444. Song—A Fiddler in the North

 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.

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