A Fiddler In The North
a fiddler in the northtune—“the king o' france he rade a race.”
amang the trees, where humming bees,
at buds and flowers were hinging, o,
auld caledon drew out her drone,
and to her pipe was singing, o:
'twas pibroch, sang, strathspeys, and reels,
she dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, o:
when there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels,
that dang her tapsalteerie, o.
their capon craws an' queer “ha, ha's,”
they made our lugs grow eerie, o;
the hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
till we were wae and weary, o:
but a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd,
a prisoner, aughteen year awa',
he fir'd a fiddler in the north,
that dang them tapsalteerie, o.