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.