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A Fiddler In The North - Poem by Robert Burns (Robert Burns)

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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

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