 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE GALLANT WEAVER
I
Where Cart rins rowin to the seaBy monie a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me—
He is a gallant weaver!
O, I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbons fine,
And I was fear'd my heart wad tine,
And I gied it to the weaver.
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II
My daddie sign'd my tocher-bandTo gie the lad that has the land;
But to my heart I'll add my hand,
And give it to the weaver.
While birds rejoice in leafy bowers,
While bees delight in opening flowers,
While corn grows green in summer showers,
I love my gallant weaver.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |