The Rose of Glenshee
One morning in springtime as day was a-dawning
Bright Phoehus had risen from over the sea,
I espied a fair maiden as homeward she wandercd
From herding her flocks on the hills of Glenshee.
Her cheeks w'ere like roses, so sweet was the dimple
And fond was the glance of her bonny blue e'e,
She was tall, fair, and handsome, her voice was enchanting,
My heart soon belonged to the lass of Glenshee.
I stared in amazement, said I, "Pretty lassie
If you will come down to St. Johnstown with me
There's ne'er heen a maideln set foot in my castle,
There'll ne'er he a lady, dressed grander than thee.
"A coach and six horses to drive at your pleasure
And all they that speak shall say ma'am unto thee,
Bright servants to serve you and go at your bidding
And I'll make you my bride, my sweet lass of Glenshee."
"Oh what do I care for your castles or coaches,
And what do 1 care for your gay conjuree?
I would rather be home in my cot spinning plaidies
Or herding my flocks on the hills of Glenshee.
"Oh tempt me no further for fear I might blunder
And cause all the gentry to ridicule me,
I was raised in good manner by folks poor but kindly,"
And she pointed away to the hills of Glenshee.
"Awa' with such nonsense but get up beside me,
E'er summer rolls round my sweet bride you shall be,
And then in my arms I will fondly caress you,"
'Twas then she consented, I took her with me.
Many years have rolled by since we were united, "
There's many a change but there's no change in me.
And my love is as fair as that morn on the motlntain
When I plucked my rose on the hills of Glenshee.
Written by Andrew Sharp, d. 1817
From Folksongs from Southern New Brunswick, Creighton
Collected from Angelo Dornan