Lyr. Add: Renaud (John), French Canadian
Translation Marius Barbeau

1
A mother standing at the door
Saw her son coming from afar.
"O welcome home, my dearest John
Your wife has borne a little son."
2
"Nor for my wife, nor for my child
My heart is filled with joyous pride.
My words are stifled in my throat,
My wounds are hidden in my coat."
3
"Go, mother dear, now take a sheet,
Prepare my bed all white and neat.
All neat and white my bed must be,
Only my wife must not see me."
4
When midnight came with dreary toll,
The gallant John gave up his soul.
The servants all began to weep,
The neighbours wakened from their sleep.
5
"O mother dear, now tell me why
The servants all so loudly cry?"
"All for a platter which they lost,
A platter that much gold has cost."
6
"For golden plates tears are not shed;
Tell them to dry their tears instead.
When my dear John comes from afar,
Our golden plate he shall restore."
7
"O mother dear, now tell me why
The hostlers all so sadly sigh?"
"Their horses by the lake they groomed
When suddenly a mare was drowned."
8
"All for a mare that drowned so deep,
O mother must the hostlers weep?
When my dear John comes from afar,
He shall bring them a goodly mare."
9
Spoken
O when the dawn had risen clear,
They drove the nails into the bier.
10
Singing
"Now mother dear, O tell me, pray,
Why do they drive in nails to-day?"
"Because you bore a little heir,
Tapestries clothe these walls so bare."
11
When Sunday came, they ready made
To join the joyful church parade.
She donned a robe of crimson red,
But they gave her black garb instead.
12
"O mother dear, now tell me true,
Why is my gown of darkest hue?"
"White is the gown of the young bride,
But dark for her, who bore child."
13
As they were walking on their way,
They heard some passing pilgrims say:
"'Tis meet a widow should wear gown
Of mourning hue for her lost one."
14
"O dearest mother, tell me, pray,
What do the passing pilgrims say?"
"My chld, the pilgrims say that you
Are dight in garb of fitting hue."
15
Within the church at last she stands,
A lighted taper in her hands.
"I hear the bells with mournful toll,
They ring for a departed soul."
16
"I see a tomb, O mother dear,
More beautiful than any here."
"My child, I can no longer hide
The secret: Your dear John has died."
17
"My husband dead! Now let me die
And then beside him let me lie.
O mother dear, return you home,
And cherish well my little one!"

Marius Barbeau, Folk-Songs of Old Quebec
Citation above.