Barbara Allen- Smith/Holley (OK) 1959 Parler D
[From Ozark Collection (No. 4); Collected by Helen McAllister for Mary Celestia Parler; transcribed by Helen McAllister and Sue Holley; Reel 289, Item 6.
R. Matteson 2015]
Barbara Allen- Sung by Oscar Smith and Sue Holley of Westville, Oklahoma on July 22, 1959
In London town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling
Made every youth cry "well I'll wait" [1]
For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servant to the town
Where Barbara was a dwelling
[My] master's sick and calls for thee
If your name be Barbara Allen.
And death is painted on his face
And o'er his heart is stealing
Then hasten away to comfort him
Oh, lovely Barbara Allen.
So slowly, slowly she got up
And slowly she came nigh him
And all she said when she got there
Young man I think you're dying.
Oh yes I'm sick and very sick
And death is on me dwelling
No better no better I never shall be
If I can't have Barbara Allen.
Oh yes you're sick and very sick
And death is on your dwelling
No better no better you never will be
For you can't have Barbara Allen.
Oh don't you remember in yonder town
When you were at the tavern
You drank the health of the ladies all around
And slighted Barbara Allen.
Oh yes I remember in yonder town
In yonder town a drinking
I drank to the health of the ladies all around
Gave my heart to Barbara Allen.
As she was on her highway home
The birds they kept a singing
They sang so clear they seem to say
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.
As she was walking o'er the fields
She heard the death bells tolling
And every stroke did seem to say
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.
She looked to the East, she looked to the West
She spied his corpse a coming
Lay down, lay down that corpse of clay
That I may look upon him.
The more she looked the more she mourned
Till she fell to the ground a crying
Saying take me up and carry me home
For I am now a dying.
Oh mother, oh mother, go make my bed
Go make it long and narrow
Sweet William died for pure pure love
And I shall die for sorrow.
Oh father, oh father, go dig my grave
Go dig it long and narrow
Sweet William died for me today
I'll die for him tomorrow.
She was buried in the old church yard
And he was buried a nigh her
On William's grave there grew a red rose
On Barbara's grew a green briar.
They grew and grew till they reached the church tops
And they could grow no higher
They tied themselves in a true love knot
The red rose and the briar.
1. Well-a-way.