Barbara Allen- Kettler (IL) pre1939 Neely
[From: Four British Ballads in Southern Illinois by Charles Neely; The Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 52, No. 203 (Jan. - Mar., 1939), pp. 75-81. His notes follow.
R. Matteson 2012]
BARBARA ALLEN
"Barbara Allen" seems to have escaped much of the debasing influence of transmission, for it compares fairly well with Child's B Variant. But this Southern Illinois variant was fixed for years by a broadsheet, and it passed through only two hands.
Miss Emilie Huck, New Baden, Ill., gave me this variant, which she had obtained from Miss Catherine Kettler of New Baden. Miss Kettler learned it from an old broadsheet, which had been in the family for two or three generations. Child, No. 84; Pound, No. 3. This variant is fairly close to Child's Variant B, Pound's Variant A, and to an Ozark variant published in Vance Randolph's The Ozarks, pp. 183-185.
In scarlet town where I was born
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Made ev'ry youth cry well a-way,
And her name was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May,
When the green buds were swelling
Sweet William came from the Western States
And courted Barbara Allen.
It was all in the month of June,
When all things they were blooming,
Sweet William on his death bed lay
For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his servants to the town,
Where Barbara was a-dwelling,
"My master is sick and sends for you,
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,
O 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 can be,
If I can't have Barbara Allen."
"Oh, yes, you're sick and very sick,
And death is on you 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 to the ladies all around
And slighted Barbara Allen?"
As she was on her highway home,
The birds they kept on singing;
They sang so clear they seemed to say,
"Hard hearted Barbara Allen."
As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the death bell knelling,
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 take 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.