Fancy Stirring Bowl


“Fancy Stirring Bowl,” Appalachian State University Libraries Digital Collections, accessed July 15, 2024,

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Fancy Stirring Bowl


This item is part of the I. G. Greer Folksong Collection which consists of more than 300 individual song titles and their variants as collected by Isaac Garfield Greer (1881-1967) from informants, primarily in Ashe, Wilkes and Watauga counties. The collection includes manuscripts, typescript transcriptions produced by Dr. Greer’s clerical staff, and handwritten musical notations. Songs range from traditional Child Ballads, traditional English and Scottish ballads as well as their American variants, to 19th century popular music to musical compositions of local origin.


Folk songs
Binge drinking--Songs and music
Wine--Songs and music
Love--Songs and music

Alternative Title

When the Fancy Stirring Bowl


W. L. Eury Appalachian Collection, Appalachian State University


Greer, I. G. (Isaac Garfield), 1881-1967








6 total instances found

Fancy-Stirring Bowl

It is when the fancy-stirring bowl,
Makes its world of pleasure,
Glowing visions gild my soul,
And life’s an endless treasure,
Then memory decks my wanted heart,
Fresh with gay desires,
With rays divine my senses dart,
And kindling hope inspires.
Then who would be grave when wine can save,
The heaviest soul from sinking,
And magic grapes give angel-shape,
To every girl we are drinking.

Here sweet benignity and love,
Shed their influence round me,
The gathered ills of live remove,
And leave me as they found me,
For though my head may swim yet true,
And still to natures feeling,
While peace and beauty swim there too,
And rock me as I am reeling. Chorus-

On youth’s soft pillow tender truth,
Her pensive lesson taught me,
When age soon mocked the dream of youth,
And Wisdom waked and caught me,
A bargain then with love I knocked,
To hold the pleasing gipsy,
When wise to keep my bosom locked,
But turn the key when tipsy. Chorus

When time assuaged my heated heart,
The grey-beard wise and simple,
Forgot to cool one little part,
Just flushed by Lucy’s dimple,
That part’s enough of beauty’s type,
To warm an honest fellow,
And though it touch me not when ripe,
It melts still while I am mellow. Chorus.

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