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Down in the willow garden |
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Where me and my love did meet, |
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As we set there a courtin', |
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My love fell off to sleep. |
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I had a bottle of burgundy wine, |
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My love she did not know. |
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So I poisoned that dear little girl |
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On the banks below. |
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I drew a saber through her, |
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It was a bloody knife, |
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I threw her in the river, |
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Which was a dreadful sight. |
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My father oft had told me |
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That money would set me free |
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If I would murder that dear little girl |
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Whose name was Rose Connelly. |
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My father sits at his cabin door, |
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Wiping his tear dimmed eyes, |
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For his only son soon shall walk |
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To yonder scaffold high. |
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My race is run beneath the sun, |
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The scaffold now waits for me, |
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For I did murder that dear little girl |
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Whose name was Rose Connelly. |
