Strange
blending of love and helplessness sings through the refrain:
"Yonder's my ole mudder,
Been waggin' at de hill so long;
'Bout time she cross over,
Git home bime-by."
Elsewhere comes the cry of the "motherless" and the "Farewell,
farewell, my only child."
Love-songs are scarce and fall into two categories--the
frivolous and light, and the sad. Of deep successful love there
is ominous silence, and in one of the oldest of these songs
there is a depth of history and meaning:
Poor Ro-sy, poor gal; Poor Ro-sy,
poor gal; Ro-sy break my poor heart,
Heav'n shall-a-be my home.
A black woman said of the song, "It can't be sung without a
full heart and a troubled sperrit." The same voice sings here
that sings in the German folk-song:
"Jetz Geh i' an's brunele, trink' aber net."
Of death the Negro showed little fear, but talked of it
familiarly and even fondly as simply a crossing of the waters,
perhaps--who knows?--back to his ancient forests again. Later
days transfigured his fatalism, and amid the dust and dirt the
toiler sang:
"Dust, dust and ashes, fly over my grave,
But the Lord shall bear my spirit home.
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