No. 22 Who’ll Be the Binder?
Couples circle in a ring about a single player—
It rains, it hails, it’s cold stormy weather,
In comes the farmer drinking all the cider;
You be the reaping-boy and I’ll be the binder;
I’ve lost my true love, and don’t know where to find her.
Each girl then lets go of her partner’s arm, and takes the arm of the one in advance, and the solitary player endeavors meanwhile to slip into the line.
The following is a variation:
It snows and it blows, and it’s cold frosty weather,
Here comes the farmer drinking all his cider;
I’ll be the reaper, who’ll be the binder?
I’ve lost my true love, where shall I find her?
It is played by children in New York city as a kissing-game in the ring, as follows:
In comes the farmer, drinking all the cider;
I have a true love and don’t know where to find her.
Go round the ring, and see if you can find her;
If you cannot find her, go and choose another one.
We meet our game once more in North Germany. But its prettiest form is among the Fins of the Baltic coast, where it is extremely pleasing and pastoral:
Reap we the oat harvest,
Who will come and bind it?
Ah, perhaps his darling,
Treasure of his bosom.
Where have I last seen her?
Yesterday at evening,
Yesterday at morning!
When will she come hither,
With her little household,
With her gentle escort,
People of her village?
Who has not a partner,
Let him pay a forfeit!
It is a remarkable fact that, even where this simple people have borrowed the dramatic idea of an amusement from their more civilized neighbors, they have developed it with a sweetness and grace which put the latter to shame.