Air – The Weavers’ March
Where Cart rins rowin’ to the sea, [runs rolling]
By mony a flow’r and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant weaver.
Oh, I had wooers aucht or nine,
They gi’ed me rings and ribbons fine;
An’ I was fear’d my heart would tine, [be lost]
An’ I gi’ed it to the weaver.
My daddie sign’d my tocher-band, [dower bond]
To gi’e the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I’ll add my hand,
And gi’e it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers;
While bees delight in op’ning flowers;
While corn grows green in simmer showers,
I’ll love my gallant weaver.
Robert Burns, 1759 – 1796
[written in 1791]