North

  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.