldness) Ingrid, a daughter of the "law-man" or judge of East Gothland, who was betrothed to a Danish noble. Popular ballads attached themselves to the occurrence, which are still preserved. The substance of that version of the story with which we are concerned is as follows: A youth loves a maid, who returns his affection, but in his absence her friends have "given" her to another. He rides to the wedding ceremony with a troop of followers. The bride, seeing him approach, and wishing to test his affection, calls on her maidens to "take off her gold crown, and coif her in linen white." But the hero at once recognizes his love, mounts with her on horseback, and flees to Norway.

We cannot believe the resemblance to be accidental, and look upon our rhymes as a branch from the same ancient--but not historical--root.

No. 18.

_Little Harry Hughes and the Duke's Daughter._

The writer was not a little surprised to hear from a group of colored children, in the streets of New York city (though in a more incoherent form) the following ballad. He traced the song to a little girl living in one of the cabins near Central Park, from whom he obtained this version. The hut, rude as the habitation of a recent squatter on the plains, was perched on a rock still projecting above the excavations which had been made on either side, preparatory to the erection of the conventional "brown-stone fronts" of a New York street. Rocks flung by carelessly managed explosions flew over the roof, and clouds of dust were blown by every wind into the unswept hovel. In this unlikely spot lingered the relics of old English folk-song, amid all the stir of the busiest of cities. The mother of the family had herself been born in New York, of Irish parentage, but had learned from her own mother, and handed down to her children, such legends of the past as the ballad we cite. A pretty melody gave popularity to the verse, and so the thirteenth-century tradition, extinct perhaps in its native soil, had taken a new lease of existence as a song of negro children in New York.

Under the thin disguise of the heading will be recognized the ballad of "Hugh of Lincoln and the Jew's Daughter," the occasion of which is referred by Matthew Paris to the year 1255. Chaucer, in exquisite verse, has made his Prioress recount the same story: how the child,

This gemme of chastitè, this emeraude, And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,

has his throat cut by "false Jewes," and, cast into a pit, still sings his chant in honor of

This welle of mercy, Christes moder sweet;

and, when discovered, cannot be buried in peace till the magic grain is removed which "that blissful maiden fre" has laid under his tongue.

The conclusion is, in our version, only implied. In that given by Jamieson the murdered child, speaking from the well, bids his mother prepare the winding-sheet, for he will meet her in the morn "at the back of merry Lincoln;" and the funeral service is performed by angels.

It was on a May, on a midsummer's day, When it rained, it did rain small; And little Harry Hughes and his playfellows all Went out to play the ball.

He knocked it up, and he knocked it down, He knocked it o'er and o'er; The very first kick little Harry gave the ball, He broke the duke's windows all.

She came down, the youngest duke's daughter, She was dressed in green; "Come back, come back, my pretty little boy, And play the ball again."

"I won't come back, and I daren't come back, Without my playfellows all; And if my mother she should come in, She'd make it the bloody ball."[64]

She took an apple out of her pocket, And rolled it along the plain; Little Harry Hughes picked up the apple, And sorely rued the day.

She takes him by the lily-white hand, And leads him from hall to hall, Until she came to a little dark room, That none could hear him call.

She sat herself on a golden chair, Him on another close by; And there's where she pulled out her little penknife That was both sharp and fine.

Little Harry Hughes had to pray for his soul, For his days were at an end; She stuck her penknife in little Harry's heart, And first the blood came very thick, and then came very thin.[65]

She rolled him in a quire of tin, That was in so many a fold; She rolled him from that to a little draw-well That was fifty fathoms deep.

"Lie there, lie there, little Harry," she cried, "And God forbid you to swim, If you be a disgrace to me, Or to any of my friends."

The day passed by, and the night came on, And every scholar was home, And every mother had her own child, But poor Harry's mother had none.[66]

She walked up and down the street, With a little sally-rod[67] in her hand; And God directed her to the little draw-well, That was fifty fathoms deep.

"If you be there, little Harry," she said, "And God forbid you to be, Speak one word to your own dear mother, That is looking all over for thee."

"This I am, dear mother," he cried, "And lying in great pain, With a little penknife lying close to my heart, And the duke's daughter she has me slain.

"Give my blessing to my schoolfellows all, And tell them to be at the church, And make my grave both large and deep, And my coffin of hazel and green birch.

"Put my Bible at my head, My busker[68] (?) at my feet, My little prayer-book at my right side, And sound will be my sleep."

No. 19.

_Barbara Allen._

In the first quarter of the century, this celebrated ballad was still used in New England as a children's game or dance at evening parties. We have here, perhaps, the latest English survival, in cultivated society, of a practice which had once been universal. It is noteworthy that while, in the town of which we speak,[69] the establishment, at the period alluded to, of a children's dancing-school was bitterly opposed, and the children of "church members" were hardly permitted to attend, no such prohibition applied to amusements like this, which were shared in irrespective of sectarian prejudice, by boys as well as by girls.

Our informant describes the performers as standing in couples, consisting each of a boy and a girl, facing each other. An elderly lady, who was in particular request at children's parties on account of her extensive stock of lore of the sort, sang the ballad, to which the dancers kept time with a slow metrical movement, balancing without any considerable change of place. At the final words, "Barbara Allen," which end every stanza, a courtesy took the place of the usual refrain. The whole performance is described as exceedingly pretty, stately, and decorous. It cannot be doubted that the version of the ballad sung was traditional, but we have not been able to secure it.

FOOTNOTES:

[53] The song exhibits numerous marks of antiquity. "Picks up a pin" was originally, no doubt, "pulls at the pin." The word "garret" here appears to correspond to the Scandinavian "high-loft," the upper part and living-room of an ancient house. The third verse is a very ancient ballad commonplace--

Shee's as soft as any silk, And as white as any milk.

"Ballad of Kinge Adler," in the Percy MS.

Instead of "Water, water, wild-flowers," as printed on the next page, we find in Philadelphia, "_Lily, lily, white-flower_," which may have been the original, and reminds us of the refrains of certain ballads. In Yorkshire, England, "_Willy, willy, wall-flower_."

A specimen of the quintessence of absurdity is the following street-song:

Swallow, swallow, weeping About a willow tree, All the boys in Fiftieth Street Are dying down below; Excepting ---- ---- His love he can't deny, For he loves ---- ---- And she loves him beside, etc.

Notwithstanding the vulgarity of these stanzas, and of others which are employed for the same purpose, the practice which they illustrate--namely, the adaptation of a ballad to the dance by uniting with it a game-rhyme--is no doubt ancient. We have other examples in the numbers which follow.

[54] "Lines told to Lydia Jackson (now Mrs. R. W. Emerson, of Concord, Mass.) by her aunt, Joanna Cotton, in 1806-7-8, in Plymouth."

[55] Observe how the nursery song differs from the children's dance. The nurse wishes to persuade the little child in her lap that _paring nails_ is a mark of great regard and affection, as, while performing that office, she chants the ballad to amuse her charge.

[56] "It is on a summer's tide, when ladies' hearts are free and gay, when they go arrayed in ermine and silk. The hart strikes his horn against the linden, and the fish leaps in the stream."--_Icelandic Ballad._

[57] Some little friends, feeling the unsatisfactoriness of the fragment, added a couplet to the dance--

O Mary, O Mary, your true love's not slain, The king sends you a letter _to turn round again_.

[58]

Eh! la _clinquet_ (?) de lettres, que nouvelle est celle-ci? Eh! ce sont des nouvelles qu'il faut changer d'ami.

[59] Or, "Three gold wishes, three good kisses, and a slice of _ginger_!"

[60] Or, "strong."

[61] Or, "king's daughter," "queen's daughter."

[62] See French ballad referred to in the Appendix.

[63] Or, "King _George's_ son." For convenience sake, the last couplet of the first version is printed with the melody.

[64]

For if my mother should chance to know, She'd make my blood to fall.--_Version of Sir Egerton Brydges._

[65]

And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin; And syne came out the bonny heart's blood, There was nae mair within.

_Jamieson._

[66]

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The lady Maisry gat nane.

_Jamieson._

[67] Sallow; willow.

[68] In other versions it is "Testament" or "Catechism."

[69] Keene, New Hampshire.

III.

_PLAYING AT WORK._

"The king (George III.) danced all night, and finished with the _Hemp-dressers_, that lasted two hours."--_Memoir of Mrs. Delany._

No. 20.

_Virginia Reel._

This dance, which we will not here attempt to describe, is no doubt well known to our readers; but we doubt if any of them has reflected on its significance. It is, in fact, an imitation of _weaving_. The first movements represent the shooting of the shuttle from side to side, and the passage of the woof over and under the threads of the warp; the last movements indicate the tightening of the threads, and bringing together of the cloth.[70]

There is a very similar Swedish dance, called "Weaving Woollen," in which the words sung are--

Weave the woollen and bind it together, Let the shuttle go round!

The originally imitative character of the dance is thus well illustrated. The "Hemp-dressers' Dance," in which George III. figured, seems to have resembled this, according to the description quoted in the memoir referred to in the heading of this chapter.

No. 21.

_Oats, Pease, Beans, and Barley Grows._

This round, although very familiar to all American children, seems, strangely enough, to be unknown in Great Britain; yet it is still a favorite in France, Provence, Spain, Italy, Sicily, Germany, and Sweden; it was played by Froissart (born 1337), and Rabelais (born 1483); while the general resemblance of the song in European countries proves that in the five centuries through which we thus trace it, even the words have undergone little change. Like the first game of our collection, it is properly a dance rather of young people than of children; and a comparative examination of versions inclines us to the belief that it is of Romance descent. The lines of the French refrain,[71] and the general form of the dance, suggest that the song may probably have had (perhaps in remote classic time) a religious and symbolic meaning, and formed part of rustic festivities designed to promote the fertility of the fields; an object which undoubtedly formed the original purpose of the May festival. So much for conjecture; but, in any case, it is pleasant to think of the many generations of children, in so many widely separated lands, who have rejoiced in the pretty game.

The ring circles, singing, about a child in the centre--

Oats, pease, beans, and barley grows, Oats, pease, beans, and barley grows; How you, nor I, nor nobody knows, Oats, pease, beans, and barley grows.

The children now pause, and sing with appropriate gestures--

Thus the farmer sows his seed, Stands erect and takes his ease, Stamps his foot, and claps his hands, And turns about to view his lands.

Waiting for a partner, Waiting for a partner, Open the ring and take her in, And kiss her when you get her in.

The boy selects a girl, and the two kneel in the ring, and salute--

Now you're married, you must obey, You must be true to all you say, You must be kind, you must be good, _And make your husband chop the wood_.

What we have said of the permanency of the words applies only to the action, the essential part, of the game. The _amatory chorus_, by which the song is made to serve the purpose of love-making, is very variable. Thus we have the quaint conclusion of the last line at greater length:

And now you're married in Hymen's band, You must obey your wife's command; You must obey your constant good, And keep your wife in hickory wood-- Split the wood and carry it in, [_twice_] And then she'll let you kiss her again.

"Splitting the wood" was a very troublesome part of the New England farmer's ménage.

More commonplace are the choruses:

You must be good, you must be true, And do as you see others do.

Or--

And live together all your life, And I pronounce you man and wife.

Or again--

And love each other like sister and brother, And now kneel down and kiss each other.[72]

In place of "sister and brother," the malicious wit of little girls substituted "cats and dogs."[73]

In the early part of the century the essential stanza went thus in New Hampshire:

Thus my father sows his seed, Stands erect and takes his ease, Stamps his foot, and claps his hands, Whirls about, and thus he stands.

The Swedish quatrain is nearly the same:

I had a father, he sowed this way, And when he had done, he stood this way; He stamped with his foot, he clapped with his hand, He turned about, he was so glad.

The French rhyme, by its exact correspondence, proves the great antiquity of the formula.[74]

The German game, as is often the case with German children's games and ballads in general, is more modernized than in the other tongues, and has become a coarse jest. It is represented how the farmer sows his oats, cuts it, binds it, carries it home, stores it, threshes it, takes it to market, sells it, spends the money in carousal, comes home drunk, and quarrels with his wife, because she has cooked him no supper! Verily, a satire from the lips of children!

Fauriel, in his history of Provençal literature, alludes to this song, which it seems he had seen danced in Provence, and considers to be derived from, and to represent, choral dances of Greek rustics. "The words of the song," he says, speaking of these ancient dances, "described an action, a succession of different situations, which the dancers reproduced by their gestures. The song was divided into many stanzas, and terminated by a refrain alike for all. The dancers acted or gesticulated only to imitate the action or situation described in each stanza; at the refrain they took each other by the hand and danced a round, with a movement more or less lively. There are everywhere popular dances derived from these, which more or less resemble them.... I remember to have seen in Provence some of these dances, of which the theme seems to be very ancient--one, among the rest, imitating successively the habitual actions of a poor laborer, working in his field, sowing his wheat or oats, mowing, and so on to the end. Each of the numerous couplets of the song was sung with a slow and dragging motion, as if to imitate the fatigue and the sullen air of the poor laborer; and the refrain was of a very lively movement, the dancers then giving way to all their gayety."[75]

The French, Italian, and Spanish versions of this game also represent a series of actions, sowing, reaping, etc., of which our own rhyme has retained only one stanza. There is a whole class of similar rounds, which describe the labors of the farmer, vine-dresser, etc. That such a song, danced in sowing-time, and representing the progress and abundance of the crop, should be supposed to bring a blessing on the labors of the year, is quite in conformity with what we know of popular belief, ancient and modern. When a French savant asked the peasants of La Châtre why they performed the dance of "Threading the Needle" (see No. 29), the answer was, "To make the hemp grow." It is not in the least unlikely that the original of the present chant was sung, with a like object, by Italian rustics in the days of Virgil.

No. 22.

_Who'll Be the Binder?_

Couples circle in a ring about a single player--

It rains, it hails, it's cold stormy weather, In comes the farmer drinking all the cider; You be the reaping-boy and I'll be the binder; I've lost my true love, and don't know where to find her.

Each girl then lets go of her partner's arm, and takes the arm of the one in advance, and the solitary player endeavors meanwhile to slip into the line.

The following is a variation:

It snows and it blows, and it's cold frosty weather, Here comes the farmer drinking all his cider; I'll be the reaper, who'll be the binder? I've lost my true love, where shall I find her?

It is played by children in New York city as a kissing-game in the ring, as follows:

In comes the farmer, drinking all the cider; I have a true love and don't know where to find her. Go round the ring, and see if you can find her; If you cannot find her, go and choose another one.

We meet our game once more in North Germany. But its prettiest form is among the Fins of the Baltic coast, where it is extremely pleasing and pastoral: