| lyric | 1. Three score of nobles rode up the King's hall,
But bonnie Glenlogie’s flow’r of them all!
With his milkwhite steed and his bonnie black e’e,
’Glenlogie, dear mother, Glenlogie for me.
2. ’0 hold your tongue daughter, you’ll get better than he,’
’O say nae sae, mother, for that cannot be,
Though Drumlie is richer and greater than he,
Yet if I must take him, I’ll certainly dee.’
3. When he came to Glenfeldy’s door, small mirth was there,
For bonnie Iean’s mother was tearing her hair,’You’re welcome, Glenlogie, you’re welcome,’ said she,
’You’re welcome, Glenlogie, your Ieanie to see.’
4. Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben,
But red rosy grew she when-e’er he sat down,
She turned away with a smile in her e’e,
’O dinna fear, mother, I’ll maybe no dee!’ |