Category Archive 'Folk Song'

24 Oct 2015

A Dree Neet

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Deathbed

I found this quoted in “Heather Mixture”, a sporting novel published in 1922 by “Klaxon” (pen name of Lt. Cmd. John Graham Bower D.S.O.). It is apparently a traditional folk song collected in North Yorkshire and published circa 1900 by Robert Blakeborough.

‘T Were a dree neet, a dree neet,
as t’ squire’s end drew nigh,
A dree neet, a dree neet,
to watch, an pray, an’ sigh.

When t’ streeam runs dry, an’ t’ deead leaves fall,
an’ t’ ripe ear bends its heead,
An’ t’ blood wi’ lithin’, seems fair clogg’d,
yan kens yan’s neam’d wi’ t’ deead.

When t’ een grows dim, an’ folk draw nigh
frae t’ other saade o’ t’ grave,
It’s late to square up awd accoonts
a gannin’ sowl to save.

T’ priest may coom, an’ t’ priest may gan,
his weel-worn tale to chant,
When t’ deeath-smear clems a wrinkled broo,
sike disn’t fet yan’s want.

Nea book, nea can’le, bell, nor mass,
nea priest iv onny lan’,
When t’ dree neet cooms, can patch a sowl,
or t’ totterin’ mak to stan’.

. . . . .

‘T were a dree neet, a dree neet,
for a sowl to gan away,
A dree neet, a dree neet,
bud a gannin’ sowl can’t stay.

An’ t’ winner shuts they rattled sair,
an’ t’ mad wild wind did shill,
An’ t’ Gabriel ratchets yelp’d aboon,
a gannin’ sowl to chill.

‘T were a dree neet, a dree neet,
for deeath to don his cowl,
To staup abroad wi’ whimly treead,
to claim a gannin’ sowl.

Bud laal deeath recks hoo dree t’ neet be,
or hoo a sowl may pray,
When t’ sand runs oot, his sickle reaps;
a gannin’ sowl can’t stay.

‘T were a dree neet, a dree neet,
ower Whinny-moor to trake,
Wi’ shoonless feet, ower flinty steanes,
thruf monny a thorny brake.

A dree neet, a dree neet,
wi’ nowt neaways to mark
T’ gainest trod to t’ Brig o’ Deead;
a lane lost sowl i’ t’ dark.

A dree neet, a dree neet,
at t’ brig foot theer to meet
Laal sowls at he were t’ father on,
wi’ nea good-deame i’ seet.

At t’ altar steps he niver steead,
thof monny a voo he made,
Noo t’ debt he awes to monny a lass
at t’ brig foot mun be paid.

They face him noo wiv other deeds,
like black spots on a sheet,
They noo unscape, they egg him on,
on t’ brig his doom to meet.

Nea doves has sattled on his sill,
bud a flittermoose that neet
Cam thrice taames thruf his casement,
an’ flacker’d roond his feet.

An’ thrice taames did a raven croak,
an’ t’ seame-like thrice cam t’ hoot
Frae t’ ullets’ tree; doon chimleys three
there cam a shrood o’ soot.

An’ roond t’ can’le twea taames there cam
a dark-wing’d moth to t’ leet,
Bud t’ thod, it swirl’d reet into t’ fleame,
wheer gans his sowl this neet.

‘T were a dree neet, a dree neet,
for yan to late to pray,
A dree neet, a dree neet,
bud a gannin’ sowl can’t stay.

02 Jun 2015

Jean Ritchie: “Lord Thomas & Fair Ellender”

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02 Jun 2015

Jean Ritchie, 8 December 1922 — 1 June 2015

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jeanritchie

Jean Ritchie, the best singer in the American Appalachian folk tradition, passed away last evening at the age of 92. She was born in Viper, an unincorporated settlement in Eastern Kentucky, and died in Berea, Kentucky.

America Folklife Center announcement. Formal obituaries have yet to appear.

Wikipedia bio.

Here is a good example of her repertoire and voice:

26 Aug 2014

Jean Redpath, 28 April 1937 – 21 August 2014

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JeanRedpath

The Times reports that the renowned Scottish folksinger Jean Redpath succumbed to cancer recently in a hospice in Arizona at age 77.

Redpath, in the course of her career, released forty albums. She was made a Member of the Order of the British Empire, and her portrait hangs in the Scottish National Portrait Gallery.

Three Scottish songs with comical texts from an album of Scottish song released in 1962. The first one is the best.

15 May 2010

The Parting Glass

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Walter Olson forwards a link to this YouTube 2:37 video performance of:

The Parting Glass

Oh all the money that e’er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e’er I’ve done
alas, it was to none but me
For all I’ve done for want of wit
to memory now I can’t recall
So fill to me the parting glass
good night and joy be with you all

Oh all the comrades that e’er I’ve had
they are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e’er I’ve had
they would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
that I should rise and you should not
I’ll gently rise and softly call
good night and joy be with you all

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Not a high quality recording, but the singer has a very nice voice. She is from Derry, currently residing in New York, and says her name is Sheena.


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