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Barbara Allen

by David Warin Solomons

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1.
In Scarlet town where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin' Made every youth cry Well-a-day, Her name was Barb'ra Allen. All in the merry month of May, When green buds were a-swellin' Young Willie Grove on his death-bed lay, For love of Barb'ra Allen. He sent his man unto her there To the town where he was dwellin' You must come to my master, dear, If your name's Barb'ra Allen. So 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!" He turned his face unto the wall And death was drawing nigh him. Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barb'ra Allen. As she was walking o'er the fields, She heard the death bell knellin', And ev'ry stroke did seem to say, Unworthy Barb'ra Allen. When he was laid dead in grave, Her heart was struck with sorrow. "Oh mother, mother, make my bed For I shall die tomorrow." And on her deathbed she lay, She begged to be buried by him, And sore repented of the day That she did e'er deny him. "Farewell," she said, "ye virgins all, And shun the fault I fell in, Henceforth take warning by the fall Of cruel Barb'ra Allen."

about

Traditional folk song - arranged by D W Solomons

In Scarlet town where I was born,
There was a fair maid dwellin'
Made every youth cry Well-a-day,
Her name was Barb'ra Allen.

All in the merry month of May,
When green buds were a-swellin'
Young Willie Grove on his death-bed lay,
For love of Barb'ra Allen.

He sent his man unto her there
To the town where he was dwellin'
You must come to my master, dear,
If your name's Barb'ra Allen.

So 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!"

He turned his face unto the wall
And death was drawing nigh him.
Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barb'ra Allen.

As she was walking o'er the fields,
She heard the death bell knellin',
And ev'ry stroke did seem to say,
Unworthy Barb'ra Allen.

When he was laid dead in grave,
Her heart was struck with sorrow.
"Oh mother, mother, make my bed
For I shall die tomorrow."

And on her deathbed she lay,
She begged to be buried by him,
And sore repented of the day
That she did e'er deny him.

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

credits

released March 10, 2015

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all rights reserved

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about

David Warin Solomons Sale, UK

Composer from UK born in 1953, concentrating on lyrical and tonal works for chamber music combinations, solo voice and choral works.

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