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a fiddler the north

tune—“the kg o&039; france he rade a race”

aang the trees, where hug bees,

at buds and flowers were hgg, o,

auld caledon drew out her drone,

and to her pipe was sgg, o:

&039;as pibroch, sang, strathspeys, and reels,

she dirl&039;d the aff fu&039; clearly, o:

when there ca&039; a yell o&039; foreign seels,

that dang her tapsalteerie, o

their capon craws an&039; eer “ha, ha&039;s,”

they ade our gs 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&039;d,

a priner, aughteen year awa&039;,

he fir&039;d a fiddler the north,

that dang the tapsalteerie, o