The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
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| III. |
TO THE WEAVER'S GIN YE GO |
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 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
TO THE WEAVER'S GIN YE GO
Chorus
To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,To the weaver's gin ye go,
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night,
To the weaver's gin ye go.
I
My heart was ance as blythe and freeAs simmer days were lang;
But a bonie, westlin weaver lad
Had gart me change my sang.
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II
My mither sent me to the town,To warp a plaiden wab;
But the weary, weary warpin o't
Has gart me sigh and sab.
III
A bonie, westlin weaver ladSat working at his loom;
He took my heart, as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.
IV
I sat beside my warpin-wheel,And ay I ca'd it roun';
And every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.
V
The moon was sinking in the westWi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonie, westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.
VI
But what was said, or what was done,Shame fa' me gin I tell;
But O! I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel!
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Chorus
To the weaver's gin ye go, fair maids,To the weaver's gin ye go,
I rede you right, gang ne'er at night,
To the weaver's gin ye go.
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |