
10-the_daemon_lover.mp3 | |
File Size: | 3518 kb |
File Type: | mp3 |
The Daemon Lover
Child # 243 (James Harris) 3:43 V, a cappella
I’ve always been struck by the seductive power of this ballad, which is why - like Child - I retain the ‘a’ in ‘daemon’, reinforcing the portrayal of the protagonist as something more irresistible and troubling than the word ‘demon’ suggests and closer to a Greek ‘daemon’ – a supernatural being somewhere between gods and humans. This moral ambiguity /ambivalence swirls through the ballad like mist, clouding the carpenter’s wife’s vision so that only when she misses her little son does she finally realize that she has made a terrible choice – and now it’s too late.
Similarly, the ‘banks of Italy’ are no mere tourist destination; in Elizabethan/Jacobean England Shakespeare and Webster, among others, reinforce the image of Italy as a beautiful but dangerous place, the haunt of amoral characters such as Machiavelli and the Borgia dynasty.
All this may sound pretentious at best – I’m just indicating the effect this particular ballad has on me and the connotations and allusions it calls up.
I’ve always been struck by the seductive power of this ballad, which is why - like Child - I retain the ‘a’ in ‘daemon’, reinforcing the portrayal of the protagonist as something more irresistible and troubling than the word ‘demon’ suggests and closer to a Greek ‘daemon’ – a supernatural being somewhere between gods and humans. This moral ambiguity /ambivalence swirls through the ballad like mist, clouding the carpenter’s wife’s vision so that only when she misses her little son does she finally realize that she has made a terrible choice – and now it’s too late.
Similarly, the ‘banks of Italy’ are no mere tourist destination; in Elizabethan/Jacobean England Shakespeare and Webster, among others, reinforce the image of Italy as a beautiful but dangerous place, the haunt of amoral characters such as Machiavelli and the Borgia dynasty.
All this may sound pretentious at best – I’m just indicating the effect this particular ballad has on me and the connotations and allusions it calls up.
Oh, where’ve you been, my first true love,
These seven long years and more?' 'I've come to seek my former vows, You promised me before.' ‘Away with your former vows’, she said, For they will breed but strife; Away with your former vows’, she said, ‘For I am become a wife’. 'Oh, I could have married a king's daughter fair, And she would have married me; I would never have crossed to fair Ireland’s shore If t’were not for the love of thee’. ‘Oh, if you could have married a king's daughter fair You’ve only yourself to blame, For me, I am married to a house carpenter, And I think he’s a nice young man’. ‘Oh will you forsake your house carpenter And sail away with me? I’ll show you where the white lilies grow On the banks of Italy’. She’s putted on her fine attire So glorious to behold; And as she walked along her way She shone like the glittering gold. They had not been sailing but about three weeks, I’m sure it was not four, When this young woman, she began to weep, And her weeping never ceased any more. ‘Oh do you weep for your gear’, he said, Or do you weep for your store? Or do you weep for your little young son, You never shall see any more?’ |
‘I do not weep for my glittering gear,
Nor do I weep for my store; But I do weep for my little young son, I never shall see any more’. 'O hold your tongue of weeping’, he said,, Let all your follies be, I'll show you where the white lilies grow On the banks of Italy.' ‘Oh whaten-a hills are those?’ she said, The sun shines sweetly on?’ ‘Oh those are the hills of heaven, my love, Where you shall never go’. ‘And whaten-a mountain is that?’ she cried, ‘So dreary with frost and snow?’ ‘Oh that is the mountain of hell’, he said, Where you and I shall go. But hold your tongue of weeping, my love, Let all your follies be, I'll show you where the white lilies grow On the banks at the bottom of the sea.' And he’s struck the topmast with his hand, The foremast with his knee, He’s broke that gallant ship in twain, And sunk her in the sea. |