American Folk Songs & Ballads

 Lakes of Ponchartrain

The Lakes of Pontchartrain

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

~Traditional 

Twas on one bright 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 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, they’re no friends to me, till a dark girl towards me came
I fell in love with a creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain

I said, “Me pretty Creole girl, me money’s here no good
And if it weren’t for the alligators, I would sleep out in the woods”
“You’re welcome here, kind stranger, our house is very plain
And we never turned a stranger out on the banks of Ponchartrain”

She took me into her mammy’s house and treated me right well
Her hair upon her shoulders in jet black ringlets fell
To try to 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 this could never be
For she had got a lover and he was far ar sea
She said that she would wait for him and true she would remain
Till he returned to his Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain

“So fare thee well, my bonny own girl, I never may see you more
But I’ll ne’er forget your kindness in this cottage by the shore
And at each social gathering, a flowing glass I’ll drain
And I’ll drink a health to me Creole girl by the lakes of Ponchartrain”

If you have any more information to share about this song or helpful links, please post as a comment. Thanks for stopping by the site! ~John Fitz

0 Comments

Submit a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

I am indebted to the many friends who share my love of traditional songs and to the many scholars whose works are too many to include here. I am also incredibly grateful to the collector’s curators and collators of Wikipedia, Mudcat.org, MainlyNorfolk.info, and TheContemplator.com for their wise, thorough and informative contributions to the study of folk music. 

I share their research on my site with humility, thanks, and gratitude. Please cite their work accordingly with your own research. If you have any research or sites you would like to share on this site, please post in the comment box.  Thanks!

Add links

"The Lakes of Pontchartrain" (Roud 1836) is a folk ballad from the United States about a man who is given shelter by a Louisiana Creole woman. He falls in love with her and asks her to marry him, but she is already promised to a sailor and declines. It is a tale of unrequited love.[1]

Setting

The song is named for and set on the shores of the major estuarine waterbodies of the Pontchartrain Basin,[2] including lakes Maurepas, Pontchartrain, and Borgne. Lake Pontchartrain forms the northern boundary of New Orleans, while Lake Maurepas is west of Lake Pontchartrain and connected to Lake Pontchartrain by Pass Manchac and North Pass. Lake Borgne is east of Lake Pontchartrain and connects to Lake Pontchartrain through the GIWW/IHNC, Pass Rigolets, and Chef Menteur Pass. Lake Borgne extends into Mississippi Sound and therefore is directly connected to the Gulf of Mexico.

Origins

The exact origin of the song is unknown, though it is commonly held to have originated in the southern United States in the 19th century. Ruth Smith explored the journey of the song in an RTÉ radio documentary in 2020. [1] This documentary traces the modern Irish version back, using the Roud index to a songbook entitled Songs and ballads from Southern Michigan[3] by Gardiner and Chickering. [1]

The liner notes accompanying Planxty's version state that the tune was probably brought back by soldiers fighting for the British or French armies in Louisiana and Canada in the War of 1812. Although the tune might date to that period, the popular lyrics undoubtedly came much later, since they tell of taking a railway train from New Orleans to Jackson Town. This was most likely to be the railway junction town of Jackson, Mississippi (named in honor of General Andrew Jackson), the capital of Mississippi. The line would have been the New Orleans, Jackson and Great Northern Railway—whose line, opened before the Civil War, included a pre-existing local line running north from downtown New Orleans along the shores of Lake Pontchartrain. Most likely, the lyrics date to the Civil War, and the reference to "foreign money" being "no good" could refer to either U.S. or Confederate currency, depending upon who was in control of the area at the time. It should also be noted that thousands of banks, during the civil war, issued their own bank notes, which could be rejected in various towns, depending on how trusted were the issuing bank. Also, the Confederacy and Union issued their own bank notes—as did individual States—leading to a proliferation of currency (notes and coinage) that might not be acceptable in a particular region.

Versions

Planxty and Paul Brady

The best-known versions of the song use the tune for "Lily of the West", especially the recordings by the Irish traditional musical group Planxty on Cold Blow and the Rainy Night in 1974 where they give Mike Waterson as their source, and by the Irish musician and songwriter (and sometime member of Planxty) Paul Brady on Welcome Here Kind Stranger in 1978. The 2002 release of a live recording of the songs from the aforementioned album, entitled The Missing Liberty Tapes, preserves a solo rendition of "The Lakes of Pontchartrain" from Brady's 1978 concert at Liberty Hall in Dublin. A new recording of "The Lakes of Pontchartrain" appears on his 1999 album Nobody Knows: The Best of Paul Brady. Brady has also recorded an Irish-language version of the song, as "Bruach Loch Pontchartrain", translated by Francie Mooney. Planxty member Christy Moore later recorded the song for his 1983 solo album The Time Has Come.

Other notable performers

Alternative lyrics and tunes

An alternative verse can be found in the Digital Tradition Folk Song Search.[citation needed] The tune, or a slight variation of it, is to be found in the Scots tradition accompanying the Border ballad Jock O'Hazeldean.[citation needed]

When this song made its way west, cowboys changed the title to "On the Lake of the Poncho Plains." The Creole girl became a Cree Indian and the Pontchartrain was changed to the Poncho Plains. The cowboy version is recorded in Singing Cowboy; A Book of Western Songs collected and edited by Margaret Larkin, c1931.

References

  1. ^ a b c Smith, Ruth (29 December 2020). "By the Lakes of Ponchartrain". RTE Radio. Retrieved 25 August 2023.
  2. ^ "The Pontchartrain Basin". lacoast.gov.
  3. ^ Emelyn Gardner & Geraldine Chickering. Ballads and Songs of Southern Michigan. Retrieved 25 August 2023.
  4. ^ "EDLIS Dylan Atlas". www.expectingrain.com.
  5. ^ https://www.nme.com/news/music/bob-dylan-performs-traditional-folk-ballad-for-first-time-in-34-years-3912106#
  6. ^ "Singing Taoiseach hits bum note as critics lap up 'Gargle-gate' in Galway". The Irish Times.
  7. ^ "Cowen: I was not drunk". Irish Examiner. September 15, 2010.
  8. ^ "Banjo-plucking Cowen is a real oil painting". independent. 30 September 2010.
  9. ^ "365 Days Of Folk: Song List". Retrieved 24 January 2026.

Source: Mainly Norfolk

The Lakes of Pontchartrain

Roud 1836 ; Laws H9 ; Ballad Index LH09 ; trad.]

Planxty sang The Lakes of Pontchartrain in 1974 on their album Cold Blow and the Rainy Night, the band’s member Christy Moore returned to it nine years later on his 1983 solo album The Time Has Come. He commented in the sleeve notes of his 2001 album This Is the Day:

Mike Waterson from North Yorkshire taught me The Lakes of Pontchartrain in 1967 and now it is part of our National repertoire.

Martin Simpson sang this as The Lakes of Ponchartrain in 1985 on his Topic album Sad of High Kicking. This track was also included in his anthologiesThe Collection (2002) and The Definitive Collection (2004). He re-recorded this song in 2011 for his Topic CD Purpose and Grace where he commented in the liner notes:

[…] I learned it from the Cajun bluegrass band The Louisiana Honeydrippers, who made one excellent record for Arhoolie in the 1960s. Having lived in New Orleans, I felt qualified to revisit the song with a different feel. Thousands of Irish emigrants ended up in New Orleans. The city has a great Irish culture and heritage. The levees and drainage ditches which stop the city being inundated were largely built by Irish labour. Ten thousand Irish died during the construction and their memorial is a small Celtic cross on the meridian of an Uptown New Orleans road. When the Civil War broke out, the Union Navy sailed up the Mississippi and took New Orleans, the young Irishman in the song fled north through the swamps. There is so much history in the few verses of a folk song.

In this video Martin Simpson sings The Lakes of Ponchartrain at the fRoots 30th birthday Frootsnanny at London’s Roundhouse in January 2010:

Jon Boden sang The Lakes of Pontchartrain as the March 1, 2011 entry of his project A Folk Song a Day. He gave Planxty as his source and commented that it was

Possibly the first song I ever learnt, probably aged about 14. Attracted by the alligator line I think. Sung a lot in Irish sessions.

Lyrics

Martin Simpson sings The Lakes of Ponchartrain

Through streams and bogs and under bush, I’d made my weary way,
Though windfalls thick and devil’s floods my aching feet did stray.
Until at last by evening start on higher ground I gained
And there I met with a Creole girl by the Lakes of Ponchartrain.

“Good evening to you, Creole girl, my money is no good,
Although I fear the ‘gators, well I must defend the wood.”
“You are welcome here, kind stranger, my house is very plain
But we never turn a stranger out on the Lakes of Ponchartrain.”

She took me to her mammy’s house, she treated me right well,
The hair around her shoulders, in them jet black ringlets fell.
I’d try to describe her beauty but I find the words in vain,
So beautiful that Creole girl by the Lakes of Ponchartrain.

Well I asked if she’d marry me, she said that could not be,
Because she loved a sailor and he’s far away at sea.
She said that she would marry him and true she would remain,
Even through he never did come back to the Lakes of Ponchartrain.

So farewell, farewell you Creole girl, I’ll ne’er see you no more,
I’ll ne’er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore.
And at each social gathering a flowing glass I’d drain
And I drink a health to the Creole girl by the Lakes of Ponchartrain.

Jon Boden sings The Lakes of Pontchartrain

It was on one fine March morning I bid New Orleans adieu
And I took the road to Jackson my fortune to renew.
I cursed all foreign money, no credit could I gain,
Which filled my heart with longing for the Lakes of Pontchatrain.

I stood on board of the railroad car beneath the morning sun,
I rode the runs till evening and I laid me down again.
All strangers there, no friends to me till a dark girl towards me came
And I fell in love with a Creole girl by the Lakes of Pontchatrain.

I said, “My pretty Creole girl, my money here’s no good.
If it weren’t for the alligators I’d sleep out in the wood.”
“Oh, you’re welcome here, kind stranger, our house is very plain
But we never turn a stranger out from the Lakes of Pontchatrain.”

She took me into her mammy’s house and she treated me quite 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 Pontchatrain.

So it’s fare thee well, my bonny girl, I never shall see you more,
I’ll ne’er forget your kindness in the cottage by the shore.
And at each social gathering a glass of wine I’ll drain
And I’ll drink a health to the Creole girl by the Lakes of Pontchatrain.

Aiofe O’Donovan sings a beautiful version…

Performances, Workshops, Resources & Recordings

The American Folk Experience is dedicated to collecting and curating the most enduring songs from our musical heritage.  Every performance and workshop is a celebration and exploration of the timeless songs and stories that have shaped and formed the musical history of America. John Fitzsimmons has been singing and performing these gems of the past for the past forty years, and he brings a folksy warmth, humor and massive repertoire of songs to any occasion. 

Festivals & Celebrations Coffeehouses School Assemblies Library Presentations Songwriting Workshops Artist in Residence House Concerts Pub Singing Irish & Celtic Performances Poetry Readings Campfires Music Lessons Senior Centers Voiceovers & Recording

“Beneath the friendly charisma is the heart of a purist gently leading us from the songs of our lives to the timeless traditional songs he knows so well…”

 

Globe Magazine

Join Fitz at The Colonial Inn

“The Nobel Laureate of New England Pub Music…”

Scott Alaric

Adventures in the Modern Folk Underground

On the Green, in Concord, MA Every Thursday Night for over thirty years…

“A Song Singing, Word Slinging, Story Swapping, Ballad Mongering, Folksinger, Teacher, & Poet…”

Theo Rogue

Songcatcher Rag

Fitz’s Recordings

& Writings

Songs, poems, essays, reflections and ramblings of a folksinger, traveler, teacher, poet and thinker…

Download for free from the iTunes Bookstore

“A Master of Folk…”

The Boston Globe

Fitz’s now classic recording of original songs and poetry…

Download from the iTunes Music Store

“A Masterful weaver of song whose deep, resonant voice rivals the best of his genre…”

Spirit of Change Magazine

“2003: Best Children’s Music Recording of the Year…”

Boston Parent's Paper

Fitz & The Salty Dawgs Amazing music, good times and good friends…

Listen here

TheCraftedWord.org

Writing help

when you need it…

More American Folksongs & Ballads…

“When the eyes rest on the soul…that’s Fitzy…”

Lenny Megliola

WEEI Radio

Kampuchea

I stutter for normality across the river from black men fishing for kibbers and horned pout. Barefoot children rounded bellies curled navels stalk the turtle sunning on a log. lonely in the field grass lonely on the curbstones I stutter for normality. Not a mother...

The End Is the Beginning

For the past twenty years this night has always been a bittersweet moment. I have never been hobbled by boredom or a lack of "things I love to do," so whatever supposed free time I have is rewarding in whatever I choose to do. The flip side is that I am teacher, and I...

Chores

The day sometimes slip away from me, a huge pine half-bucked in the backyard, the kids old tree fort cut into slabs, a ton of coal waiting to be moved in a train of buckets to the bin. Sipping cold water on the back deck, sharpening the dulled teeth of a worn...

Joshua Sawyer Podcast

No Dad To Come Home To

Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
Thank God I’m not working tonight.
I’ve got six of my own,
And a stepdaughter at home,
And a momma keeping things right.
I wonder if they’re at the table
With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
When I get off the highway
And pull in that driveway,
Will they run to the window again?

A Perfect Mirror

Do not mistake the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself~BuddhaLast night you were so lucky. You didn't have to worry about your grumpy, tired teacher going through hours of journals ands doling out poor grades for what I am sure qualifies for good efforts...

Metamorphoses

It’s something I‘ve hardly ever thought of:
this simple and rattling old diesel
has always gotten me there and then some;
and so at first I think this sputtering
is just some clog, and easily explained:
some bad fuel maybe, from the new Exxon,
or just shortsightedness on maintenance.
I’ve always driven in the red before,
and these have all been straight highway miles —

A Monday Ramble

There is always a hard shift for me at the end of the summer, and today is that day for me. I miss the freedom of last week: I'd wake in the morning, come out to the deck to write poetry or work on my novel--but now today, I feel like I should be preparing for school,...

The Farmer, The Weaver & the Space Traveler

     Words matter. Words carefully crafted and artfully expressed  matter infinitely more. There is something compelling in a turn of phrase well-timed, arresting image juxtaposed on arresting images; broad ideas distilled into clear, lucid singular thought. For the...

Raccoon

I’ve stopped the chinks with newspaper and rags wedged tightly against the wind blowing cold three days now. I feed the fire and curse its hissing and steaming mixing green oak with sticks of dried pine calling myself Raccoon grown fat in the suburbs sleeping in...

Calvary

It seems like it ain’t been a long time,
But I’m damn pleased your coming by again.
It’s been a while since we sat down and rambled
About this and that and why and who and then
You said that you had to get a move on,
Move on and leave a space behind.
So I spent a while hitting all those old roads:
Old friends and kicking down the wine.

The Night Music

The house is quiet earlier than usual. I can hear Margaret playing her guitar and singing in her bedroom—door closed as she would have it, but still beautiful to hear. It reminds me of Kaleigh when she was younger singing her heart out, as if the world didn't really...

Thinking of My Sister

When Cool Was Really Cool  Life is not counted by the amount of breaths we take,  but of the moments that leave us breathless. ~Unknown             We were coming home from church one morning and Jimmy Glennon pulled up beside us as we approached the Sudbury road...

Essex Bay

This house makes funny noises
When the wind begins to blow.
I should have held on and never let you go.
The wind blew loose the drainpipe.
You can hear the melting snow.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.
I’ll fix it in the morning when I go.

The Threshing

I trace her charging through the cornfield shaking the timbers of the ready crop startling up the blackbirds, and surprisingly, a jay. It’s the jay who startles me—
who with two quick pulls wrests itself from the transient green, screaming back from its familiar scrub...

The Snow

has dropped a seamlessness before the plows and children can patch it back to a jagged and arbitrary quilting putting borders to design and impulse. I imagine myself falling everywhere softly, whispering, I am here, and I am here.

Waiting for a Poem

  It’s not like a poem to come curl by my feet on this morning too beautiful to describe, though I am looking and listening and waiting: A rooster crows above the low hum of morning traffic; the trash truck spills air from brakes and rattles empties into bins; my...

The Blathering of Teachers

To succeed, jump as quickly at opportunities  as you do at conclusions. ~Benjamin Franklin             Maybe we are born more to ignore than to listen. I understand too well how easy it is to ignore the blatherings of teachers. I was a master of it once myself, so why...

Ghetto of Your Eye

A Veteran's Day Remembrance I wrote this song back in the winter of 1989 in the dining car of a steam driven train, somewhere along the Trans-Siberian railway, after meeting a group of Russian soldiers fresh from battle in Afghanistan—that poor country that has been a...

Presenting…

"Anything worth succeeding in, is worth failing in."~by Edison?      A contractor friend showed up at my house a few weeks ago just after I finished making the hearth and installing my new wood/coal stove. He complimented me on how "awesome" it looked. I then lamented...

The Emperor’s New Clothes

"But he hasn't got anything on!" the whole town cried out at last. The Emperor shivered, for he suspected they were right. But he thought, "This procession has got to go on." So he walked more proudly than ever, as his noblemen held high the train that wasn't there at...

Nurture Passion

How about we all take the bull by the horns and make this blog thing work! Your job this week is to do something with your blog that is powered by the passion that is in you. Passion is the one thing you have some control over. There are plenty of smarter, more...

Molting

I am always molting; leaving my hollowed skin in awkward places, scaring people and making them jump. They touch me and think I’m real; then laugh and say things like “What a riot.” I’m tired of this changing of skins. I’d rather stumble on myself and be fooled; and...

Life Ain’t Hard; Its Just a Waterfall

You say, hey,
who are you to say that you’re the one
to go telling me just where I’m coming from.
You can have your cake
but don’t frost me ‘til I’m done.
I can’t be fixed and I can’t afford to stall;
because life ain’t hard it’s just a waterfall.

Winter in Caribou

I know your name. It’s written there.
I wonder if you care.
A six-pack of Narragansett beer,
Some Camels and the brownie over there.
Every day I stop by like I
Got some place I’ve got to go;
I’m buying things I don’t really need:
I don’t read the Boston Globe.

But I, I think that I
Caught the corner of your eye.
But why, why can’t I try
To say the things I’ve got inside
To you ….

Another Day…

I've been somewhat lax about posting in here of late, but I have been giving myself a bit of a break from writing. In fact, I spent the last month or so just living--and that has been just fine with me. I set a simple goal for myself this summer to get in shape. PJ...

The Enigma

Black Pond is not as deepas it is dark, dammedsome century agobetween ledges of granite and an outcropping of leaning fir, huckleberry, and white pine. For years I have paddled and trolled;swam, fished, sailed and sometimessimply tread water in the night trying to...

Joshua Sawyer

I doubt I’d ever have taken this road
had I known how fallen it really was
to disrepair: driving comically,
skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
at every bang on the oil pan.
I tell you it’s the old road to Wendell —
that they don’t make them like this anymore.

The Philanthropy of Maynard

 I woke up today with chores on my mind. My buddy Josh LoPresti lent me his woodsplitter, and I had dreams of a mindless day splitting wood and heaving it into a pile for my kids to stack along the fence. But the dryer was broken, and it needed to be fixed. Margret's...

Evolution

The coyotes and fisher cats seem intent on striking some new deal with each other to toy with our fears in this gentleman's wilderness— patches of dense woods dotted with overgrown fields, riven and intersected by highways, powerlines and quiet, suburban...

What’s in a Song

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. ~Plato         Writing a song is not just an exercise in seeking some kind of future fame. It is...

The Tide

They are building a world and the plastic is fading: Margaret and Eddie's buckets are split, pouring out the warm Atlantic as they race along the tidal flat, filling pools connected by frantically dug canals. Tommy squats naked and screams in guttural joy at the...

The Most Unoriginal Teacher

Yes, that's me. I am a fraudster, thief, and plagiarizer of the worst magnitude. I copy the very styles of classic poets; I steal from Noble Laureate novelists, and I copy words from every and any source I can. And even worse, I steal from myself. If you even dare to...

Me & God

        I am not done with God, nor God with me. I remain obsessed with the notion of the unmoved mover who set the pattern of creation into its initial motion. I stubbornly try to trace my existence back to some infinite beginning—so much so that I loathe the...

Quit Your Whining

Anything worth succeeding in is worth failing in~Ben Franklin     "Quit your whining and complaining" is probably a clause that can easily be translated into every language in every culture on earth, for, from what I know and have seen in the world, bitching about...

Busy…

The start of the school year, and I have literally spent every free moment working on what is ostensibly pretty cool stuff, methinks...but it is work in every sense of the word, so I do miss those long summer mornings when  could literally write to my heart and heads...

The Value of a Classic

“Classic' - a book which people praise and don't read.” ~Mark Twain A note to my 8th grade class:      All of you are supposedly reading a classic book, but what Twain says is true: few of us go thirsty to the well and willingly read the greatest works of literature...

Guns, Me, and Rural America

     Sometimes I start writing without knowing where I stand—unsure of even where I stand. I have to trust some innate wisdom or audacity will cull through the bullshit we are all heir to in what Hamlet laments is “this earthly coil” we are forced to face when we wake...

The Small Potato

Maybe there is a God. I just came home and sat down in the kitchen to grade some papers and input some grades, but the internet is buggy and slow, and I thought, "maybe this is the message" that I am trading my soul for work. I even remember myself  pontificating in...

A Late Night Metacognition

Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after ~Henry David Thoreau           When you need something done, find a busy person to help you get it done. My mother loved repeating that to me all the way to her dying day,...

Contact John Fitzsimmons...and thanks!