Lass o' Glenshea
On a bonny day when the heather was blooming,
And the silent hill humm'd with the sair laden bee ;
I met a fair maiden as homeward I was riding,
A herding her sheep on the hills o' Glenshea.
The rose on her cheek was gemm'd wi' a dimple,
And blithe was the blink o' her bonny black e'e,
Her face sae enchanting, sae neat and sae handsome,
My heart soon belonged to the lass o' Glenshea.
I kiss'd and caress'd her, and said, my dear lassie,
If you would but go to St. Johnston's wi' me,
There's none of the fair shall set foot on the causeway,
With clothing more fine than the lass o' Glenshea.
A carriage of pleasure you shall hae to ride in,
And folk shall say ma'am when they speak unto thee
Servants you shall hae for to do your bidding,
I'll make you my lady, the lass o'Glenshea.
It's mock me nae mair wi' your carriage to ride in,
Nor think that your grandeur I value a flea,
I think myself happy wi' a coatie o plaidie,
Wi' an innocent herd on the hills o' Glenshea.
Believe me dear lassie, Caledonia's clear waters,
May alter their course and rin back to the sea,
Her brave hardy sons may submit to the fetters,
But cease, and believe not such baseness of me.
The lark may forget for to rise in the morning,
The spring may forget to revive on the lea,
But never will I while my senses me govern,
Forget to be kind to the lass o' Glenshea.
O let me alane for I'm sure I would blunder,
And set a' the gentry a' laughing at me,
They are book taught in manners, baith auld & youn
But we ken but little o' that in Glenshea.
They would say look at him wi' his Highland lady,
Set up for a show in a window so high,
Roll'd up like a witch in a hamely-spun plaidie,
And pointing towards the lass o' Glenshea.
Do not dream o' sic stories but come up behind me,
Ere P?bus gae round my sweet bride you shall be,
This night in my arms I'll doat on you so kindly,
She smiled,?she consented,?I took her wi' me.
Now years hae gone by since we busket together,
And seasons hae chang'd but nae change wi me,
She's aye as gay as the fine summer weather,
When the sun's at its height on the hills O' Glensher.
To meet wi' my Jenny away I would venture,
She's sweet as the echoes that rings on the lea,
She's spotless and pure as the robe of the winter,
When laid out to bleach on the hills o' Glenshea.
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Probable period of publication:
1860-1890 shelfmark: L.C.Fol.178.A.2(120)
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