I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree, Lyric Variant 02


Thomas Haynes Bayly, 1797-1839, “I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree, Lyric Variant 02,” Appalachian State University Libraries Digital Collections, accessed May 27, 2022, https://omeka.library.appstate.edu/items/show/31606.

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I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree, Lyric Variant 02


One leaf typewritten on the front side. The document is in excellent physical condition. The document was laminated. The upper corners were folded into the laminate.


Popular music -- Great Britain Folk songs -- United States Unrequited love -- Songs and music Crusades -- Songs and music

Alternative Title

Harp on the Willow Tree. The Saracen


Thomas Haynes Bayly, 1797-1839


Possibly a newspaper clipping filed with the document.


W. L. Eury Appalachian Collection, Appalachian State University

Date Created



I. G. Greer


The images and audio files contained in the "So Mote It Ever Be: The Folksong Heritage of North Carolina's Northern Blue Ridge Mountains" collection are available for free personal, non-commercial, and educational use, provided that proper citation is used (e.g. I. G. Greer/W. Amos Abrams Manuscript Files Series, Folksong Files Subseries. W. L. Eury Appalachian Collection. Special Collections. Appalachian State University, Boone, NC). Any commercial use of the materials without the written permission of Appalachian State University is strictly prohibited. Please contact the Appalachian State University W. L. Eury Appalachian Collection with specific questions or with requests for further information.








I'll Hang My Harp on a Willow Tree

I'll hang my harp on a willow tree,
I'm off to the wars again,
My peaceful home has no charms for me,
The battle field no pain.
The lady I love will soon be a bride,
With a diadem on her brow,
Oh! Why did she flatter my boyish pride,
She's going to leave me now.

She took me away from my warlike lord,
And gave me a silken suit.
I thought no more of my master's sword
When I played on my master's lute.
She seem'd to think a boy above
Her pages of low degree
Oh! Had I but lov'd with a boyish love
It would have been better for me.

Then I'll hide in my breast every selfish care,
I'll flush my pale cheek with wine,
When smiles await the bridal pair
I'll hasten to give them mine.
I'll laugh and I'll sing tho' my heart may bleed,
And I'll walk in the festive train.
And if I survive it I'll mount my steed,
And I'll off to the wars again.

But the golden tress of her hair I'll twine,
In my helmet's sable plume,
And then on the field of Palestine,
I'll seek an early doom,
And if by the Saracen's hand I fall,
Mid the noble and thebrave,
A tear from my ladylove is all
I ask for the warrior's grave.

Alternate Geographic Location

Bath. Somerset County. England

Associated Date


Scholarly Classification

Brown, Folk Lyric - 259

Dimensions - Original

216 mm x 279 mm

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File name


Transcription Date


Transcribed By

Paul L. Robertson

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