Barbara Allen
'Twas in and 'bout the Martinmas time,
When green leaves were a fallin',
That Sir John Graeme in the West Country
Fell in love wi' Barb'ra Allan.
He sent his man down thro' the town
To the place where she was dwellin';
"O, haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barb'ra Allan."
O, hooly, hooly, raise she up,
To the place where he was lyin';
And when she drew the curtain by -
"Young man, I think ye're dyin'."
"Yes, I am sick, I'm very, very sick,
And 'tis a' for Barb'ra Allan."
"O the better for me ye'se never be,
Though your heart's blood were a-spillin'.
"O, dinna ye mind, young man," said she
"When ye was in the tavern drinkin';
And ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barb'ra Allan!"
He turned his face unto the wa',
And death was with him dealin'
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barb'ra Allan."
Slowly, slowly raised she up
And slowly, slowly left him
And sighin', said she could not stay
Since death of life had reft him.
She hadna gane a mile but twa,
When she heard the deid-bell ringin'
And every jow the deid-bell gave,
Cried, "Woe to Barb'ra Allan."
"O, mother, mother, make my bed,
O, make it soft and narrow,
Since my love died for me today,
I'll die for him tomorrow."
They buried her in the old churchyard,
Sir John was there beside her.
And from his heart there grew a rose
From Barb'ra's heart a briar.
They grew and grew up the old church wall
'Till they could grow no higher
And there they tied in a true love's knot
The rose grew round the briar.
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