Lass of Glanshee: scottish and irish versions

Although the most popular version in the folk circuit is the Irish one (see Altan), we can hear the Scottish version of The Lass of Glanshee sung by Billy Ross probably as Andrew Sharpe wrote it (or a fairly similar text).

Twas a fine summer day,
when the heather was bloomin’
The silent hill hummed
wi’ the sair-laden bee,
I met a fair maid
as I hameward was ridin’,
A-herdin’ her sheep
on the hills o’ Glenshee.

And the rose’n her cheek
it was gem’d wi’ a dimple,
Aye and blythe was
the blink of her bonnie blue e’e;
And her face sae enchantin’,
sae neat and sae handsome,
My hairt soon belanged
tae the lass o’ Glenshee.

Well I kiss’d and caress’d her,
and says, “My dear lassie,
Can ye would but come
tae St. Johnstone wi’ me,
And there’s nane o’ the fair
shall set foot’n the causeway,
Wi’ cleadin’ mair fine
than the lass o’ Glenshee.

“And a carriage for pleisure
ye shall ha’e tae ride in,
Aye and folks shall say
‘madam’ when speakin’ tae ye;
An’ servants ye’ll ha’e
tae command at your biddin’;
And I’ll mak ye my lady,
the floo’er o’ Glenshee.”

“And just look, they would say,
what a fine Hieland lady,
Set up for a show on a windae sae hie,
A’ dressed up like a queen
in a hamely-spun plaidie,
A’ tipping their hats
tae the lass o’ Glenshea”

“And the laverock would forget
tae rise up in the mornin’,
And the spring would forget
tae revive on the lea,
But it’s never would I,
while my senses away be,
Forget tae be kind
tae the lass o’ Glenshee.”

“Ah but leave me alain
for I’m sure I would blunder,
Aye and set a’ the gentry a-laughin’ at me,
For they’re book-taught in manners
baith auld and young yonder,
Well we ken naught little o’ that in Glenshee.

“But don’t think’n such stories,
and come up behind me,
Ere the sun would go roon
my sweet bride ye shall be,
And this nicht, in my airms,
I will dote ye sae kindly.”
She smiled, she consented,
I took her wi’ me.

Noo the years ha’e gane
by since we buckled together,
And seasons ha’e changed,
but nae change is wi’ me,
For she’s always as braw
as the fine summer weather,
When the sun’s at it’s height
on the hills o’ Glenshee.

And tae meet wi’ my lassie
awa’ I would venture,
For she’s true as the echo
that rings ower the lea;
And she’s spotless
and pure as the robe of our winter,
When laid oot tae bleach
on the hills o’ Glenshee.

THE HILLS OF GLENSHEE
I
One fine summer’s mornin’
as I went out walkin’,
Just as the grey dawn
flew over the sea,
I happened to spy
a fair haired young damsel,
Attending her flock
by the hills of Glenshee.
II
I said,” pretty fair one,
will you be my dear one,
For I’ll take you over,
my bride for to be;
And this very night
in my arms  I will hold you,
While you tend your flock
on the hills of Glenshee.”
III
“Oh no, my dear sir,
you’ll not take me over,
None of your footmen
to wait upon me;
I would rather stay home
in my own homespun clothing,
And attend to my flock
on the hills of Glenshee.”

IV
For twenty long years
we’ve both been together,
Seasons may change
but there’s no change in me;
And if God lets me live
and I have my right senses,
I’ll never prove false
to the girl on Glenshee.
V
She’s Mary, my Mary,
my own lovin’ darlin’,
She’s as pure as the perfume
blows over the sea;
And her cheeks are as pale
as the white rose of summer,
That spreads out its leaves
on the hills of Glenshee.
VI
She’s Mary, my Mary,
my own lovin’ darlin’,
I do love her so
and I know she loves me;
And I’ll never prove false
to my girl where I met her,
No I’ll never prove false
to the girl on Glenshee.
No I’ll never prove false
to the girl on Glenshee.