Where Cart rins rowin to the sea,
By mony a flower and spreading tree,
There lives a lad, the lad for me,
He is a gallant Weaver. —

Oh I had wooers aught or nine,
They gied me rings and ribbans fine;
And I was fear'd my heart wad tine
And I gied it to the Weaver. —

My daddie sign'd my tocher-band
To 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 simmer showers
I love my gallant Weaver. —