Lyr Req: Belfast Maid

Subject: Belfast Maid
From: Joan from Wigan
Date: 28 May 01 - 06:40 PM

This is the title to the original (or at least a former) set of words to the tune which was adapted to the "My Lagan Love" lyrics. I can't find the 'Belfast Maid' lyrics in the DT, the forum, or anywhere else on the net. Can anyone help please?

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Belfast Maid
From: nutty
Date: 29 May 01 - 06:00 AM

Hi Joan - There are a couple of Broadsides that may fit the bill ..... find them here ......

BODLEIAN LIBRARY

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Belfast Maid
From: nutty
Date: 29 May 01 - 06:03 AM

The link doesn't take you to the page as I expected, so you need to clict in Browse/Search and put Belfast in the first empty box ... then - hopefully - all will be revealed
You need a good sized monitor to make the most of this site

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Belfast Maid
From: Wolfgang
Date: 29 May 01 - 07:00 AM

I was always curious whether it is possible to link directly in this case. That's why I try it as well:

click.

Wolfgang

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Belfast Maid
From: Joan from Wigan
Date: 29 May 01 - 03:02 PM

Many thanks to both of you, both links worked. And I see what you mean, Nutty, about needing a fair size monitor for the Belfast Maid's Lamentation - my 17" isn't big enough. I've printed that one out just for curiosity's sake, and will try to enlarge it.

Thanks again.
Joan

Subject: Lyr Add: THE BELFAST MAID
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 21 Apr 02 - 10:51 PM

Transcribed from a Bodleian Library broadside, catalog no. Harding B 25(165).

THE BELFAST MAID
(between 1821 and 1850)

In Belfast town of high renown there lives comely maid.
Perfect, complete, and consummate, she has my heart betrayed.
She far outshines the morning star, or the moon that rules the night.
First when I saw that damsel fair, I was deprived of my senses quite.

Diana fair could not compare, nor Venus from the tide,
Nor Dido sure, that virgin pure that for Anias died.
There's none so fair nor can compare to that damsel of renown.
Had I command of all the land, my love should wear the crown.

I stood amazed and on her gazed, in contemplation fair.
At length I roved within the grove, and to her I did draw near.
"Are you a maid," to her I said, "or mistress of this grove,
Or Thetis bright that yields delight, that from the seas had roved?"

Like an organ sweet, mild and discreet I unto her did say,
"Could you forsake those pleasant plains, and come along with me,
Where my habitation you may view, down by yon valley side,
Where purling streams does gently flow, and runs clear on every side?"

With great disdain she crossed the plain, and left me there alone.
The small birds joined their melody, lamenting my sad moan,
Saying, "Arise, young man. I pray march on. Your heart it is betrayed,
And do not blame that charming dame. She was before engaged."

So then I fancied in my mind, to what these small birds said,
How they advised me to go home and leave these pleasant shades.
So home I went with discontent. My heart overflows with care.
You powers divine with me combine, and free me from despair!

So now I wander all alone, down by that flowing tide,
Since that angel bright, my heart's delight, refused to be my bride.
Each night I dream, rave and complain, and cannot find no rest,
For the pain I endure no man can cure. It lies within my breast.

Subject: Lyr Add: THE BELFAST MAID'S LAMENTATION
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 21 Apr 02 - 10:52 PM

Transcribed from a Bodleian Library broadside, catalog no. Harding B 25(164):

THE BELFAST MAID'S LAMENTATION

Come all you pretty fair maids, a warning take by me,
And let not love affect you in any degree;
For I was crossed in love, and love it was my pain,
And by a handsome young man that crossed over the main.

O that I was a little bird, or had I wings to fly,
To the field of battle on my love I would lie;
With my little fluttering wings his wounds to clean
And on his lovely bosom I would still remain.

Ye lovers all take pity on a poor distressèd maid,
Who was by love affected, by Cupid was betrayed;
Ye gods above, assist me the burning flame to quench.
I'm wounded by a young man that's gone to fight the French.

His lips are like the coral. His cheeks as red as rose.
His skin as white as lily. His eyes as black as sloes.
He's proper, tall, and handsome, in every degree.
He crossed the wide ocean to face his enemy.

If by the cruel French my darling should be slain,
For ever single for his sake for ever I'd remain.
I'll never give my hand to another man,
Until I see my jewel in his own native land.

He says to me, "My jewel, come, go along with me
As we are both young and ***, and I from trouble free.
While you are with me, no danger will I fear.
I hear the trumpet battle (?), so fare you well, my dear."