As I roved out one fine summer's morn 'Mang lofty hills, moorlands and mountains Wha should I spy but a fair young maid As I wi' others was out a hunting No shoes nor stockings did she wear And neither had she cap nor feather But her golden hair hung in ringlets fair The gentle breeze blew 'round her shoulders I said, "Braw la** why roam your lane? Why roam your lane amang the heather?" She said, "My father's awa' frae hame And I'm herding a' his yowes thegether" I said, "Braw la** gin ye'll be mine And care tae lie in a bed o' feather
In silks and satins you shall shine Ye'll be my queen amang the heather" She said, "Kind sir your offer's fine But I'm afraid 'twas meant for laughter For I see you are some rich squire's son And I am but a poor shepherd's daughter" "But had ye been a shepherd loon Herding yowes in yonder valley Or had ye been the plooman's son Wi' a' my heart I could a' loo'd thee" I've been tae balls and I've been tae halls I've been tae London and Balquidder But the bonniest la** that e'er I saw Was herding yowes amang the heather