You could not see her yellow hair, Binnorie, O Binnorie; For gowd and pearls that were sae rare; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
You could na see her middle sma’. Binnorie, O Binnorie; Her gowden girdle was sae bra’; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
A famous harper passing by, Binnorie, O Binnorie; The sweet pale face he chanced to spy; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
And when he looked that lady on, Binnorie, O Binnorie; He sigh’d and made a heavy moan; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He made a harp of her breast-bone, Binnorie, O Binnorie; Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
The strings he framed of her yellow hair, Binnorie, O Binnorie; Whose notes made sad the listening ear; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He brought it to her father’s hall, Binnorie, O Binnorie; And there was the court assembled all; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
He laid this harp upon a stone, Binnorie, O Binnorie; And straight it began to play alone! By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
“O yonder sits my father, the king, Binnorie, O Binnorie; And yonder sits my mother, the queen; By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
“And yonder stands my brother Hugh, Binnorie, O Binnorie; And by him my William, sweet and true.”-- By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
But the last tune that the harp play’d then, Binnorie, O Binnorie; Was--“Woe to my sister, false Helen!”-- By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.
In Scarlet Town, where I was bound, There was a fair maid dwelling, Whom I had chosen to be my own, And her name it was Barbara Allen.
All in the merry month of May, When green leaves they was springing, This young man on his death-bed lay, For the love of Barbara Allen.
He sent his man unto her then, To the town where she was dwelling: “You must come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.
“For death is printed in his face, And sorrow’s in him dwelling, And you must come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.”
“If death be printed in his face, And sorrow’s in him dwelling, Then little better shall he be For bonny Barbara Allen.”
So slowly, slowly she got up, And so slowly she came to him, And all she said when she came there, “Young man, I think you are a dying.”