THE HEATHERY HILLS OF YARROW

Chanson traditionnelle irlandaise apprise de Mick Hanly

As three drew, And three slew
And three lay deadly wounded
When her true love John stepped in between
And stuck his knife right through them

Oh, father dear, I dreamed a dream
A dream of duel and sorrow
I dreamed I was pulled in the heather bells
Of the dewy dales of Yarrow

Oh daughter dear, I read your dream
I doubt it will bring sorrow
For your true love John lies pale and won
On the dewy Dales of Yarrow

As she went o’er yon high high hills
And down to yonder valley
Her brother John came down the Glen
Returning home from Yarrow

Oh brother dear, I dreamed last night
I’m afraid it will bring sorrow
I dreamed that you were spilling blood
On the dewy Dales of Yarrow

Oh sister dear, I read your dream
I’m afraid it will bring sorrow
For your true love John is dead and gone
On the heathery hills of Yarrow

As she walked up yon high high hills
Down by the homes of Yarrow
And there she saw her true love John
Lying pale and won on Yarrow

They spared his hair being three quarters long
And the colour it was yellow
She tied it round her pretty waist
And she carried him home from Yarrow

Oh father dear, you’ve got seven sons
You can wed them all tomorrow
But if you were like my true love John
We’ll never go to Yarrow

This fair made she’s been tall and slim
The fairest maid in Yarrow
She laid her head down on her father’s arm
And she died through grief and sorrow