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The Month of January

  • (Trad)

    It was in the month of January the hills were clad in snow
    It was over hills and valleys my true love he did go
    It was there I spied a pretty fair maid with the salt tear in her eye
    She had a baby in her arms and bitter she did cry

    Oh cruel was my father who barred the door on me
    And cruel was my mother this dreadful sight to see
    And cruel was my own true love who changed his mind for gold
    And cruel was the winter's night that pierced my heart with cold

    For the higher up the pine-tree grows the sweeter is the bark
    And the fairer that a young man speaks the falser is his heart
    He will kiss you and embrace you till they thinks he has you won
    Then he'll go away and leave you all for some other one

    So come all you pretty fair young maids, a warning take by me
    And never try and build your nest at the top of a high tree
    For the leaves they all will wither and the branches will decay
    And the beauty of a fine young man will all soon fade away

    (as sung by Frankie Armstrong)

Susannes Folksong-Notizen

  • [1975:] Frankie finds this "one of the most beautiful of many songs of this kind, where the woman is left literally holding the baby while the errant father has gone off in search of fortune elsewhere." Her version reproduces that of Sarah Makem, the fine Ulster ballad singer [...]. There's a nice Donegal version called The Fanaid Grove in Herbert Hughes's "Irish Country Songs", vol. 1, and in Joyce's "Old Irish Folk Music and Songs" is a fragmentary set sung by a reaper in a harvest field, containing the aromatic line: "My love is as sweet as the cinnamon tree." (A. L. Lloyd, notes Frankie Armstrong, Songs and Ballads')

Quelle: Ireland

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aktualisiert am 28.05.2002