song - evergreentrad

23 Aug

Let No Man Steal Your Time

Come all young maids, so fair and gay,
That glory in your prime, [prime,]
Be wise, beware, keep your gardens clear,
Let no man steal your time, [let no man steal your time.]

For when your time it is all gone,
There’ll no man care for you,
And the very place where my time was,
Is spread all over with rue.

The gardener’s son was standing by,
Three flowers he plucked for me,
The pink, the blue, the violet, too,
And the red rosy three.

I’ll cut off the primrose top,
And plant a willow tree,
So that the whole world may plainly see,
How my love slighted me.

Slighted lovers they must live,
Although they live in pain,
For the grass that grows in yon green moor,
In time will rise again.

Roud No.: 3

We have another traditional song this month that appears in the book Jim’s Western Gems compiled by Irish-Minnesotan singer James J. Somers and published in Minneapolis in 1912. Versions of the “Sprig of Thyme” date at least as far back as the 1760s in England and the song came to be sung widely in the English-speaking world. Above, I have married Somers’ text to the melody sung by Dublin singer Patrick Green in 1951 available through the Lomax Digital Archive website.

Somers titles this song text “The Last Song My Father Sang” which is likely a reference to his Irish-born father Martin Somers.

(Most printed versions highlight the double meaning of thyme/time by spelling it “thyme” but Somers’ book spells the word “time.” Somers’ text doesn’t indicate repeated words at the end of the 2nd or 4th lines but I’ve suggested them here to work with Patrick Green’s melody.)

Martin Somers, father of James Somers, as pictured in *Jim’s Western Gems*. Martin was born in Ireland around 1831 and settled near Cardwell, Ontario, about 60km from the southern tip of Georgian Bay. Nearby placenames to Cardwell include many Irish references such as: Athlone, Achill, Ballycroy, Kilmanagh, Erin and Sligo.

23 Aug

Just Twenty Years Ago

I wandered to the village, Tom, and sat beneath the tree,
Upon the school house playing ground, that sheltered you and me,
But none were there to greet me, Tom, and few were left to know,
Who played with me upon the green, just twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green, dear Tom; barefooted boys at play,
Were sporting just as we were then, with spirits just as gay,
But the master sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o’er with snow,
Afforded us a sliding place, just twenty years ago.

The river’s running just as still, the willows on its side,
Are larger than they were, dear Tom, the stream appears less wide
The grape vine swing is ruined now, where once we played the beau,
And swung our sweethearts—pretty girls—just twenty years ago.

The old school house is altered some, the benches are replaced,
By others very like the ones our penknives had defaced,
The same old bricks are in the walls, the bell swings to and fro,
Its music’s just as sweet, dear Tom, as twenty years ago.

The spring that bubbled ‘neath the hill, close by the spreading beach,
Is very high—’twas once so low—that I could scarcely reach,
And stooping down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so!
To see how much that I was changed, since twenty years ago.

Close by this spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name,
Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same,
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, ’tis dying sure, but slow,
Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty years ago.

My heart was very sad, dear Tom, and tears came in my eyes,
I though[t] of her I loved so well, those early broken ties,
I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strew,
Upon the graves of those we loved, just twenty years ago.

Some now in that churchyard lay, some sleep beneath the sea,
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me,
And when our time shall come, dear Tom, and we are called to go,
I hope they’ll lay us where we played, just twenty years ago.

Roud no: 765

We return this month to the book Jim’s Western Gems, a collection of songs and poems self-published in Minneapolis in 1913 by James J. Somers, a second-generation Irish-American born in the Georgian Bay region of Ontario. I shared five of Somers’ own compositions last year but the (text-only) book also includes some traditional songs including the above text.

Edward “Sandy” Ives collected the nostalgic “Twenty Years Ago” from John Banks of Prince Edward Island in 1968 and published that version in the book Drive Dull Care Away. Banks used a version of the “Banks of the Nile” melody for the song. “Banks of the Nile” was sung in Minnesota by Michael Dean so, above, I have wed the Somers text with Dean’s melody for a fully Minnesotan version!

The song is likely of American origin and it appears in published song books at least as early as 1859.

22 Aug

The Dublin Dancing Master

In Dublin city once there lived a cratur gay and hearty,
A dancing master he by trade his name was Teddy McCarthy,
He taught the girls and boys to dance and none could do it faster,
He always danced so neat and nice, the Dublin dancing master.

Down the middle, hands across, go a little faster,
In and out and round about, the Dublin dancing master.

Now Teddy taught both reels and jigs and all the other dances,
From highland fling to plain quadrille to please the ladies’ fancies,
Patsy Whelan, Mickey Flynn and a boy called Kit McAstor,
Came to learn a highland fling from the Dublin dancing master

Thus Teddy got the boys and girls proficient in their dances,
Polkas, jigs and schottisches, mazurkas, reels and lancers,
No matter what the dance he taught, none could go it faster,
And none could dance an Irish jig like the Dublin dancing master.

I happened on this song in my monthly search and thought it was the perfect choice as I am thinking this week about the passing of Séamus O’Shea. Séamus was a true modern day Dublin dancing master whose son Cormac carries on the family tradition here in St. Paul. Rest in Peace Séamus.

The Canadian Maritimes are, again, my source for this music hall song that migrated from the vaudeville stage to the voices of singers in their communities. The song was sung at Tony Pastor’s famous New York theater in 1866 by singer William Carleton (not to be confused with the author of the same name). In Eastern Passage, Halifax County, Nova Scotia, it was sung by Ben Henneberry (with fiddle by Ken Faulkner) for Helen Creighton’s recording machine in 1948. You can hear the Henneberry/Faulkner recording at the Nova Scotia Archives site.

The melody above is my transcription of Henneberry’s singing and the text is adapted from Henneberry with additional words from a version printed in Will Carleton’s Dandy Pat Songster (1866).