Title
Banks of the Nile
Alternate Titles: none
Subject
Folk songs, English -- New York (State) -- Adirondack Mountains Region
Folk songs, English -- Minnesota
War songs; Ballads, English; Folk songs, Irish
Description
First Line: Hark! hark! the drums are beating, my love, I must away
Summary: Willie has been ordered to the banks of the Nile. His lover offers to cut her hair, dress like a man, and go with him. He will not permit her to; the climate is too harsh for a woman. She curses foreign wars that steal away the young men of Ireland.
Traditional Ballad Index Page: http://www.fresnostate.edu/folklore/ballads/LN09.html
Creator
Michael Cassius Dean
Source
Robert Winslow Gordon Cylinder Collection (AFC 1928/002) http://lccn.loc.gov/2009655325; Archive of Folk Culture; American Folklife Center; Library of Congress
Publisher
Brian T. Miller
Date
Sep. 1924
Contributor
Robert Winslow Gordon
Rights
Duplication of sound recordings may be governed by copyright and other restrictions.
Relation
Full song text taken from M.C. Dean's 1922 self-published songster The Flying Cloud And 150 Other Old Time Poems and Ballads: A Collection of Old Irish Songs, Songs of the Sea and Great Lakes, The Big Pine Woods, The Prize Ring and Others
Format
mp3
Language
en-US
Type
Music Recording
Identifier
Roud #950
Laws N9
AFS Preservation Reel: AFS 19011A
Gordon Cylinder Record No.: G80
AFS Item No.: Misc. 133
Coverage
St. Lawrence County, New York; Minnesota
Original Format
Wax Cylinder
Duration
0:38
Bit Rate/Frequency
128 kbps
Transcription
BANKS OF THE NILE.
Hark! hark! the drums are beating, my love, I must away,
I hear the bugle calling, I can no longer stay;
We are ordered out from Portsmouth for many a long mile,
To fight the Moors and Niggers on the banks of the Nile.
Oh, Willie dear, don’t leave me here behind to weep and mourn,
So I may curse and rue the day that ever I was born,
For the parting from my sweetheart is like parting from my life,
So stay at home, dear Willie, and I will be your wife.
The Queen she calls for men, love, and I, for one, must go,
The Queen she calls for men, love, I dare not answer No;
We must away to face the foe while cannons roar the while,
To fight with Briton’s heroes on the banks of the Nile.
Then I’ll cut off my yellow hair and go along with you,
I will put on men’s clothing and go see Egypt, too;
I will cherish and protect you through hardship and through toil,
And we’ll comfort one another on the Banks of the Nile.
Your waist it is too slender, love, your fingers are too small,
I am afraid you would not answer when on you I would call,
Your delicate constitution would last but a short while,
Among those sandy deserts on the Banks of the Nile.
Oh, cursed be the cruel war and the hour it first begun,
For it has robbed old Ireland of many a noble son;
It robs us of our sweethearts, protectors of the soil,
And their bodies feed the wild fowls on the Banks of the Nile.
But soon the war will be over and we’ll all be coming home,
Unto our wives and sweethearts we left behind to mourn;
We will kiss them and embrace them with their little winning smile,
And we never will return again to the Banks of the Nile.
Hark! hark! the drums are beating, my love, I must away,
I hear the bugle calling, I can no longer stay;
We are ordered out from Portsmouth for many a long mile,
To fight the Moors and Niggers on the banks of the Nile.
Oh, Willie dear, don’t leave me here behind to weep and mourn,
So I may curse and rue the day that ever I was born,
For the parting from my sweetheart is like parting from my life,
So stay at home, dear Willie, and I will be your wife.
The Queen she calls for men, love, and I, for one, must go,
The Queen she calls for men, love, I dare not answer No;
We must away to face the foe while cannons roar the while,
To fight with Briton’s heroes on the banks of the Nile.
Then I’ll cut off my yellow hair and go along with you,
I will put on men’s clothing and go see Egypt, too;
I will cherish and protect you through hardship and through toil,
And we’ll comfort one another on the Banks of the Nile.
Your waist it is too slender, love, your fingers are too small,
I am afraid you would not answer when on you I would call,
Your delicate constitution would last but a short while,
Among those sandy deserts on the Banks of the Nile.
Oh, cursed be the cruel war and the hour it first begun,
For it has robbed old Ireland of many a noble son;
It robs us of our sweethearts, protectors of the soil,
And their bodies feed the wild fowls on the Banks of the Nile.
But soon the war will be over and we’ll all be coming home,
Unto our wives and sweethearts we left behind to mourn;
We will kiss them and embrace them with their little winning smile,
And we never will return again to the Banks of the Nile.