East Kentucky Fibers

BARBARA ALLEN (Banjo Bill Cornett, Jean Ritchie)

So early, early in the spring, when the green buds there were swelling,

there was a young man who came down sick for the love of Barbara Allen.

He sent his servant to her town to the place where she was dwelling,

“My master dear sends for you to come there if your name is Barbara Allen.”

So slowly, slowly she got up, and slowly she came a nigh him.

But all she said when she got there, “Young man I believe you’re dying.”

“A dying man don’t say I am when a kiss from you would cure me.”

“One kiss from me you never shall have.  Oh you’ll never get Barbara Allen.

Don’t you remember the other day, down at the tavern a drinking?

You toasted your health to the ladies all around, but you slighted Barbara Allen.”

“Oh no, Oh no, Oh no!” cried he, “I’m sure you are mistaken.

I toasted my health to the ladies all around, but my love’s for Barbara Allen.”

He turned his pale face to the wall for death was in him dwelling.

“Adieu, adieu to this wide world, be kind to Barbara Allen.”

She had not gone more than half way home when she heard the death bells a knelling,

and every one it seemed to say, “Hard hearted Barbara Allen.”

She looked to the east, she looked to the west, ‘til she spied the corpse a’coming.

“Oh hand me down that clay cold corpse and let me look upon him.”

The more she looked the more she blushed, ‘til she blushed out into crying.

“I once could have saved this sweet little life, it was all for the want of trying.

Oh go and dig a grave for me, go dig it long and narrow.

Sweet William died for his own true love, now I shall die for sorrow.”

Sweet William was buried in the new church yard, and Barbara in the old one.

From the new church yard sprung a rosy bush, from the old one sprung a briar. 

They grew and grew and they grew so tall, ‘til they could not grow any higher,

they linked and they formed in a true love knot, the rose around the briar.