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.
Robert Burns's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Fiddler In The North by Robert Burns )
- You Are My Strength, greg paul
- Winters Coming, michael hagwood
- Whats Wrong With Me, jasmine paul
- Empty Skies, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- wholesome girl, Brit Thompson
- An Indian English Poet, His Father Was N.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- On The Way Down, Shalom Freedman
- Beyond Beautiful, greg paul
- Winterchill, Richard Provencher
- Jungle of the English Language, Ken e Hall