She brightened like the lily flower, Till her pale colour was gone; With rosy cheik, and ruby lip, She smiled her love upon.
“A morsel of your bread, my lord, And one glass of your wine; For I hae fasted these three lang days, All for your sake and mine.--
“Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers, Gae hame and blaw your horn! I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith, But I’ve gi’en you the scorn.
“Commend me to my gray father, That wished my saul gude rest; But wae be to my cruel step-dame, Garr’d burn me on the breast.”--
“Ah! woe to you, you light woman! An ill death may you dee! For we left father and sisters at hame Breaking their hearts for thee.”
O bonny Baby Livingston Went forth to view the hay, And by it came him Glenlion, Sta bonny Baby away.
O first he’s taen her silken coat, And neest her satten gown, Syne rowd her in a tartan plaid, And hapd her round and rown,
He has set her upon his steed And roundly rode away, And neer loot her look back again The live-long summer’s day.
He’s carried her oer hills and muirs Till they came to a Highland glen, And there he’s met his brother John, With twenty armed men.
O there were cows, and there were ewes, And lasses milking there, But Baby neer anse lookd about, Her heart was filld wi care.
Glenlion took her in his arms, And kissd her, cheek and chin; Says, “I’d gie a’ these cows and ewes But ae kind look to win.”
“O ae kind look ye neer shall get, Nor win a smile frae me, Unless to me you’ll favour shew, And take me to Dundee.”
“Dundee, Baby? Dundee, Baby? Dundee you neer shall see Till I’ve carried you to Glenlion And have my bride made thee.
“We’ll stay a while at Auchingour, And get sweet milk and cheese, And syne we’ll gang to Glenlion, And there live at our ease.”
“I winna stay at Auchingour, Nor eat sweet milk and cheese, Nor go with thee to Glenlion, For there I’ll neer find ease.”
Than out it spake his brother John, “O were I in your place, I’d take that lady hame again, For a’ her bonny face.
“Commend me to the lass that’s kind, Tho na so gently born; And, gin her heart I coudna gain, To take her hand I’d scorn.”
“O had your tongue now, John,” he says, “You wis na what you say; For I’ve lood that bonny face This twelve month and a day.