A Fiddler In The North

Amang the trees, where humming bees,
At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
AuldCaledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O:
‘Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,
She dirl’d them afffu’clearly, O:
When there cam’ a yello’foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

Their caponcraws an’queer “ha, ha’s,”
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bikedid scrape and fyke,
Tillwe were waeand weary, O:
Buta royal ghaist, whaancewas cas’d,
A prisoner, aughteen year awa’,
He fir’d a Fiddler in the North,
That dangthem tapsalteerie, O.