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.

Czytaj dalej: Miła ma jak czerwona róża - Robert Burns