Lydia Margaret- Lane (Mo.) 1930 Randolph B
[My title. From Vance Randolph's Ozark Folksongs; Vol. 1, 1946, with music.
R. Matteson 2014]
B. [Lydia Margaret] Contributed by Mrs. Rose Wilder Lane, Mansfield, Mo., May 16, 1930. Mrs. Lane says that this piece is still popular among the old settlers in her neighborhood.
Sweet William he arose one mornin' in June,
An' dressed himself in blue,
Sayin' tell unto me this long long love
Between Lydia Margaret an' you.
I know nothin' of Lydia Margaret's love,
I know she don't love me,
But tomorrow mornin' at eight o'clock
Lydia Margaret my bride shall see.
Lydia Margaret stood in her hall door,
A-combin' out her hair,
When she spied sweet William an' his bride
As they to the church drew nigh.
She threw away her ivory comb,
An' the silk band from her hair,
An' out of the door this fair lady went
An' she never returned any more.
The day bein' gone an' the night comin' on
When all men were asleep,
Sweet William spied Lydia Margaret's ghost
A-standin' at his bed's feet.
How do you like your bed, says she,
An' how do you like your sheet?
An' how do you like that fair pretty one
Which lies in your arms asleep|
Very well do I like my bed, says he,
Very well do I like my sheet,
But the best of all is that pretty fair one
That stands at my bed's feet.
The night bein' gone an' the day comin' on,
When all men were awake,
Sweet William he said he was troubled in his mind
For the dream he'd had last night.
Such dreams, such dreams they are not true,
Such dreams they are not good,
I dreamt my halls was full of wild swine,
An' my bride was a-swimmin' in blood.
He called his merry maids to him,
By ones, by twos, by threes,
An' last of all he ask his bride
If Lydia Margaret he might go see.
What will you do with Lydia Margaret's love,
An' what will you do with me?
It's I will go Lydia Margaret see
An' then I'll return to thee.
He went an' knocked at her hall door,
Where he had often been,
But there was none but her seventh brother
To rise an' let him in.
Is she in the kitchen, says he,
Or is she in the hall?
Or is she in her upper chamber
Among her merry maids all ?
She is not in the kitchen, says he,
Nor is she in the hall.
But there she lies in her own coffin
Laid out against the wall.
Fold up, fold up those Highland sheets
That's made of linen fine,
So I can kiss those ruby lips
That oft times has kissed mine.
First he kissed her on the cheek
An' then he kissed her chin,
An' last of all were those clay-cold lips
Which pierced his heart within.
Fold down, fold down those Highland sheets
That's made of linen fine,
Today you hang over Lydia Margaret's corpse,
Tomorrow over mine.
Lydia Margaret was buried in the old church yard,
Sweet William by her side,
An' out of her bosom sprang a red rose,
An' out of his breast a brier.
They grew an' they grew to the high church tower,
Till they could not grow no higher;
An' there they twined in a true lover's knot
For all true lovers to admire.