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　　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. Poems and Songs of Robert Burns