Queen Amangst The Heather - Andy M. Stewart

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 lass 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 lass 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 lass that e’er I saw

Was herding yowes amang the heather