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The Ballad of Sweet William's Ghost – Kate Rusby
Identifier
010883
Type of Spiritual Experience
Background
The old ballad of Sweet William’s Ghost describes the return of the disembodied soul of a woman’s lover, who begs her to marry him and thus release him from the half life he lives as a lost soul.
Eventually after following him to his grave, she effects his release and he manages to go – to ‘move on’.
This is a story – a ballad, but it describes well the overall principle of the disembodied soul. Hugely troubled by some unfinished business, in torment, not wanting to leave someone or somewhere they were greatly attached to, or alternatively a person who has died suddenly in an unprepared way.
A description of the experience
Sweet William's Ghost – Kate Rusby
THERE came a ghost to Margret’s door,
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.
77A.2 ‘Is that my father Philip,
Or is’t my brother John?
Or is’t my true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home?’
77A.3 ‘’Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John;
But ’tis thy true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home.
77A.4 ‘O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.’
77A.5 ‘Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.’
77A.6 ‘If I shoud come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.
77A.7 ‘O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.’
77A.8 ‘Thy faith and troth thou’s never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till you take me to yon kirk,
And wed me with a ring.’
77A.9 ‘My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That’s now speaking to thee.’
77A.10 She stretchd out her lilly-white hand,
And, for to do her best,
‘Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest.’
77A.11 Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a’ the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.
77A.12 ‘Is there any room at your head, Willy?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?’
77A.13 ‘There’s no room at my head, Margret,
There’s no room at my feet;
There’s no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin’s made so meet.’
77A.14 Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
‘Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were going away.’
77A.15 No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanishd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.
77A.16 ‘O stay, my only true-love, stay,’
The constant Margret cry’d;
Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,
Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy’d.