The Lass Of Glenshee

One morning in springtime, as day was a-dawning
Bright Phoebus had risen from over the ridge
I spied a fair maiden, as homeward she wandered
From herding her flocks on the hills of Glenshee

I stood in amazement, says I
Pretty fair maid, if you will come down to St. John's Town with me?
There's ne'er been a lady set-foot in my castle
There's ne'er been a lady dressed grander than thee

A coach and six horses, to go at your bidding
And all men that speak shall say "m'am" unto thee
Fine servants to serve you, and go at your biddin'
I'll make you my bride, my sweet lass of Glenshee

Oh, what do I care, for your castles and coaches?
And what do I care, for your gay grandeury?
I'd rather be home, at my cot and my spinnin'
Or herding my flocks, on the hills of Glenshee

Away with such nonsense, and get-up beside me
E'er summer comes dowm, o my sweet bride you will be
And then, in my arms, I will gently caress thee
'Twas then she consented, I took her with me

Seven years have rolled-on since we were united
There's many's-a-change, but there's no change on me
And, my love, she's as fair as that morn on the mountain
When I plucked me a wild rose, on the hills of Glenshee