A Fiddler In The North

    a fiddler in the north
    tune—“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.