My heart was anceas blithe and free
As simmerdays were lang;
But a bonie, westlin weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.
Chorus.-To the weaver’s gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weaver’s gin ye go;
I redeyou right, gangne’er at night,
To the weaver’s gin ye go.
My mithersent me to the town,
To warp a plaidenwab;
But the weary, weary warpin o’t
Has gart me sigh and sab.
To the weaver’s, &c.
A bonie, westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi’ a net,
In every knot and thrum.
To the weaver’s, &c.
I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And aye I ca’d it roun’;
But every shot and evey knock,
My heart it gaea stoun.
To the weaver’s, &c.
The moon was sinking in the west,
Wi’visage pale and wan,
As my bonie, westlinweaver lad
Convoy’d me thro’ the glen.
To the weaver’s, &c.
But what was said, orwhat was done,
Shame fa’me ginI tell;
ButOh! I fear the kintrasoon
Will kenas weel’s myself!
To the weaver’s, &c.