O WALY, waly, up the bank,
And waly, waly, doun the brae,
And waly, waly, yon burn-side,
I and my Love wont to gae!
I leand my back unto an aik,
I thocht it was a trustie tree;
But first it bowd and
syne it brak
Sae my true love did lichtlie me.
O waly, waly, gin love be bonnie
A little time while it is new!
But when tis auld it waxeth cauld,
fades awa like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my heid,
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
my true Love has me forsook,
And says hell never loe me mair.
Now Arthurs Seat sall be my bed,
The sheets sall neer be filed by me;
Saint Antons well
sall be my drink;
Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Martimas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.
Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaws inclemencie,
Tis not sic cauld that makes
But my Loves heart grown cauld to me.
When we cam in by Glasgow toun,
We were a comely
sicht to see;
My Love was clad in the black velvàet,
And I myself in cramasie.1
But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I had lockd my heart in a case
And pinnd it wi a siller pin.
And O! if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurses knee;
I mysel were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!
IN Scarlet town, where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin,
Made every youth cry Well-
Her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When green buds they were swellin,
Young Jemmy Grove on
his death-bed lay,
For love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man in to her then,
To the town where she was dwellin,
O haste and come to my
If your name be Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly rase she up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And when she drew the curtain
Young man, I think youre dyin.
O its I am sick and very very sick,
And its all for Barbara Allen.
O the better for me yese
Tho your hearts blood were a-spillin!
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?
He turnd his face unto the wall,
And death was with him dealin:
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends
And be kind to Barbara Allen!
As she was walking oer the fields,
She heard the dead-bell knellin;
And every jow1 the dead-
Cried Woe to Barbara Allen.
O mother, mother, make my bed,
O make it saft and narrow:
My love has died for me to-
Ill die for him to-morrow.
Farewell, she said, ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in:
Henceforth take warning by the
Of cruel Barbara Allen.