THE FATE OF EFFIE AND RICHARD DUKE

Oh, hearken to this sad warning, You husbands who love your wife, Don't never fly in a passion And take your companion's life.

Of Doctor Rich Duke I will tell you, Who lived up Beaver Creek way, He married fair Effie Allen And loved her well, so they say.

Both Effie and Rich had money, But he was much older than she, And she said, "All your lands and money Should be deeded over to me."

His wife he loved and trusted And he hastened to obey; But the fact he soon regretted That he deeded his riches away.

They quarreled and then they parted, The times were more than three, For both of them were stubborn And they never could agree.

Now Doctor John, his brother, Was a highly respected man, He brought Effie home one evening, Saying, "Make up your quarrel if you can."

And Rich seemed glad to see her, And followed her up the stair, But only God and the angels Know just what happened there.

Doctor John was down at the table When he heard the pistol roar; He ran up the stairs in a moment And looked in at the open door.

Poor Rich lay there by his pistol With a bullet through his brain, And Effie lay there dying Writhing in mortal pain.

They were past all human succor, No earthly power could save; And they took their secrets with them To the land beyond the grave.

Now all you wives and husbands, Take heed to this warning true.

Never quarrel over lands and money Or some day the fact you will rue.

--Coby Preston

THE FATE OF FLOYD COLLINS

This ballad was composed in 1925 by Jilson Setters, when Floyd Collins was trapped in a salt mine near Mammoth Cave, Kentucky.

Come all you friends and neighbors And listen to what I say, I'll relate to you a story, Of a man who passed away.

He struggled hard for freedom, His heart was true and brave, While his comrades they were toiling His precious life to save.

His name was Floyd Collins, Exploring he did crave.

But he never dreamed that he'd be trapped In a lonely sandstone cave.

His entrance it was easy, His heart was light and gay, But his mind was filled with trouble When he found he'd lost his way.

He wandered through the cavern, He knew not where to go, He knew he was imprisoned, His heart was full of woe.

He started for the entrance That he had passed that day.

A large and mighty boulder Had slipped down in his way.

The stone was slowly creeping But that he did not know, Underneath he found an opening He thought that he could go.

He soon got tired and worried, He soon then had to rest, The boulder still was creeping, It was tightening on his chest.

He lost all hopes of freedom, No farther could he go; His agony was desperate, That you all well know.

His weeping parents lingered near; A mother gray and old.

Soon poor Floyd passed away And heaven claimed his soul.

A note was in his pocket, The neighbors chanced to find; These few lines were written While he had strength and mind: "Give this note to mother, Tell her not to cry; Tell her not to wait for me, I will meet her by and by."

--Jilson Setters

This ballad was written by fifty-year-old Adam Crisp who lived in Fletcher, North Carolina, at the time of Collins' death. Crisp could neither read nor write but composed many ballads.

FLOYD COLLINS' FATE

Come all you young people And listen to what I tell: The fate of Floyd Collins, Alas, we all know well.

His face was fair and handsome, His heart was true and brave, His body now lies sleeping In a lonely sandstone cave.

How sad, how sad the story, It fills our eyes with tears, His memory will linger For many, many a year.

His broken-hearted father Who tried his boy to save Will now weep tears of sorrow At the door of Floyd's cave.

Oh, mother, don't you worry, Dear father, don't be sad; I'll tell you all my troubles In an awful dream I had; I dreamed that I was prisoner, My life could not be saved, I cried, "Oh! must I perish, Within the silent cave?"

The rescue party gathered, They labored night and day To move the mighty boulder That stood within the way.

"To rescue Floyd Collins!"

This was the battlecry.

"We will never, no, we will never Let Floyd Collins die."

But on that fatal morning The sun rose in the sky, The workers still were busy, "We will save him by and by."

But, oh, how sad the evening, His life they could not save, His body then was sleeping Within the lonely cave.

Young people all take warning With this, for you and I, We may not be like Collins, But you and I must die.

It may not be in a sand cave In which we find our tomb, But at that mighty judgment We soon will find our doom.

--Adam Crisp

PATRIOT

IT'S GREAT TO BE AN AMERICAN

For long years the members of the Hamm family in Rowan County, Kentucky, both old and young, have gathered on a Sunday in the month of August for their mountain Eisteddfod. Upon this occasion there is friendly rivalry as to whose ballad or poem is best, who speaks his composition best. And the prize, you may be sure, is not silver but a book of poems. This composition of Nannie Hamm Carter was read at their mountain Eisteddfod in August, 1940.

It's great to be an American, And live on peaceful shores, Where we hear not the sound of marching feet, And the war-clouds come no more.

Where the Statue of Liberty ever stands, A beacon of hope for all, Heralding forth to every land That by it we stand or fall.

It's great to be an American, For wherever we may go, It is an emblem of truth and right, A challenge to every foe.

It's great to be free and unfettered, And know not wars or strife, Where man to man united, Can live a carefree life,

While men are falling hour by hour Upon some foreign shore Amidst the roar of battle there, Ne'er to return no more.

They're offered as a sacrifice, Upon the altar there, With no one there to sympathize, Or shed for them a tear.

Where men are marching 'mid the strife, Where there, day after day, There's danger and there's loss of life Where conquerors hold sway.

They bow to rulers' stern commands, They face the deadly foe, While far away in other lands, There's sorrow, pain and woe.