American Ballads and Songs

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Half frantic he tore his gray hair,
And the tears down his cheeks they did pour, For on that bitter night she had perished and died,
From the winds that blew 'cross the wild moor.
The old man in grief pined away,
And the child to its mother went soon; And no one, they say, has Uved there to this day,
And the cottage to ruin has gone. The villagers point to the spot
Where the ivy hangs over the door, Saying, "There Mary died, once a gay village bride,
By the winds that blow 'cross the wild moor."
Father Grumble he did say,
As sure as the moss round a tree, That he could do more work in a day
Than his wife could do in three, three,
Than his wife could do in three.
Then Mother Grumble she did say,
"O what's the row now? You can stay in the house and work,
And I will follow the plow, plow,
And I will follow the plow.