My Heart Was Ance As Blithe And Free
by Robert Burns
My heart was ance as blithe and free
As simmer days were lang,
But a bonnie, westlin' weaver lad
Has gart me change my sang.
To the weavers gin ye go, fair maids,
To the weavers gin ye go;
I rede you right gang ne'er at night,
To the weavers gin ye go.
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.
A bonnie, westlin' weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.
I sat beside my warpin-wheel,
And aye I ca'd it roun';
But every shot and every knock,
My heart it gae a stoun.
The moon was sinking in the west
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonnie westlin' weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.
But what was said, or what was done,
Shame fa' me gin I tell;
But oh! I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel'.
Notes to the poem:
The chorus of this song is taken from a very old ditty.
Tune: "To the weavers gin ye go."
Source:The Poetical Works Of Robert Burns
Ward, Lock, and Co., Ltd