IV
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain by—
‘Young man, I think you’re dyin’.’
V
‘O it’s I am sick and very very sick,
And it’s all for Barbara Allen.’—
‘O the better for me ye’se never be,
Tho’ your heart’s blood were a-spillin’!
VI
‘O dinna ye mind, young man,’ says she,
‘When the red wine ye were fillin’,
That ye made the healths go round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allen?’
VII
He turn’d his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin’:
‘Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allen!’
VIII
As she was walking o’er the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin’;
And every jow[1290] the dead-bell gave
Cried ‘Woe to Barbara Allen.’