October 2. Story of the Day: The Bird Song.

This song comes from Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.

This is Roud 747.

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE BIRD SONG

Hi! says the blackbird, sitting on a chair,

Once I courted a lady fair;

She proved fickle and turned her back,

And ever since then I'm dressed in black.

Hi! says the blue jay as she flew,

If I was a young man I'd have two;

If one proved fickle and chanced for to go,

I'd have a new string to my bow.

Hi! says the little leather winged bat,

I will tell you the reason that

The reason that I fly in the night

Is because I lost my heart's delight.

Hi! says the little mourning dove,

I'll tell you how to gain her love;

Court her night and court her day,

Never give her time to say “O mny.”

Hi! said the woodpecker sitting on a fence,

Once I courted a handsome wench;

She proved fickle and from me fled,

And ever since then my head's been red.

Hi! says the owl with my eyes so big,

If I had a hen I’d feed like a pig;

But here I sit on a frozen stake,

Which causes my poor heart to ache.

Hi! says the swallow, sitting in a barn,

Courting, I think, is no harm.

I pick my wings and sit up straight

And hope every young man will choose him a mate.

Hi! says the hawk unto the crow,

If you ain't black then I don't know.

Ever since old Adam was born,

You've been accused of stealing corn.

Hi! says the crow unto the hawk,

I understand your great big talk;

You'd like to pounce and catch a hen,

But I hope the farmer will shoot you then.

Hi! says the robin, with a little squirm,

I wish I had a great, big worm;

I would fly away into my nest;

I have a wife I think is the best.

Sharp. Cocky Robin

From Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.

This is Roud 494.

COCKY ROBIN

Who killed Cocky Robin?

Who killed Cocky Robin?

I, says the sparrow,

With my little bow and arrow,

It was I, it was I.

Who saw him die?

Who saw him die?

I, says the fly,

With little teenty eye,

It was I, it was I.

Who caught his blood?

Who caught his blood?

I, says the fish,

With my little silver dish,

It was I, it was I.

Who made his coffin?

Who made his coffin?

I, says the crane,

With my little narrow plane,

It was I, it was I.

Who made his shroud-en?

Who made his shroud-en?

I, says the eagle,

With my little fine needle,

It was I, it was I.

Who dug his grave?

Who dug his grave?

I, says the crow,

With my little spade and hoe,

It was I, it was I.

Who hauled him to it?

Who hauled him to it?

I, says the lark,

With my little horse and cart,

It was I, it was I.

Who let him down?

Who let him down?

I, says the flea,

With my little limber knee,

It was I, it was I.

Who pat his grave?

Who pat his grave?

I, says the duck,

With my big splatter foot,

It was I, it was I.

Who preached his funeral?

Who preached his funeral?

I, says the swallow,

Just as loud as I could holler.

It was I, it was I.

Sharp. Soldier Soldier Won't You Marry Me

From Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.

This is Roud 489.

SOLDIER SOLDIER

WON'T YOU MARRY ME

Soldier, soldier, won't you marry me?

It's O the fife and drum,

How can I marry such a pretty girl as you

When I've got no hat to put on ?

Off to the hat-shop she did go

As hard as she could run,

Brought him back the finest was there.

Now, soldier, put it on.

Soldier, soldier, won't you marry me?

It's O the fife and drum,

How can I marry such a pretty girl as you

When I've got no coat to put on?

Off to the tailor she did go

As hard as she could run,

Brought him back the finest was there.

Now, soldier, put it on.

Soldier, soldier, won't you marry me?

It's O the fife and drum,

How can I marry such a pretty girl as you

When I’ve got no shoes to put on?

Off to the shoe-shop she did go

As hard as she could run,

Brought him back the finest were there.

Now, soldier, put them on.

Soldier, soldier, won't you marry me?

It's O the fife and drum,

How can I marry such a pretty girl as you,

With a wife and a baby at home?

Sharp. The Frog and the Mouse

From Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.

This is Roud 16: Froggy's Courting. You can see a version in Chalmers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland (online at Hathi).

THE FROG AND THE MOUSE

A frog went a-courting, he did ride, h’m, h’m,

A frog went a-courting, he did ride,

Sword and pistol by his side, h’m, h’m.

He rode up to Miss Mouse's door,

Where he had never been before.

He took Miss Mouse upon his knee;

Says: “Miss Mouse, will you marry me?”

“Without my Uncle Rat's consent

I would not marry the President.”

Then Uncle Rat gave his consent,

The weasel wrote the publishment.

Then Uncle Rat went down to town

To buy his niece a wedding-gown.

The frog would laugh and shake his fat sides

To think Miss Mouse would be his bride.

O where will the wedding-supper be?

Away down yonder in the hollow tree.

O what will the wedding-supper be?

Three green beans and a black-eyed pea.

The first came in was a little moth

To spread on the table-cloth.

The next came in was a bumble-bee

With his fiddle on his knee.

The next came in was a nimble flea

To take a jig with the bumble-bee.

The next came in was a little old fly;

He ate up all the wedding pie.

The next came in was a little old chick;

He ate so much it made him sick.

The next came in was an old Tom cat;

Swallowed Miss Mouse as slick as a rat.

Gentleman Frog swam over the lake,

And he got swallowed by a big, black snake.

So here is an end of one, two, three,

Frog and a mouse and a bumble-bee.

Sharp. The Swapping Song

From Nursery Songs from the Appalachian Mountains by Cecil J. Sharp, with illustrations by Esther B. Mackinnon.

This is Roud 469.

The part about the wife and the wheelbarrow also appears as a nursery-rhyme of its own (see Pinafore Palace, for example).

THE SWAPPING SONG

When I was a little boy I lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I had I kept upon the shelf.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

The rats and the mice they led me such a life,
I had to go to London to get me a wife.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

The roads were so slick and the lanes were so narrow,
I had to bring her home in an old wheelbarrow.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

My foot it slipped and I got a fall
And down came my wheelbarrow, wife and all.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my wheelbarrow and I got me a horse,
And then I rode from cross to cross.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my horse and I got me a mare,
And then I rode from fair to fair.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my mare and I got me a cow,
And in that trade I just learned how.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my cow and I got me a calf,
And in that trade I just lost half.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my calf and I got me a sheep,
And then I rode till I went to sleep.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my sheep and I got me a hen
For to lay me an egg every now and then.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my hen and I got me a rat,
And I set it on the haystack to run the cat.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.

I swapped my rat and I got me a mole,
And the blind old thing went straight to its hole.
To my wing wong waddle, to my Jack straw straddle,
To my John far faddle, to my long-ways home.