A True Story- Called Molly Bawn: (Dublin) 1864 Ralph Varian
[From Street Ballads, Popular Poetry and Household Songs of Ireland; published by McGlashan & Gill Company, Dublin, 1864-5
Collected and arranged Duncathail [pseud. for Ralph Varian]. Later published in The Universal Irish Song Book: A Complete Collection of the Songs; Patrick John Kenedy 1894, New York.
"Duncathail" (suggested hy Dunkettle), was the nom de plume of Ralph Varian, of Cork, author of some good poems, and of a Life of "John and Henry Sheares, and editor of "The Harp of Erin," and "Popular Poetry of Ireland."
This version seems like a broadside or chapbook copy that's been rewritten by Varian.
R. Matteson 2016]
A TRUE STORY- CALLED MOLLY BAWN.
"STREET BALLAD." 1864 book finished/first edition. "Highly popular in several of the midland counties of Ireland."
A STORY, a sad story, to you I will relate,
Of a beautiful young maiden, who met a woful fate;
As she walked out one evening, at the setting of the Sun,
And rested in a bower, a passing shower to shun.
Young Jemmy with his gun had been fowling all the day
And down beside the lake he came at close of twilight grey;
Her apron being about her, he took her for a fawn;
But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn.'
Now all ye brave young men, who go sporting with the gun,
Beware of shooting late, and grey mists about the Sun:
Her apron being about her, he took her for a fawn;
But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn!
When he came to the bower, and found that it was she
His limbs they grew feeble, his eyes they could not see;
He took her in his arms, across her uncle's lawn,
And his tears flowed like fountains on his own Molly Bawn.
Young Jemmy he went home, with his gun beneath his hand,
Sick and broken-hearted, like a felon in the land;
Crying- "Father, O my Father- by the lake - a fair white fawn
I leveled and I shot her dead- my own Molly Bawn!"
That night to her uncle her spirit did appear,
Saying—"Uncle, dearest uncle, my truelove he is clear:
My apron being about me, he took me for a fawn;
But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn!"
Oh, Molly was his jewel, his sweetheart and his pride!
If she had lived another year, she would have been his bride;
The flower of all the valley, the pride of hut and hall,
Oh, Jemmy soon will follow his own Molly Bawn.