It was in and about the
When the green leaves were
That Sir John Græme, in the West Country,
in love with Barbara Allan.
He sent his man down through the town,
the place where she was dwelling:
“O haste and come to my master
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.”
O hooly, hooly rose she up,
the place where he was lying,
And when she drew the curtain by,
man, I think you’re dying.”
“O it’s I’m sick, and very, very sick,
’tis a’ for Barbara Allan:”“
O the better for me ye’s never be,
your heart’s blood were a spilling.
“O dinna ye mind, young man,” said she,
ye was in the tavern a drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round
And slighted Barbara Allan?”
He turned his face unto the wall,
death was with him dealing:
“Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
be kind to Barbara Allan.”
And slowly, slowly raise she up,
slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said, she coud not stay,
death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell
It cry’d, Woe to Barbara Allan!
“O mother, mother, make my bed!
make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
die for him to-morrow.”