Page:Journal of American Folklore vol. 12.djvu/468

 1 2 o Journal of American Folk-L ore.

" We '11 neither eat your bread, dear mother, Nor we '11 neither drink your wine ; For to our Saviour we must return To-night or in the morning soon."

The bed was fixed in the back room ;

On it were some clean white sheet, And on the top was a golden cloth,

To make those 'little babies sleep.

" Wake up ! wake up ! " says the oldest one, " Wake up ! it 's almost day. And to our Saviour we must return To-inight or in the morning soon.

" Green grass grows at our head, dear mother, Green grass grows at our feet : The tears you shed for us three babes, (They) wet our winding sheet." 1

The Elfin Knight.

The ballad to which this name has been given (Child, No. 2) recites, in the Scottish versions, how a maiden hears the magic horn of a fairy knight, and wishes to possess the horn and be embraced by its owner. The elf accordingly appears, and makes enigmatical demands, which are successfully evaded by the girl. In its original form the song no doubt described the fairy as claiming over the maid rights which her incautious wish had given him ; her clever- ness defeats this essay, for in the dealing of men and fiends it is a recognized principle that superior knowledge is an element of safety. The ballad itself is European, while the theme has an ancient his- tory. Games of riddle-guessing, from the time of Samson, fur- nished a means of amusement and opportunity of betting. Just as an ingenious guesser might back his talent by reckless wagers ex- tending even to the risk of personal freedom, so spirits would be inclined to engage in such contests as a means of obtaining the souls and bodies of mortals. The ballad continues to be traditionally sung in America, without the introductory piece of fairy lore ; the versions have every appearance of English, rather of Scottish descent, and may have been current from early colonial times. A variant still traditional in Boston has been printed in this Journal (vii. 228).

As I walked out in yonder dell,

Let every rose grow merry in time ; I met a fair damsel, her name it was Nell ;

I said : " Will you be a true lover of mine ? "

1 As recited : Won't wet our winding-sheet.

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