THE LASS O' GLENSHEE.
ON a bonny day, when the heather was blooming,
and the ſilent hill bumb'd wi' the ſore laden'd bee,
I met a fair maid as I hameward was riding,
a herding her ſheep on the hill of Glenſhee;
The roſe in her cheek it was gem'd wi' a dimple,
and blythe were the blinks o'her bonny back e'e;
Her face ſo enchanting. ſo neat and ſo handſome,
my heart ſoon belong'd to the laſs o' Glenſee.
I kiſs'd and careſs'd her, and ſaid, My dear laſſie,
if you would but go to St. Johuſtoun wi' me,
There's none o the fair ſhall ſet a foot on the
cauſeway
wi' cleading mair fine than the laſs o'Glenſhee.
A carriage for pleaſure you ſhall ha'e to ride in,
and fouk ſhalt ſay Mem, when they ſpeak unto thee;
Servants you ſhall ha'é for to do your biddin':
I'll make you my lady, the laſs of Glenſhee.
It is mock me nae mair wi' your houſe for to bide in,
nor think that your grandeur I value a flee,
I would think myſel' happy in a cottie o' plaiden
wi an innocent herd on the hills o'Glenſhee.
Believe me, dear laſſie, Caledonia's clear waters
may alter their courſe, and run back frae the ſea,
Her brave hardy ſons may ſubmit to be in fetters,
but never believe nae ſic baſeneſs in me
