Robert Burns, 1794
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, Strathpeys, and Reels,
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O,
When there cam a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O!
2. Their capon craws an' quer 'ha, ha's,'|
They made our lugs grow eerie, O.
The hungry bike did scrape and pike,
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!
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