BALLADS OF MURDER, PART 2

The Bloody Gardener, gouache and flashe on paper, 12" x 12" , 2013 (click image to see larger)

Back in March, I posted an illustration I did for a Murder Ballad called Wind and Rain. According to Wikipedia, "Murder ballads are a sub-genre of the traditional ballad form, the lyrics of which form a narrative describing the events of a murder, often including the lead-up and/or aftermath."

The moment I discovered that Murder Ballads existed (about 5 years ago), I knew I had to illustrate them. So far, I have completed two. My hope is to one day make an illustrated book of these dark and beautiful songs. Maybe that book will even include a record of the songs themselves. Who knows? 

The illustration above is for a Murder Ballad entitled The Bloody Gardener

It goes something like this: 

THE BLOODY GARDNER

t's of a lady fair and a shepherd's daughter dear,
She was courted by her own true heart's delight.
But his mother laid a snare and false letters did prepare,
Saying, “Meet me in the garden, dear, this night.”

So this young maid arose and into the garden goes
Expecting there to meet her heart's delight,
She searched the garden round but no true love she found
And at length the bloody gardener come in sight.

He said, “My pretty maid, what's brought you here this way,
And have you come to rob me of my flowers so gay?”
She cried, “No thief I am, I'm in search of some young man
Who promised that he'd meet me here this day.”

Then he took out his knife, cut the single thread of life
And he laid her virtuous body in the ground;
And with flowers fine and gay this maid did overlay
In a way her body never should be found.

Her true love lay asleep on a mossy bank so sweet
And a milk-white dove come fluttering round his face;
And with battering wings so sweet all around this young man's feet,
And when he rose this dove she flew away.

This dove, she flew away and perched on a myrtle tree
And the young man followed full of grieve and pain.
Down from the tree so tall right on her grave did fall
The fresh blood from her breast like crimson rain.

Oh, this young man in anger rose and unto to his home did go
Saying, “Mother dear, you've lost me my delight,
You've robbed me of my joy, my jewel and my toy,
And now with my darling I'll take flight.”

BALLADS OF MURDER, PART 1

(The Dreadful Wind and Rain, gouache and flashe on paper, 12" x 12", 2013)

Above is my illustration of the Murder Ballad Wind and Rain, also known as The Twa Sisters

It goes like this: 

WIND AND RAIN

There were two sisters of county Clare,

Oh, the wind and rain

One was dark and the other was fair,

Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

And they both had a love of the miller's son,

Oh, the wind and rain

But he was fond of the fairer one,

Oh, the dreadful wind and rain

So she pushed her into the river to drown

oh, the wind and rain

and watched her as she floated down

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

and she floated till she came to the millers pond

oh, the wind and the rain

dead on the water like a golden swan

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

as she came to rest on the riverside

oh, the wind and the rain

and her bones were washed by the rolling tide

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

and along the road came a fiddler fair

oh, the wind and rain

and found her bones just a lying there, cried

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

so he made a fiddle peg of her long finger bone

oh, the wind and the rain

he a made a fiddle peg of her long finger bone, crying

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

and he strung his fiddle bow with her long yeller hair

oh, the wind and the rain

he strung his fiddle bow with her long yeller hair, cried

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

and he made a fiddle fiddle of her breast bone

oh, the wind and rain

he made a fiddle fiddle of her breast bone, cried

oh, the dreadful wind and rain

but the only tune that the fiddle could play was

oh, the wind and rain

the only tune that the fiddle would play was

oh, the dreadful wind and rain