The auld wife ayont the fire

Where Cart rins rowing to the sea,

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 eight or nine,

They gied me rings and ribbons fine;

And I was fear'd my heart wou'd tine,

And I gied it to the weaver.

My daddie sign'd my tocher band,

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 opening flowers;

While corn grows green in simmer showers,

I love my gallant weaver.