The Trees They Do Grow High


Words & Music: Traditional, arr. Caroline Lavelle

The trees they do grow high & the trees they do grow green,
but the days have gone & passed my love that thou & I were seen.
It’s a cold winter’s night my love, it’s now that I must lie alone:
my bonny boy you were young, but a-growing.

Oh father dearest father I fear you’ve done me harm,
for you’ve married me to a bonny boy but you know he is too young.
Oh daughter dearest daughter if you will stay at home with me
a lady you shall be while he’s growing.

We’ll send him to the college for one year or two
and then perhaps in time my love, a man he’ll make for you.
I’ll buy you white ribbons to tie around his bonny waist
to let the ladies know that he’s married.

At the age of sixteen he was a married man,
at the age of seventeen he was the father of a son;
at the age of eighteen my love, his grave it was a-growing green
and death had put an end to his growing.

I made my love a shroud of the holland o-so fine,
and every stitch I put in it the tears they did run down;
oh once I had a sweetheart but now he’s lying in the ground,
but I’ll nurse his bonny boy while he’s growing.

O now my love is dead and in his grave doth lie,
the green grass that covers him, it groweth up so high;
o once a had a sweetheart but now I have got ne’er a one;
so fare thee well my own true love for ever.

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