Here’s the version I know. Some of the words are different. This version also includes the extra verses (more than two) Margmac referred to, and a few difference phrases here and there. I do not know if my version is original and completely accurate however, as it was taped and sung by a friend who knew the ballad and mailed it to me.

Fair the cabin walls were gleaming in the sunbeam’s golden glow,
On that lovely April morning, near one hundred years ago.

And upon the humble threshold stood a young wife, Margarie Gray,
With her fearless blue eyes glancing down the lonely forest way.

In her arms, a laughing baby with its father’s dark hair played,
As he lingered there beside them, leaning on his trusty spade.

“I am going to the wheatlot,” with a smile said Robert Gray.
“Will you be too lonely, Margarie, if I leave you all today?”

Then she smiled a cheerful answer ere she spoke a single word,
And the tone of her reply was sweeter than the songs of birds.

“No,” she said, “I’ll take the baby and go stay with Annie Brown.
You must meet us there, dear Robert, ere the sun has gone on down.”

Thus they parted strong and steady. All day long he labored on,
Spading up the fertile acres from the stubborn forest won.

And when lengthening shadows warned him that the sun was in the west,
Down the woodland isles he hastened, whispering now for home and rest.

But when he had reached the clearing of their friend a mile away,
Neither wife nor child was waiting there to welcome Robert Gray.

“She is safe at home,” said Annie, “for she left and hour ago,
While the woods were still illumined by the sunset’s crimson glow.”

Back he sped but night was falling, and the path he scarce could see.
Here and there his feet were guided onward by some deep gashed tree.

When at last he gained the cabin, black and desolate it stood.
Cold the hearth, the windows rayless, in the stillness, solitude.

With a murmured prayer, a shudder, and a sob of anguish wild,
Back he darted through the forest, calling on his wife and child.

Soon the scattered settlers gathered, all from clearings far and near,
And the solemn woods resounded with their voices rising clear.

Torches flared and fires were kindled, and the horn’s long peal rang out,
While the startled echoes answered to the hardy woodsman shout.

But in vain their sad endeavor, night by night and day by day,
For no sign or token found they of the child or Margarie Gray.

Woe, Oh Woe! For pretty Margarie, with the baby on her arm,
On her homeward way she started, fearing nothing that could harm.

With a lip and brow untroubled, and a heart at utter rest,
Through the dim woods she went singing to the baby on her breast.

But in sudden terror pausing, gazed she round in blank dismay.
Where were all the white scarred hemlocks, pointing out her weary way?

God of mercies! She had wandered from the pathway. Not a tree,
Giving mute but kindly warning, could her straining vision see.

Twilight deepened into darkness, and the stars came out on high.
All was silent in the forest, save the owl’s foreboding cry.

Round about her in the midnight, stealthily the shadows crept,
And the babe upon her bosom closed its tiny eyes and slept.

Hark! A shout, and in the distance, she could she a torch’s gleam,
But alas! She could not reach it and it vanished like a dream.

Then a shout and then another, but she shrieked and sobbed in vain,
Rushing wildly toward the presence she could never ever gain.

Morning came and with the sunbeams, hope and courage rose once more,
Sure, ere another nightfall, all her wanderings would be o’er.

So she soothed her wailing baby, and when faint from want of food,
Ate the wintergreens and acorns that she found within the wood.

Oh, the days were long and dreary! Oh, the nights more dreary still!
More than once she heard the sounding of the horn from hill to hill.

More than once a smoldering fire in some sheltered nook she found,
And she knew her husband’s footprints close beside it on the ground.

Dawned the fourth relentless morning, and the sun’s unpitying eye
Looked upon the haggard mother, looked to see the baby die.

All night long its plaintive moaning wrung the heart of Margarie Gray.
All day long her bosom cradled it, a pallid thing of clay.

Three long days she bore it with her on her rough and toilsome way,
‘Til across its marbled beauty stole the plaguèd spot, decay.

Then she knew that she must leave it in the wilderness to sleep,
Where the prowling wild beasts only watched its grave should keep.

Dumb with grief she sat beside it. Ah! How long she never knew.
Were the tales her mother taught her of the dear All Father true?

When the skies were brass above her and the earth was cold and dim,
When all tears and pleading brought her no answer down from Him.

But alas! Stern life, the tyrant, bade her take her burden up,
To her lips so pale and shrunken, press again the bitter cup.

Up she rose, still tramping onward, through the forest far and wide,
‘Til the mayflowers bloomed and perished, and the sweet June roses died,

‘Til July and August brought her fruit and berries from their store,
‘Til the goldenrod and aster said that summer was no more,

‘Til the maples and the birches donned their robes of red and gold,
‘Til the birds were hastened southward and the days were growing cold.

Was she doomed to roam forever o’er this desolate earth,
She the last and only being, to those whiles of human birth?

Sometimes from her dreary pathway wolves or black bear turned away,
But not once did human presence bless the sight of Margarie Gray.

One chill morning in October, when the trees were brown and bare,
Through the streets of ancient Charlestown, with a strange bewildered air,

Walked a gaunt and pallid woman whose disheveled locks of brown,
O’er her naked breast and shoulders, in the wind were streaming down.

Wandering glances fell upon her. Women veiled their modest eyes
As they slowly ventured near her, drawn by pity and surprise.

“‘Tis some crazy one,” they whispered. Back her tangled locks she tossed.
“O kind soul, take pity on me, for I am not mad but lost.”

Then she told her piteous story in a strange disjointed way,
And with cold white lips she murmured, “Take me home to Robert Gray.”

“But the river!” said they pondering. “We are on the other side.
How crossed you the rapid water? Deep the torrent is and wide!”

But she said she had not crossed it in her strange erratic course.
She had wandered to the northward ‘til she reached its fountain source.

In the dark Canadian forest, and then blindly tramping on
Through the steep New Hampshire valleys, her bewildered feet had gone.

Oh, the joy bells sweet their ringing on the frosty autumn air!
Oh, the boats across the waters, how they leaped their tale to bear!

Oh, the wondrous golden sunset on the blessed October day,
When the weary wife was folded to the heart of Robert Gray!

My version misses one verse however, that thanks to Margmac I now have. There are close to 50 verses to this tune so it is a great one to play on open stage when the emcee says you have but only one number left before getting booted off the stage.

As far as the melody, it is similar to the Hymn: What a friend we have in Jesus. (But this, however, is not the TRUE melody) But you could probably use it as a crude makeshift until learning the RIGHT one)

I will gladly mail a tape of the melody to anyone desiring it for the cost of postage if they are interested!

HTML line breaks added. Also, a few spelling and punctuation changes. --JoeClone, 6-Jan-02.