Friday, 26 March 2010

Sorrow Came

Portrait of Doña Isabel de Porcel, by Francisco de Goya y Lucientes - via Wikimedia Commons - public domain.I thought we were done with the folk-songs, but apparently not. This could be from anywhere on the west coast of Morgander. The tune that goes with those bracketed lines is doing something rather odd, and if I were anything of a real musician I'd be spending a lot more effort trying to nail it down properly. Since I am in fact somebody who can sing a song about ten tom cats to the absolute satisfaction of exactly that audience, I guess I'll let it be for the present.

Sorrow Came

When I only was a boy, and I thought the world all joy,
Sorrow came - Sorrow came to me,
When she took my father's wealth, and my mother's hope and health,
And she turned us on the streets all three.
Sorrow came - Sorrow came - I had only known her name
Till she laid my loving parents in the gaping greedy grave.
(O the grave, and the grave, and the gaping greedy grave!)
Naught she left ashore for me, so I took me to the sea,
Crying, "Sorrow, now farewell to thee!"

When I roved the world around, in my budding youth I found
Sorrow fell - Sorrow fell to me:
Sweet Dolores of the Drouth. For I kissed her damson mouth,
They must drag me off to slavery.
Sorrow fell - Sorrow fell - in the galleys' grinding hell,
Where she laid to drum and whipcrack how a man must live a slave,
(O a slave, and a slave, and a sweating swinking slave!)
Naught the Dons would leave of me, but an ape that once was free,
Crying, "Sorrow, come no more to me!"

When I'd served my term of years, and was bent with toil and tears,
Sorrow came - Sorrow came for me,
With her raven hair all grey, and her beauty grieved away,
And a heart still green with Spring for me!
Sorrow came - Sorrow came! All our sorrow's in her name,
All my fortune in her eyes, and in her arms the world of love.
(O my love, and my love, and my love long years did prove!)
Naught of youth I now would trade, for the life we two have made -
O my Sorrow, thou art joy to me!

Why, yes, I am a sentimental bastard.

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