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.

Chorus

A bonie, westlin weaver lad
Sat working at his loom;
He took my heart as wi' a net,
In every knot and thrum.

Chorus

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.

Chorus

The moon was sinking in the west,
Wi' visage pale and wan,
As my bonie, westlin weaver lad
Convoy'd me thro' the glen.

Chorus

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!

Chorus
 

Footnote: We commence a further mini-series of the songs of our National Bard in the approach to the 246th anniversary of his birth on 25 January. The song appeared in Volume Two of Johnson’s Musical Museum, 14 February 1788, Robert Burns wrote of the song –

“The chorus of this song is old, the rest is mine – Here once and for all, let me apologise for many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many beautiful airs wanted words, and in the hurry of other avocations if I could string a parcel of rhymes together anything nearly tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must be an excellent poet indeed, whose performance is excellent,”