O hooly, hooly raise she up,
To the plaice wher he was lyan; 10
And whan she drew the curtain by,
Young man, I think ye're dyan.[322]
O its I'm sick, and very very sick,
And its a' for Barbara Allan.
O the better for me ye'se never be, 15
Though your harts blude wer spillan.
Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir,
Whan ye the cups wer fillan;
How ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan? 20
He turn'd his face unto the wa'
And death was with him dealan;
Adiew! adiew! my dear friends a',
Be kind to Barbara Allan.
Then hooly, hooly raise she up, 25
And hooly, hooly left him;
And sighan said, she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gane a mile but twa,
Whan she heard the deid-bell knellan; 30
And everye jow the deid-bell geid,
Cried, Wae to Barbara Allan!
O mither, mither, mak my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
Since my love died for me to-day, 35
Ise die for him to morrowe.
⁂
FOOTNOTES:
[322] An ingenious friend thinks the rhymes Dyand and Lyand ought to be transposed; as the taunt Young man, I think ye're yand, would be very characteristical.