Emiline

Down by the creek,
there’s a cold wind blows
For to tell the tale
of the Elk Branch Load
And the men who worked
the Adelson Mine
And their lovely Rose, Sweet Emiline
She was a dark haired beauty
of Gypsy blood
Nearly floated over
them boulders and mud
And there was not a man,
smitten by gold
Who wouldn’t give his share,
her hand to hold
Grab that fiddle get the bow,
darlin' don’t say no
Take me for a spin in the early moonlight, my sweet Emiline
Soar up high fall down low,
darlin' don’t you know
I could be yours and you could be mine, my sweet Emiline
For six long months they toiled by day
That hillside gave each man his pay
But at night the aspen swayed in time
As each man took his turn with Emiline
And when Emiline begins to dance
She’ll spin you into a powerful trance
You’ll wake up there
on the cold, hard floor
Her name on your lips
and hungry for more
Now stories are told of sirens and maids
Who steal men’s hearts and make them slaves
Well, in the seventh month
she stole the mine—
All the gold, the men,
and the pale moonshine
That’s why there’s nothing left
but water and stone
And a wooden sluice
all bleached to bone
Yes, but she still haunts
that hidden glade
Every time the aspen tremble and sway
There’s a lesson in this sorrowful rhyme:
Beware the creek at evening time,
Young man, beware
the glitter and the shine
And the lovely dance of sweet Emiline
Grab that fiddle get the bow,
darlin' don’t say no
Take me for a spin in the early moonlight, my sweet Emiline
Soar up high fall down low,
darlin' don’t you know
I could be yours and you could be mine, my sweet Emiline
Soar up high fall down low,
darlin' don’t you know
I could be yours and you could be mine, my sweet Emiline
I could be yours and you could be mine, my sweet Emiline
Down by the creek,
there’s a cold wind blows