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OZARK FOLKSONGS – Collected and Edited by Vance Randolph Revised Edition, Volume IV Religious Songs and Other Items University of Missouri Press Columbia and London, 1980 p. 219-222 No.743 "THE GYPSY'S WARNING".
" Nobody knows who wrote the words of this piece, according to Cox (Folk-Songs of the South, 1925, p. 439), but it was published "with music arrange by Henry A. Coard" in 1864, and has since appeared in many popular songbooks. It appears in Trifet's Budget of Music No. 15, March, 1892, p.72, with the note "by permission D. S. Holmes, owner of copyright." The famous Cherry Sisters from Cedar Rapids, Iowa, who convulsed Broadway in 1896, sang the song as part of their soul-stirring dramatic sketch entitle "The Gypsy's Warning." A piece called, "Do Not Trust Him, Gentle Lady," probably identical with the "The Gypsy's Warning," was the first song ever heard on the telephone, when Alexander Graham Bell, demonstrating his invention before an audience in 1878, persuaded on Thomas Augustus Watson to sing into the transmitter. Finger (Frontier Ballads, 1927, p. 116) reports the song as he heard it years ago in New Mexico and one of the standard versions is printed, without the music, in Spaeth's Read 'Em and Weep(1927, p. 20). There are phonograph records by Harry A. McClaskey (Columbia A1913) and Vernon Dalhart (Victor 20795, Brunkswick 122).
Now thy life is in its morning;
Spoil not this, thy happy lot,
Listen to the gypsy's warning,
gentle lady, heed him notLady, once there lived a maiden,
Pure and bright, and like thee, fair
But he wooed, he wooed and won her,
Killed her gentle heart with care.
Then he heeded not her weeping,
Nor cared he her life to save,
Soon she perished, now she's sleeping
'Neath the cold and silent grave.
Do not turn so coldly from me,
For I've only told the truth,
From a stern and withering sorrow,
Lady, I would shield thy youth.
I would shield thee from all danger,
Shield thee from tempter's the snare
Lady shun the dark-eyed stranger,
I have warned thee - now beware
Keep thy gold, I do not want it.
Lady, I have prayed for this
For the hour that I might foil him,
Rob him of expected bliss
Oh I see thou'rt filled with wonder,
At my looks so fierce and wild,
Lady, in that grave yonder,
Lies the Gypsy's only child.
The song which follow is called "The answer to the Gypsy's Warning," mentioned by Belden (Song-Ballads and Other Popular Poetry, 1910, No. 35), Shoemaker (North Pennsylvania minstrelsy, 1919, p. 94), and Cox (Folk-Songs of the South, 1925, p. 439), The present text is from a manuscript belong to Mrs., W. M. Elkins, Hardy, Ark., Apr. 2, 1934.
Lady, do not heed her warning,
Trust me, thou shalt find me true,
Constant as the light of morning,
I will ever be to you.
Lady, I will not deceive you,
Fill your guileless heart with woe,
Trust me, lady, and believe me,
Sorrow thou shalt never know.
Lady, every joy would perish,
Pleasures all would with fast,
If not heart could love and cherish
In this world of storm and blast.
As the stars that gleam above thee,
Shine their brightest in the night,
So will he who fondly loves thee,
In the darkness be they light.
Down beside the flowing river,
Where the dark green willows weep,
Where the leafy branches quiver,
There a gentle maiden sleeps.
In the morn a lonely stranger
Comes and lingers many hours,
Lady, he's no ruthless ranger,
For he strews her grave with flowers.
Then do not heed her warning,
Lay thy soft white hand in mine,
For he seeks no fairer laurel
Than the constant love of thine.
When the silver moonlight brightens,
Thou shalt slumber on his breast
Tender wounds thy soul shall lighten
Lull thy spirit into rest.
Still another item in this group is know as "The decision in the Gypsy's Warning," and is similar to the "Decision" song in Belden's collection (Song-Ballads and Other Popular Poetry, 1910, No. 35). I have seen two versions of this song in manuscript, and it is said that one was printed in a St. Louis newspaper about 1870. The text which follow is from Mrs. Warren Durbin, Pineville, Mo., Mar. 19, 1927.
Down beside yon flowing river,
there bereft where willows weep
There must lie that fair one ever.
Stranger, why these vigils keep?
Why go there alone and early,
All those mornings flowers to strew?
Did you love, in truth, so dearly?
Do you grieve as others do?
Now she's in the cold ground sleeping,
By the river's moaning wave,
And the willows now are weeping
O'er that maiden's early grave.
Warnings from that grave do tell me,
And a living voice I hear,
Of a wooer who would seek me,
pleading by a love sincere.
That without me, life is sorrow;
Take this hand and heart of mine
Promise bliss for every morrow,
Then forsake me, let me pine.
Stranger, I will heed the warning,
coming from the river's side.
Flowers you strew there in the morning
I'll renew at eventide.
There we'll walk, but not together,
For the gypsy tells me true,
Mourns her child in tears that smother
Every kindly thought of you.
Another piece in the "Gypsy's Warning" collection is a much more recent song called "Trust Him Not," in which the gentle lady tells her mother all about her meeting the Gypsy. This opus was copyrighted by Monroe H. Rosenfield in 1899, and I quote only the final stanza:
I can ne'er forget the anguish, dearest mother,
As she rose with tottering footsteps and drew near,
Then she tossed away the glittering gold I gave her,
While she grasped my arm as I drew back in fear.
You must not wed him! shrieked the trembling woman,
I beg you go! she screamed in accents wild,
For she, for she who's sleeping over yonder
Was my own babe, the fortune-teller's child.
Sincerely,
Gargoyle