In Scarlet Town, where I was born, 
There was a fair maid dwellin’,
Made ev’ry youth cry “Well-a-day!”
Her name was Barb’ra 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 Barb’ra Allen

Then slowly, slowly she came up,
And slowly she came nigh him,
And all she said when There she came
“Young man, I think you’re dying.”

As she was walking o’er the fields
She heard the dead-bell knellin’,
And ev’ry stroke the dead-bell gave
Cried “Woe to Barb’ra Allen!”

When he was dead and laid in grave
Her heart was struck with sorrow,
“O mother, mother make my bed,
For I shall die tomorrow.”

“Farewell,” she said, “ye virgins all,
And shun the fault I fell in;
Henceforth take warning by the fall
Of cruel Barb’ra Allen.”

They buried Barbara in the old church yard
They buried young Jemmy beside her
Out of his grave grew a red, red rose
And out of hers a briar

They grew and grew up the old church wall
Till they could grow no higher
And at the top twined a lover's knot
The red rose and the briar

Notes

Traditional Irish