The Fiddler

A fine player was he …

‘Twas the heather at my knee,

The Lang Hill o’ Fare

An’ a reid rose-tree,

A bonnie dryin’ green,

Wind fae aff the braes,

Liftin’ and shiftin’

The clear-bleached claes.

Syne he played again …

‘Twas dreep, dreep o’ rain,

A bairn at the breist

An’ a warm hearth-stane,

Fire o’ the peat,

Scones o’ barley meal

An’ the whirr, whirr, whirr,

O’ a spinnin’-wheel.

Bit aye, wae’s me!

The hindmaist tune he made …

‘Twas juist a dune wife

Greetin’ in her plaid,

Winds o’ a’ the years,

Naked wa’s atween,

And heather creep, creepin’

Ower the bonnie dryin’ green.