Classic Poem

Down in London where I was raised,
Down where I got my learning,
I fell in love with a pretty little girl;
Her name was Barbara Ellen.

He courted her for seven long years,
She said she would not have him.
Pretty William went home and took down sick
And sent for Barbara Ellen.

He wrote her a letter on his death-bed;
He wrote it slow and moving.
Go take this to my pretty little love,
And tell her I am dying.

They took it to his pretty little love,
She read it slow and mourning.
Go take this to my pretty little love,
And tell him I am coming.

As she walked on to his bed-side,
Says: Young man, young man, you're dying.
He turned his pale face toward the wall
And bursted out a-crying.

He reached his lily-white hand to her.
O come and tell me ‘howdey’.
O no, O no, O no, says she,
And she would not go about him.

Do you remember last Saturday night
Down at my father's dwelling?
You passed the drink to the ladies all around
And slighted Barbara Ellen.

Yes, I remember last Saturday night
Down at your father's dwelling,
I passed the drink to the ladies all around,
My heart to Barbara Ellen.

As she walked down those long stair-steps,
She heard some death-bells ringing,
And every bell it seemed to say:
Hard-hearted Barbara Ellen,
Hard-hearted Barbara Ellen.

As she walked down that shady grove,
She heard some birds a-singing,
And every bird it seemed to say,
Hard-hearted Barbara Ellen,
Hard-hearted Barbara Ellen.

As she walked out the very next day,
She saw his corpse a-coming.
O lay him down, O lay him down,
And let me look upon him.

The more she looked the worse she felt,
Till she bursted out a-crying:
I once could have saved pretty William's life,
But I would not go about him.

O mother, O mother, go make my bed,
Go make it soft and narrow;
Pretty William has died for pure, pure love,
And I shall die for sorrow.

O father, O father, go dig my grave,
Go dig it deep and narrow;
Pretty William has died for me today,
And I shall die tomorrow.

A rose grew up from William's grave,
From Barbara Ellen's a brier.
They grew and they grew to the top of the church-house
Till they could not grow any higher.

They grew and they grew to the top of the church-house
Till they could not grow any higher,
And there they tied in a true love's knot,
And the rose wrapped round the brier.