My heart was ance as blithe and free As simmer days were lang; But a bonie, westlin weaver lad Has gart me change my sang. 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. 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. To the weaver’s, &c. A bonie, westlin weaver lad Sat working at his loom; He took my heart as wi’ a net, In every knot and thrum. To the weaver’s, &c. I sat beside my warpin-wheel, And aye I ca’d it roun’; But every shot and evey knock, My heart it gae a stoun. To the weaver’s, &c. The moon was sinking in the west, Wi’ visage pale and wan, As my bonie, westlin weaver lad Convoy’d me thro’ the glen. To the weaver’s, &c. 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 myself! To the weaver’s, &c.
M’Pherson’s Farewell
Tune—“M’Pherson’s Rant.”
Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus.—Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he; He play’d a spring, and danc’d it round, Below the gallows-tree. O, what is death but parting breath? On many a bloody plain I’ve dared his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again! Sae rantingly, &c. Untie these bands from off my hands, And bring me to my sword; And there’s no a man in all Scotland But I’ll brave him at a word. Sae rantingly, &c. I’ve liv’d a life of sturt and strife; I die by treacherie: It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Sae rantingly, &c. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantingly, &c.
Stay My Charmer
Tune—“An gille dubh ciar-dhubh.”
Stay my charmer, can you leave me? Cruel, cruel to deceive me; Well you know how much you grieve me; Cruel charmer, can you go! Cruel charmer, can you go! By my love so ill-requited, By the faith you fondly plighted, By the pangs of lovers slighted, Do not, do not liave me so! Do not, do not leave me so!