For the sake of completeness (and of putting up a version of the song that actually makes a lot of sense!), here is "The Heathery Hills of Yarrow" as recorded by Mick Hanly and Mícheál Ó Domhnaill on their 1974 album Celtic Folkweave:

THE HEATHERY HILLS OF YARROW

It's three drew and threw slew
And three lay deadly wounded
When her brother John stepped in between
And stuck his knife right through him

Oh father dear I dreamed a dream
A dream of duel and sorrow
I dreamed I was pulling the heather bells
On the dewy dens of Yarrow

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

As she went o'er yon high, high hill
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 dreamt 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 lies dead and gone
On the heathery hills of Yarrow

As she walked up yon high, high hill
Down by the homes of Yarrow
And there she saw her own true love
Lie pale and wan on Yarrow

This fair maid's hair being three-quarters long
And the color it was yellow
She tied it round his middle waist
And she carried him home from Yarrow

Oh daughter dear wipe up your tears
And weep no more in sorrow
For I will bring you to a higher degree
Than a ploughboy from Yarrow

Oh father dear you've got seven sons
You can wed them all tomorrow
But a flower like my true love John
Will never bloom in Yarrow

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