American Ballads and Songs

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Louise Pound
C. Scribner's Sons, 1922 - American ballads and songs - 266 pages
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User Review  - antiquary - LibraryThing

An extremely interesting collection. Many of the ballads are standard, but it includes some I rarely see which are interesting reflections of traditional prejudices such as The Romish Lady (A ... Read full review

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Page 230 - You're kindly welcome, sir," she said. "What is your father, my pretty maid?" "My father's a farmer, sir," she said. "Say, will you marry me, my pretty maid ?" "Yes, if you please, kind sir," she said. "What is your fortune, my pretty maid ?" "My face is my fortune, sir," she said. "Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid!
Page 3 - ... sang me old English ballads, including that gruesome one, "Oh, where have you been, Randall, my son?" — about the man who had gone to Pretty Peggy's house and been given snakes to eat: "What had you for supper, Randall, my son?" "Fresh fish fried in butter. Oh, make my bed soon! For I'm sick at my heart and I fain would lie down!
Page 115 - I'll prepare to run." All down the hill his loving bride Now ran with all her force To push him in, he stepped aside, And she fell in, of course. Now splashing, dashing like a fish — "Oh, save me, Johnny Sands." "I can't, my dear, though much I wish, For you have tied my hands.
Page 166 - Last night as I lay on the prairie, And looked at the stars in the sky, I wondered if ever a cowboy Would drift to that sweet by and by.
Page 182 - While skinning the damned old stinkers our lives wasn'ta show, For the Indians watched to pick us off while skinning the buffalo. He fed us on such sorry chuck I wished myself most dead, It was old jerked beef, croton coffee, and sour bread. Pease River's as salty as hell fire, the water I could never go — O God!
Page 175 - While we go driving them all along. When the night comes on and we hold them on the bedground, These little dogies that roll on so slow; Roll up the herd and cut out the strays, And roll the little dogies that never rolled before.
Page 165 - But when I left my eastern home, a bachelor so gay, To try and win my way to wealth and fame, I little thought I'd come down to burning twisted hay In the little old sod shanty on my claim.
Page 96 - This will bring sad news to you; Do not mourn your first beloved, Though this brings his last adieu. "I must suffer for deserting From the brig Niagara; Read this letter, brothers, sisters, 'Tis the last you'll hear from me.
Page 167 - Come along, boys, and listen to my tale, I'll tell you of my troubles on the old Chisholm trail.
Page 145 - The people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death, And wondered how he ever came to die. It was one of the gang called little Robert Ford, He shot poor Jesse on the sly.

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