The Unquiet Grave- White (Newfoundland) 1929; Version A
[Not a local title. From Ballads and Sea-Songs of Newfoundland By Elizabeth Bristol Greenleaf, Grace Yarrow Mansfield- 1933; Kittredge's notes follow.
R. Matteson 2012, 2015]
This is the first record of this moving ballad in North America. Mrs. Rosie White's air is similar in its first phrase to the air for "The Two Brothers" (Child, no. 49), as printed in British Ballads from Maine, p. 99. Campbell and Sharp print three verses of "The Two Brothers" (No. 11, B, C, and D; Child, No. 49) which are like verses of "The Unquiet Grave." The two ballads are evidently allied. and it is interesting to see that the connection is retained in the music as well as in the words. For "The Unquiet Grave" in England see Merrick, Folk-Songs from Sussex (Book V of Sharp's Folk-Songs of England), pp. 16-21; Sharp and Marson, Folk Songs from Sommerset, I, 14-15; Sharp, One Hundred English Folk-Songs, 10. 24 (with notes. pp. vii-viii); Sharp, England Folk Songs, p. 18-19 (and references, p. xii); A. Williams. Folk-Songs of the Upper Thames. p. 16; Leather, The Folk·Lore of Herefordshire, pp. 202-203; Journal of the Folk-Song Society, VIII, 26-27 (tune only).
The Unquiet Grave- Sung by Mrs. ROSIE WHITE Sandy Cove, Newfoundland 1929;
"There's been falling drops of dew, sweetheart,
And falling drops of rain.
I've only had but one sweetheart,
On the green fields he was slain."
"I would do so much for my sweetheart
As any young maid may;
I"ll sit and mourn upon his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day."
When the twelvemonth and a day been up,
This young man rose and spoke;
"What keeps you mourning upon my grave,
You will not let me sleep?
"Why do you weep? why do you mourn?
What do you want of me?"
"One kiss, one kiss from your lily-white lips,
That's all I want of thee."
"My lily-white lips are cold as clay,
And my breath smells vile and strong-
If you take one kiss from my lily-white lips
Your time it won't be long"
"Down yonder meadow where the grass grows green
Where you and I used to walk,
The prettiest flowers that ever we had seen
It is withered unto the stalk.
It is withered unto the stalk, sweetheart
And the leaves will never return
But since I have lost my own sweetheart
What shall I do but mourn?"
"Mourn not for me, my own true love,
Mourn not for me, I pray;
So I must leave you and all the whole world,
And go into my grave.'