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
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