The Gallant Weaver

Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea, By mony a flower and spreading tree, There lives a lad, the lad for me, He is a gallant weaver.

Oh I had wooers aught or nine, They gied me rings and ribbons fine; And I was fear’d my heart would tine, And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign’d my tocher-band, To gie the lad that has the land; But to my heart I’ll add my hand, And gie it to the weaver.

While birds rejoice in leafy bowers; While bees rejoice in opening flowers; While corn grows green in simmer showers, I’ll love my gallant weaver.