Robert Burns

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.