Dorothy Scarborough in "A Song Catcher in Southern Mountains, American Folk Songs of British Ancestry" (Columbia University press, 1937) includs two versions that she collected in 1930. One was from the Blue Ridge Mountains in Virginia, the other was collected in the Asheville, North Carolina area near the Smoky Mountains. She has a somewhat different take on the origins of the song as indicated by the book title and the following passage from the book:

"Mrs. Stikeleather also sang it (i.e Pretty Saro) into my Dictaphone and contributed it to this collection. She told me that while the date 'eighteen-forty-nine' is used in some of the versions of the song, 'seventeen-forty-nine' is more probably correct, as that year witnessed considerable immigration to North Carolina from Ireland and Scotland, and this old English song was no doubt adapted to its new setting at that time"

This is an interesting anecdote, and plausible too, but can't be considered strong evidence because there is no connection made to the purported English predecessor. Later Scarborough says that the use of the phrase "free-holder" indicates the song is of British origin. I am not sure how the distinction is made between a song brought over from Britain and a song assembled in the USA by recent English-speaking immigrants. Here is the text she collected in NC

PRETTY SARO

I came to this country in seventeen-forty-nine,
I saw many a true love, but I never saw mine.
I looked all around me and found I was alone.
And me a poor stranger, and a long way from home.

Down in some lonesome valley, down in some lonesome place,
Where the wild birds do whistle their notes to increase,
I think of pretty Saro whose waist is so neat,
And I know of no better pastime than to be with my sweet.

I wish I were a poet and could write a fine hand,
I would send my love a letter that she could understand.
And I'd send it by a messenger where the waters do flow
And think of pretty Saro wherever I go.

And here is the text collected in Virginia:

PRETTY SARAH

Down in some low valley in some lonesome place,
Where the small birds to whistle their notes do increase.
I think on pretty Sarah and her ways air so compleat,
I could wish no better pastime than to be with my sweet.

I came to this country eighteen-sixty-nine,
I saw many lovers but I never saw mine.
I looked all around me, I found I was alone,
And I a poor soldier and a long ways from home.

I wish I was a larks man and had wings and could fly
Down in my love's window this night I would lie.
All day and all night I would set down and cry,
And in my love's lily white arms this night I would lie.

I wish I was a penceman (pen-man, i.e writer)and could write a fine hand,
I would write my love a letter that she might understand
I would send it by the waters and the Island do flow
I think on pretty Sarah wherever I may go.

My love she won't have me because I am poor
She says I am not worthy of entering her door.
But I could maintain her on silver or gold
And meny other fine things that my love's house could hold.

My love she won't have me, as I understand
She wants some free-holder that has houses and land.
But she will repent it when her love's all in vain,
For love is a torment and a heart-breaking thing.
^^

Notice the 1800's date in the second version and how the folk process converted "waist is so neat" to "ways air so complete" or vice versa.

rich r