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Another song, widely scattered in varying versions throughout France, is of the forsaken and too trustful maid,-'En revenant des Noces.' The narrative in this, as in the Scottish song, makes it approach the ballad.

BACK from the wedding-feast,

All weary by the way,

I rested by a fount

And watched the waters' play;

And at the fount I bathed,
So clear the waters' play;

And with a leaf of oak
I wiped the drops away.
Upon the highest branch
Loud sang the nightingale.
Sing, nightingale, oh sing,
Thou hast a heart so gay!
Not gay, this heart of mine:
My love has gone away,

Because I gave my rose
Too soon, too soon away.

Ah, would to God that rose
Yet on the rosebush lay,—

Would that the rosebush, even,
Unplanted yet might stay,-

Would that my lover Pierre
My favor had to pray!?

1 See Tiersot, 'La Chanson Populaire, p. 103, with the music.

The final

verses, simple as they are, are not rendered even remotely well. They run: Que je suis sa fidèle amie,

Et que vers lui je tends les bras.

2 Tiersot, p. 90. In many versions there is further complication with king and queen and the lover. This song is extremely popular in Canada.

The corresponding Scottish song, beautiful enough for any land or age, is the well-known Waly, Waly':

OH WALY, waly, up the bank,

And waly, waly, down the brae,

And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.

I lean'd my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bowed and syne it brak,
Sae my true-love did lightly1 me.

Oh waly, waly, but love be bonny
A little time, while it is new;
But when 'tis auld it waxeth cauld,

And fades away like morning dew.

Oh wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true-love has me forsook,

And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne'er be fyled by me;

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true-love has forsaken me.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw

And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

'Lightly (a verb) is to treat with contempt, to undervalue. burden quoted by Chappell, p. 458, and very old:

The bonny broome, the well-favored broome,

The broome blooms faire on hill;
What ailed my love to lightly me,

And I working her will?

Compare the

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I myself in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kissed,

That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd locked my heart in a case of gold.
And pinned it with a silver pin.

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,

And I myself were dead and gone,

[And the green grass growing over me!]

The same ballad touch overweighs even the lyric quality of the verses about Yarrow:

"WILLY'S rare, and Willy's fair,
And Willy's wondrous bonny,
And Willy heght' to marry me
Gin e'er he married ony.

"Oh came you by yon water-side?
Pu'd you the rose or lily?

Or came you by yon meadow green?
Or saw you my sweet Willy? »

She sought him east, she sought him west,

She sought him brade and narrow;

Syne, in the clifting of a craig,

She found him drowned in Yarrow.2

Returning to Germany and to pure lyric, we have a pretty bit which is attached to many different songs.

1 Promised.

HIGH up on yonder mountain

A mill-wheel clatters round,

And, night or day, naught else but love

Within the mill is ground.

The mill has gone to ruin,

And love has had its day;

God bless thee now, my bonnie lass,

I wander far away.'

2 Child's Ballads, vii. 179.

Böhme, p. 271.

But there is a more cheerful vein in this sort of song; and the mountain offers pleasanter views:

OH YONDER on the mountain,
There stands a lofty house,
Where morning after morning,

Yes, morning,

Three maids go in and out.1

The first she is my sister,

The second well is known,

The third, I will not name her,

No, name her,

And she shall be my own!

Finally, that pearl of German folk-song, 'Innsprück.' The wanderer must leave the town and his sweetheart; but he swears to be true, and prays that his love be kept safe till his return:

INNSPRÜCK, I must forsake thee,

My weary way betake me

Unto a foreign shore,

And all my joy hath vanished,
And ne'er while I am banished
Shall I behold it more.

I bear a load of sorrow,
And comfort can I borrow,

Dear love, from thee alone.
Ah, let thy pity hover
About thy weary lover

When he is far from home.

My one true love! Forever
Thine will I bide, and never

Shall our dear vow be vain.

Now must our Lord God ward thee,
In peace and honor guard thee,
Until I come again.

In leaving the subject of folk-song, it is necessary for the reader not only to consider anew the loose and unscientific way in which this term has been employed, but also to bear in mind that few of the above specimens can lay claim to the title in any rigid classification. Long ago, a German critic reminded zealous collectors of his

The rhyme in German leaves even more to be desired.

day that when one has dipped a pailful of water from the brook, one has captured no brook; and that when one has written down a folk-song, it has ceased to be that eternally changing, momentary, spontaneous, dance-begotten thing which once flourished everywhere as communal poetry. Always in flux, if it stopped it ceased to be itself. Modern lyric is deliberately composed by some one, mainly to be sung by some one else; the old communal lyric was sung by the throng and was made in the singing. When festal excitement at some great communal rejoicing in the life of clan or tribe "fought its battles o'er again," the result was narrative communal song. disguised and baffled survival of this most ancient narrative is the popular ballad. Still more disguised, still more baffled, is the purely lyrical survival of that old communal and festal song; and the best one can do is to present those few specimens found under conditions which preserve certain qualities of a vanished world of poetry.

A

It may be asked why the contemporary songs found among Indian tribes of our continent, or among remote islanders in low stages of culture, should not reproduce for us the old type of communal verse. The answer is simple. Tribes which have remained in low stages of culture do not necessarily retain all the characteristics of primitive life among races which had the germs of rapidly developing culture. That communal poetry which gave life to the later epic of Hellenic or of Germanic song must have differed materially, no matter in what stage of development, from the uninteresting and monotonous chants of the savage. Moreover, the specimens of savage verse which we know retain the characteristics of communal verse, while they lack its nobler and vital quality. The dance, the spontaneous production, repetition, these are all marked characteristics of savage verse. But savage verse cannot serve as model for our ideas of primitive folk

song.

ere.

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