When I was a kid, a long time ago,
I heard a song that I love dearly.
It's called My True Love,
Golden Hair,
or even Locks and Bolts.
The principle,
I guess, is like that of the fellow
who went to the woman down in the southern
mountains
and said, Mother, I want to marry
Bessie Hatchel
from down the way.
And the mother says, You do?
Is she a virgin, son?"
And he said, Yes,
mother, she is.
And she says, Well, we can't marry then,
because if she ain't good
enough for her folks,
she ain't good enough for ours. Well...
And so on this song, for some reason,
in the old ballad, the young man was not supposed to marry the young girl,
but he married her. Oh,
let me tell you of my love,
she is a lovely sweet one,
she is the darling of my life,
has made it a complete one.
Me and my love lay down to rest
All on a summer's day
When I awoke, I was alone
My love was stolen away
I followed to her father's house,
followed for my dear.
The servant said, on every hand,
Oh no, she is not here.
And then I heard her own soft voice
come from the highest window.
Oh, love, dear love,
I would come down,
but a lock and bolts do hinder.
My anger flew, my sword I drew,
into that house I'd enter.
Her father and three armoured men
Gainst me that door did hinder
With angry cry I raised my sword
And at them I did batter
And so with fear they all fell back
And through that house did scatter
I took my love into my arms,
to my breast I hold her.
Her lovely hair, like golden strings,
come twisting down my shoulder.
And all you men who love a girl
and someone soon would
hinder must do as I,
for my true love,
though locks and bolts should bar you.
Thank you. Thanks. Thank you. Thank you.