America For Me

I first came across this poem in 1981, in San Francisco at my sister-in-law’s house. My wife Camilla was looking through a poetry book that she’d owned in high school, and said, ‘wouldn’t this make a great song?’ I got out my 12-string guitar and made up a melody on the spot. ‘America For Me’ was written by Henry Van Dyke. Born November 10, 1852, in Germantown, Pennsylvania, and educated in theology at Brooklyn Polytechnic, Princeton, and Berlin, Henry Van Dyke worked twenty years as a minister, first in Newport, Rhode Island, from 1879 to 1883 and next in New York until 1899. His Christmas sermons, his essays, and his short stories made him a popular writer. His poems reveal a classical education as well as a common touch in matters of faith. He became Professor of English Literature at Princeton in 1900. During World War I he acted as American Minister to the Netherlands (1913- 1916) and then naval chaplain, for which he was awarded the Legion of Honor. He died April 10, 1933.

I respectfully submit this song for the Folk Den, in honor of all Americans, in the face of this great tragedy.

Lyrics:
[Am] ‘Tis fine to see the [D] Old World, and [G] travel up and [Em] down

Among the famous [C] palaces and [D] cities of [G] renown

To [Am] admire the crumbly [D] castles and the [G] statues of the [Em] kings, —

But [C] now I think I’ve had enough of [D] antiquated [D] things.

So it’s [Am] home again, and home [D] again, [G] America for [Em] me!

My [C] heart is turning [D] home again, and there I long to [G] be

In the [Am] land of youth and [D] freedom [G] beyond the ocean [Em] bars

Where the [C] air is full of [D] sunlight and the flag is full of [G] stars!

Oh London is a man’s town, there’s power in the air

And Paris is a woman’s town, with flowers in her hair;

And it’s sweet to dream in Venice, and it’s great to study Rome;

But when it comes to living there is no place like home.

I like the German fir-woods, in green battalions drilled

I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountains filled;

But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a day

In the friendly western woodland where Nature has her way!

I know that Europe’s wonderful, yet something seems to lack:

The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back.

But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free, —

We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.

Oh, it’s home again, and home again, America for me!

I want a ship that’s westward bound to plough the rolling sea,

To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,

Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars!

~Words by Henry Van Dyke / Music by Roger McGuinn~

� 1981 McGuinn Music / Roger McGuinn

Streets of Laredo

Laredo.jpg

The first time I heard this song, I was six years old, living in Tarrytown New York. My parents had an old friend named Jack Morris who had just gotten remarried, and they were coming over for dinner that night. Jack's new wife was pretty, with long black hair. She played guitar and sang. Her name was Ruby Norris-Morris.

Ruby noticed that I was into cowboys from the way I was dressed and all the cowboy paraphernalia in my room. She asked if I'd like to hear a real cowboy song. 'Yes,' I said, not knowing quite what to expect. By the time she got to the second verse, a lump the size of an apple formed in my throat and I began to cry. It was such a beautiful melody and the story was so sad.

I recorded this in Sundance Utah, at the famous Robert Redford multi-purpose facility, on our way to Salt Lake City for a concert.

Lyrics:
E A E B7
As I walked out on the streets of Laredo,

E A E B7
As I walked out in Laredo one day,
E A B7 E
I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen
E A B7 E
Wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay.

'I see by your outfit that you are a cowboy'
These words he did say as I boldly stepped by,
'Come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
I was shot in the breast and I know I must die.'

'Get six jolly cowboys to carry my coffin,
Get six pretty maidens to sing me a love song
Take me to the graveyard and lay the sod o'er me
For I'm a poor cowboy and I know I've done wrong.'

'It was once in the saddle I used to go dashing
Once in the saddle I used to go gay,
First down to the dram-house and then to the card house
Got shot in the breast, I am dying today.'

We beat the drum slowly and played the fife lowly,
And bitterly wept as we bore him along,
For we all loved our comrade, so brave, young and handsome,
We all loved our comrade although he'd done wrong.

Bring Me a Little Water, Sylvie

While traveling on the Judy Collins Wildflowers Festival Tour, I had a few days off and decided to spend it in Bucks County PA with friends, John and Mary Ann Davis. It was there that I recorded Lead Belly’s ‘Bring Me Little Water Sylvie.’ John accompainied me on bass and the old blues singer Rusty James (AKA Leon Redbone) stopped by to add a low vocal soul.
Lyrics:
D
Bring me little water Sylvie
A
Bring me little water now
D G
Bring me little water Sylvie
A D
Every little once in a while

Don’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Don’t you hear me calling now?

Don’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Getting’ mighty thirsty Sylvie

Getting’ mighty thirsty now

Getting’ mighty thirsty Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Can’t you hear me Sylvie?

Can’t you hear me now?

Can’t you hear me Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Getting’ hot and thirsty Sylvie

Getting’ hot and thirsty now

Getting’ hot and thirsty Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Bring me little water Sylvie

Bring me little water now

Bring me little water Sylvie

Every little once in a while

Can’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Can’t you hear me calling now?

Can’t you hear me calling Sylvie?

Every little once in a while

Nancy Whiskey

Lyrics:
[G] I am a [Em] weaver, a [C] Calton [D] weaver

[G] I am a [Em] brash and a [C] roving [D] blade

[G] I’ve got [Em] silver [C] in my [D] pouches

[G] And I [Em] follow a [C] roving [D] trade

[G] Whiskey, [Em] whiskey, [C] Nancy [Em] whiskey

[G] Whiskey, [Em] whiskey, [C] Nancy [D] O

[G] Beware of [Em] Whiskey, [C] Nancy [D] Whiskey

[G] Or you’ll [Em] have no [C] thing to [D] show

As I walked into Glasgow city
Nancy Whiskey I chanced to smell
I walked in, sat down beside her
Seven long years I loved her well

The more I kissed her, the more I loved her
The more I kissed her, the more she smiled
I forgot my mother’s teaching
Nancy soon had me beguiled

Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy whiskey
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy O
Beware of Whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
Or you’ll have no thing to show

I woke early in the mornin’
To take a drink it was my need,
I tried to rise but was not able
Nancy had me by the heid.

Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy whiskey
Whiskey, whiskey, Nancy O
Beware of Whiskey, Nancy Whiskey
Or you’ll have no thing to show

Water is Wide, The

Water.jpg

I remember going to see Pete Seeger in concert at Orchestra Hall in Chicago many times in my teen years. His 12-string guitar was always tuned down so that the bass notes were big and round, filling the hall as would a string quartet. His voice was clear, full of emotion and youthful exuberance. That was the first time I heard The Water Is Wide. Now I'm on concert tour in England. I decided to recorded this song live at the Jazz Café in London.
Lyrics:
D

The water is wide

G D

I cannot cross over

Bm

And neither have

A7

I wings to fly

D F#m

Build me a boat

G

That will carry two

A7

And both shall roam

D

My Love and I

A ship there is

And she sails the sea

Sailing as deep

As deep can be

But not so deep

As the love I'm in

And I know not

How I sink or swim

I leaned my back

Against some young oak

Thinking she was

A trusty tree

But first she bent

And then she broke

And thus did my

False love to me

The water is wide

I cannot cross over

And neither have

I wings to fly

Build me aboat

That will carry two

And both shall roam

My Love and I

House of the Rising Sun, The

Camilla and I are on a world tour. We stopped in France to do an interview with our friend, the famous screenwriter Jean-Marc Vasseur. While at his lovely home in Boissy Les Perche, we recorded this version of one of his favorite traditional songs, ‘House of the Rising Sun.’
Lyrics:
Em G Am C

There is a house in New Orleans

Em D B7

They call the Rising Sun

Em G Am C

It’s been the ruin of many poor boy

Em B7 Em

And me oh Lord am one

My mother is a tailor

She sews them new blue jeans

My father is a gambling man

Down in New Orleans

The only time I seen him

With his suitcase and his trunk

The only time he’s satisfied

Is when he’s on a drunk

Go tell my baby sister

Not to do what I have done

But to shun that house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

There is a house in New Orleans

They call the Rising Sun

It’s been the ruin of many poor boy

And me oh Lord am one

Colorado Trail, The

A cowboy love song. All sources point to a cowboy from Duluth, MN whose name is unknown. He was brought to the hospital after being thrown and trampled by what he called ‘a terribly bad hoss.’ A surgeon, Dr. T.L. Chapman, treated the wrangler for ‘bones of both upper and lower legs broken, fractures of the collar bone on both sides, numerous fractures of both arms and wrists, and many scars from lacerations.’

As the unknown cowboy convalesced and his strength returned, he sang across the hospital ward in a mellowed tenor voice, and the other patients always called for more. One of the songs he sang was Colorado Trail.

Camilla and I have added two new verses to the traditional first verse. I chose this song because we’ll be driving from Florida to Colorado in April to play a concert at the King Center for the Performing Arts on the Auraria Campus, in Denver on April 5th.

Lyrics:
D G D

Eyes like a morning star

G D

Cheeks like a rose

D G D

Laura was a pretty girl

G A

Everybody knows

D G D

Weep all you little rains

G D

Wail, winds, wail

D G D G

All along, along along

Em D

The Colorado trail.

Saddle up my dapple-gray

The sky still red with dawn

Keep a steady pace all day

Singing my sweet song

Riding through the purple hills

Just like Roy and Dale

All along, along along

The Colorado trail.

I’m going to find a silver mine

Then I’ll stake my claim

Send it all to Laura

Shower her like rain

Hurry back on home to her

Speeding o’er the rail

All along, along along

The Colorado trail.

© 2001 McGuinn Music – Traditional / New lyrics by

C. McGuinn, R. McGuinn

Catch The Greenland Whale

I first heard this song on a whaling album. I’ve tried to keep as close to the original as possible, including the key and tempo.

The banjo is tuned in an open Dm tuning, and the 12-string is playing melody. It’s all in Dm.

Lyrics:
On the [Am] twenty-third of [Em] March, my boys,
We [Am] hoisted our [Em] topsail,
Crying, [Am] ‘Heav’n above [Em] protect us
With a sweet and a [D] pleasant [Em] gale.’
We never was down-[Am] hearted
Nor let our courage [Em] fail
But [Am] bore away up to [Em] Greenland
For to catch the [D] Greenland [Em] whale,
For to catch the [D] Greenland [Em] whale.

And when we came to Greenland
Where the bitter winds did blow,
We tacked about all in the north
Among the frost and snow.
Our finger-tops were frozen off,
And likewise our toe-nails,
As we crawled on the deck, my boys,
Looking out for the Greenland whale
Looking out for the Greenland whale.

And when we came to Davis Strait
Where the mountains flowed with snow,
We tacked about all in the north
Till we heard the whalefish blow.
And when we catch that whale, brave boys,
Homeward we will steer.
We’ll make them valleys ring, my boys,
A-drinking of strong beer.
We’ll make them lofty alehouses
In London town to roar;
And when our money is all gone,
To Greenland go for more,
To Greenland go for more.

The Riddle Song

I wonder if this song from the 17th Century inspired the following poem by Walt Whitman?

A Riddle Song
By Walt Whitman
1819-1892

That which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unform’d in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world incessantly,
Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss,
Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion,
Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner,
Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose,
Which sculptor never chisel’d yet, nor painter painted,
Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter’d,
Invoking here and now I challenge for my song.

Indifferently, ‘mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city’s busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.

In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin’d dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering.

Two little breaths of words comprising it,
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.

How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail’d and sunk for it!

How many travelers started from their homes and neer return’d!
How much of genius boldly staked and lost for it!
What countless stores of beauty, love, ventur’d for it!
How all superbest deeds since Time began are traceable to it–and
shall be to the end!
How all heroic martyrdoms to it!
How, justified by it, the horrors, evils, battles of the earth!
How the bright fascinating lambent flames of it, in every age and
land, have drawn men’s eyes,
Rich as a sunset on the Norway coast, the sky, the islands, and the cliffs,
Or midnight’s silent glowing northern lights unreachable.

Haply God’s riddle it, so vague and yet so certain,
The soul for it, and all the visible universe for it,
And heaven at last for it.

Lyrics:
The Riddle Song

[G] I gave my love a [C] cherry that has no [G] stone,
I [D] gave my love a [G] chicken that has no [D] bone,
I gave my love a [G] ring that has no [D] end,
I [C] gave my love a [Am] baby with [C] no [G] crying.

How can there be a cherry that has no stone?
How can there be a chicken that has no bone?
How can there be a ring that has no end?
How can there be a baby with no crying?

A cherry, when it’s blooming, it has no stone,
A chicken when it’s pipping, it has no bone,
A ring when it’s rolling, it has no end,
A baby when it’s sleeping, has no crying.

Traditional

Stewball

Stewball.jpg

This is the original text of Stewball from an early printed version that appeared in an American song book dated 1829.

Sometime around 1790 a race took place on the curragh of Kildare (near Dublin) between a skewbald horse owned by Sir Arthur Marvel and 'Miss Portly', a gray mare owned by Sir Ralph Gore. The race seemed to take the balladmakers' fancies, and must have been widely sung.

Lyrics:
[G] Stewball was a good horse
He wore a high [Am] head
And the mane on his [D] foretop
Was fine as silk [G] thread

I rode him in England
I rode him in Spain
He never did lose, boys
He always did gain

So come all you gamblers
Wherever you are
And don't bet your money
On that little grey mare

Most likely she'll stumble
Most likely she'll fall
But you never will lose, boys
On my noble Stewball

As they were a-riding
'Bout halfway around
That grey mare she stumbled
And fell to the ground

And away out yonder
Ahead of them all
Came a prancin' and a dancin'
My noble Stewball