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Robert Burns - A Fiddler In The North
Work rating: Medium

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.
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