Barbara Allen- Doten (VT) 1933 Flanders B
[Not traditional, from print. From Flanders; Ancient Ballads, 1966. Although not identified as from print, this was likely copied (as Lord Bakeman) from an old song book by Ella E Doten (b. 1861) of Calais, Washington, Vermont, who was married to Edward H. Doten. According to the Flanders, Ella Doten heard this version as a child (c. 1871).
This version is the Forget-Me-Not Songster version which also appeared in other Songsters and publications. I take issue for Flanders parading this version as "traditional," when she knows or should know it's not. As least with Doten's Lord Bakeman, it was clear that the version was copied from a book.
R. Matteson 2015]
B. Barbara Allen. This song was known to Mrs. Ella Doten, North Calais, Vermont, and contributed as she heard it sung when a child. Copied literatim et punctatim. H. H. F., Collector. Summer, 1933.
Barbara Allen
It fell about the Martinmas day,
When the green leaves were falling,
Sir James the Graham in the west country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allen.
She was a fair and comely maid,
And a maid nigh to his dwelling
Which made him to admire the more,
The beauty of Barbara Allen.
O what's thy name my bonny maid,
Or where hast thou thy dwelling,
She answer'd him most modestly,
My name is Barbara Allen.
O see you not yon seven ships,
So bonny as they are sailing,
I'll make you mistress of them all,
My bonny Barbara Allen.
But it fell out upon a day,
At the wine as they were drinking,
They toasted their glasses around about,
And slighted Barbara Allen.
O she has taken't so ill ont,[1]
That she'd no more look on him,
And for all the letters he could send,
She swore she'd never have him.
O if I had a man, a man,
A man within my dwelling,
That will write a letter with my blood,
And carry't to Barbara Allen.
Desire her to come here with speed,
For I am at the dying!
And speak one word to her true love,
For I'll die for Barbara Allen.
His man is off with all his speed,
To the place where she is dwelling,
Here's a letter from my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allen.
O when she looked the letter upon,
With a loud laughter gi'd she,
But e'er she read the letter through,
The tear blinded her eye.
O hooly, hooley,[2] rose she up,
And slowly gaed she to him,
And slightly drew the curtains by,
Young man I think you're dying.
O I am sick, and very sick,
And my heart is at the breaking,
One kiss or two of thy sweet mouth,
Would keep me from the dying.
O mind you not young man said she,
When you sat in the tavern,
Then you made the health go round,
And slighted Barbara Allen.
And slowly, slowly, rose she up,
And slowly, slowly, left him,
And sighing said she could not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
She had not gone a mile from the town,
Till she heard the dead bell knelling,
And every knell that dead bell gave,
Was wo to Barbara Allen.
Now when the virgin heard the same,
Sure she was greatly troubled,
When in the coffin his corpse she view'd,
Her sorrows all were doubled.
What! hast thou died for me, she cried,
Let all true lovers shun me,
Too late I may this sadly say,
That death has quite undone me.
O mother, mother make my bed,
O make it soft and narrow,
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.
1. out, probably a mistake in copying the words
2. "hooly, hooley": "slowly, slowly"