Queen Among the Heather

Oh, as I rode out one morning fair
Over lofty hill, moorland and mountain
It was there I met with a fine young girl
While I with others was hunting

No shoes nor stockings did she wear;
Neither had she hat nor had she feather
But her golden curls, aye, and ringlets rare
In the gentle breeze played round her shoulders

I said, "Fair lassie, why roam your lane?
Why roam your lane among the heather?"
She said, "My father's away from home
And I'm herding of his ewes together."

I said, "Fair lassie, if you'll be mine
And you lie on a bed o' feathers
In silks and satin it's you will shine
And you'll be my queen among the heather."

She said, "Kind sir, your offer is good
But I'm afraid it's meant for laughter
For I know you are some rich squire's son
And I'm a poor lame shepherd's daughter."

Ah but had ye been some shepherd lad
A herding ewes among the heather
Or had been some ploughmans son
Its with all my heart I would have loved you

Now, I've been to balls and I have been to halls;
I have been to London and Balquhidder
But the bonniest lassie that ever I did see
She was herding of her ewes together

So we both sat down upon the plain
We sat awhile and we talked together
And we left the ewes for to stray their lane
Till I won my queen among the heather