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