One from the Paul Brady/Planxty songbook, the liner notes for Planxty’s version state that it was likely brought back to Ireland from soldiers fighting in the War of 1812, which is likely as it’s also listed as a traditional Creole song. The lyrics however must have gone through several revisions, as the train line which ran from New Orleans to Jackson, Mississippi didn’t open up till the 1860s, and skirted the lakes of Pontchartrain.
That the lyrics are from the Civil War can also be attested to by the line about his money “being no good,” as both Confederate money and money issued by southern banks was of little or no value as the north took command of the southern states.
Lakes of Pontchartrain
Traditional Creole Folk Song, mid eighteenth century
It was one fine March morning, I bid New Orleans Adieu
And I took the road to Jackson Town, my fortune to renew
I cursed all foreign money, no credit could I gain
Which filled my heart with a longing for, the Lakes of Ponchartrain
I stepped on board of a railroad car beneath the morning sun
I rode the rods till evening and I laid me down again
All strangers there no friends to me ’til a dark girl towards me came
And I fell in love with the Creole Girl, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain
I said “Me pretty Creole Girl, me money here’s no good,
If it weren’t for the alligators, I’d sleep out there in the wood”
“You’re welcome here kind stranger, Our house is very plain”
“But we never turned a stranger out, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain”
She took me into her mammy’s house and treated me right well
The hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell
To try and paint her beauty, I’m sure ‘twould be in vain
So handsome was my Creole girl by the Lakes of Ponchartrain
I asked her if she’d marry me, she said that ne’er could be
For she had got a lover and he was far at sea
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
Till he’d return to his Creole girl, on the Lakes of Ponchartrain
It’s fare thee well, me Creole girl, I’ll never see you more
I’ll never forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore
And at each social gathering, a flowing bowl I’ll drain
And I’ll drink a health to my Creole girl, by the Lakes of Ponchartrain
