Street Ballads, Popular Poetry and Household Songs of Ireland https://books.google.com/books?id=k59fAAAAcAAJ 1865 - Ballads, Irish
A TRUE STORY_CALLED MOLLY BAWN. STREET BALLAD." 1 Highly popular in several of the midland counties of Ireland.
A STORY, a sad story, to you I will relate, Of a beautiful young maiden, who met a woful fate; As she walked out one evening, at the setting of the Sun, And rested in a bower, a passing shower to shun.
Young Jemmy with his gun had been fowling all the day And down beside the lake he came at close of twilight grey; Her apron being about her, he took her for a fawn; But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn.'
Now all ye brave young men, who go sporting with the gun, Beware of shooting late, and grey mists about the Sun : Her apron being about her, he took her for a fawn; But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn !
When he came to the bower, and found that it was she His limbs they grew feeble, his eyes they could not see; He took her in his arms, across her uncle's lawn, And his tears flowed like fountains on his own Molly Bawn.
Young Jemmy he went home, with his gun beneath his hand, Sick and broken-hearted, like a felon in the land; Crying- "Father, O my Father- by the lake - a fair white fawn I leveled and I shot her dead- my own Molly Bawn!"
That night to her uncle her spirit did appear, Saying—"Uncle, dearest uncle, my truelove he is clear: My apron being about me, he took me for a fawn; But, alas, to his grief, 'twas his own Molly Bawn!"
Oh, Molly was his jewel, his sweetheart and his pride! If she had lived another year, she would have been his , bride; The flower of all the valley, the pride of hut and hall, Oh, Jemmy soon will follow his own Molly Bawn.
Compare with this from 1896
From The New Review. W. E. Henley Editor Volume 14 Jan -June 1896 Harrison & Sons London page 535
An Irish Peasant Woman Katherine Tynan Hinkson
The crowd likes its sentiment of a tearful kind. I took down from Mrs. Quinn's lips many famous old ballads now forgotten. or superseded by the broad-sheets issued by Nugent, of High Street, Dublin. to meet every political and social contingency. Who is the anonymous poet that thus makes contemporary history? I have never been able to discover. Here is one of the old ones, which might have come out of Autolycus his pack—a very pitiful ballad:—
Molly Bawn
A story, a story to you I will relate Concerning a fair maid whose fortunes were great She roved out one evening, she roved all alone She sat below a green bower, a shower for to shun
Young Jimmy being fowling with his gun in his hand Fowling all the day the evening' it came on Her apron bein' about her he took her for a Swan, But alas to his grief it was fair Molly Bawn.
Jimmy he came home with his gun in his hand. Sick and broken-hearted, as you understand, Cryin' "Father, dearest father, if you knew what I have done, I have shot Molly Bawn at the settin' of the Sun!
Up spoke his father whose locks they were grey, Saying, "Son, dearest son, O don't go away, Stay in the country till your trial comes On, And you never shall die for the loss of a swan."
"Twas two or three nights after to her uncle appeared she, Saying, "Uncle, dearest uncle, let my true love go free, My apron being about me he took me for a Swan, But alas to his grief I was fair Molly Bawn."
He cried, "Molly, you're my jewel, my joy and heart's pride, And if you had but lived I'd have made you my bride, You were pride of the country an' flower o' them all, An' I shortly will follow my own Molly Bawn."
Hereupon the unhappy lover shot himself. When I asked Mrs. Quinn why the ballad didn't state this definitely she was a little indignant. "Sure, you wouldn't want to be tould everything?" she asked.
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And this from British Ballads from Maine (Second Series), Barry, Eckstorm, Smyth
Sent in, March, 1928, by Miss Doris Condon, Presque Isle, Maine, who wrote it down at the dictation of her father.
• A story, a story to you I will relate, Concerning a fair maid whose fortunes they were great; As she walked out one evening she walked all alone, She sat underneath a green tree the rain all for to shun.
• Young Jimmie being a-fowling with his dog and his gun, Young Jimmie being a-fowling, till evening did come on, And he shot his lovely Molly and he took her for a swan, Then home to his father he quickly did run.
• Saying, "Father, dearest father, if you knew what I had done, I being out a-fowling, till evening did come on; ................. And I shot lovely Molly, and I took her for a swan.
• Then up speaks his aged father, with his locks all being of gray Saying, "Son, oh dearest son, oh, it's do not run away; Stay here in this country till your trial it comes on, And it's then I will free you of shooting Molly Bawn."
• The day of Mollie's funeral it was a dreadful sight, Four and twenty maids all dressed out in white; They carried her to St. Mary's Church, and there they laid her down, She was shot by lovely Jimmie at the setting of the sun.
• In two or three weeks after, to her uncle she appeared, Saying, "Uncle, dearest Uncle, do not hang my dear; My apron being around me, he mistook me for a swan, But alas! to his grief, it was his own dear Molly Bawn.
and as quoted before
E Sent in, March, 1928, by Mrs. Nellie Fogg, Dover-Foxcroft, Maine who heard it as a child, but could remember only one stanza.
• Young Jimmie being a fowling with his dog and his gun, He shot lovely Mollie at the setting of the sun; Her apron being around her, he shot her for a fawn, But alas! unto his grief, it was his own Molly Bawn.