I recently came across this beautiful folk song — sung here by Tim O'Brien, whose mournful fiddle is as haunting as the song. It is an odd combination of of martial spirit, the soldier's success in battle, pride in his accomplishments at having served with brave commanders and an unanswered longing for a woman whose "beauty has conquered me." We are I think, more aware of the female lament song, the soldier gone to war leaving her to wait (or not) seven years, the rake who abandons her with a baby, the lover murdered by her brothers. Such a list of catastrophes that separate a couple.
But this one is strangely as modern as it is historical — sung at least two hundred years ago by British singers, and then reformed in slightly altered versions in Appalachia, that second home for British folk songs remade in the language of the hill country folk. One can read the sentiments in the Civil War and WWI and WWII letters of soldiers who have fought many wars, finally ready to put away the sword and return home to a waiting wife and children. For those who remained unmarried during their service, it is to hope to find love and settle down, far from the where "the wild beasts howl."
We are a military family, and so I know many of those modern-day fighters for whom this song would resonate. The more specialized the warriors, such as those in special forces, the more likely marriages fall apart due to the long deployments and the stress of being alone. Often, those warriors remarry successfully, but only after they have resigned their commission. Late families still bring children and joy. And there are those warriors, like the Foreign Lander, who wait until they are ready to leave, until they feel their work is finally done, until they step down from doing the task for which they are uniquely suited, and for when they can at last transfer their undying loyalty for brothers on the battlefield for a life at home, and a woman "whose beauty has conquered" him.
And simply because I love this song and the mandolin which I am still endeavoring to play adequately, here is a lovely version by Sarah Jarosz with notes that ripple like water.
Here are the lyrics:
I've conquered all my enemies on land and on the sea, but you, my dearest jewel, 'tis you have conquered me.
The ship would burst asunder should I prove false to thee.
If ever I prove false, love, the elements would moan.
The fire would turn to ice, love, the seas would rage and burn.
She's flying from pine to pine.
She's mourning for her own love the way I mourn for mine.
I lie awake out in the night.
I see the shining stars.
I wonder if you see them too wherever you are.
Great song!
Hi Midori,
I went back to reread your Dinotopia book during this pandemic… it stirs fond childhood memories. What a glad surprise that you, like me, are a native of Wisconsin and an alumnus of UW-Madison and UW-Milwaukee!
This is a beautiful song- I see some similarity in the lyrics and melody to an old Carter Family song, “The Storms Are on the Ocean”. which the Carters sang in the 1920s- you note correctly that Appalachians like the Carters sang these British folk songs and were mainly of British, Scottish and Irish stock. In the Carter song, the lover evinces regret at the moment of parting. But both songs express the idea that the elements would rebel against falseness to the couple’s love- “The storms are on the ocean, the heavens may cease to be, this world may lose its motion, love, if I prove false to thee.” And both songs discuss the mourning dove as a symbol of the singer’s own sorrow.
Hi Mark, hey, thanks for this wonderful comment. I am glad that my Dinotopia book found you all those years ago and again in this present moment. I had a lot of fun writing it and it is always great to hear from readers (and fellow Madison/Milwaukeeans!). I will definitely search for a recording of the Carter version of the song — I am always moved by folk songs that have an amazing capacity to create deeply felt images within the tightly controlled frame of the song. Goods ones always evoke both what is revealed, and also what is left unsaid. Such an economy of thought — close to poetry — where the tune and the singer voice give it depth.