Robert Burns

Here you will find the Poem A Fiddler In The North of poet Robert Burns

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.