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, waes me!
The hindmaist tune he made ...
Twas juist a dune wife
Greetin in her plaid,
Winds o a the years,
Naked was atween,
And heather creep, creepin
Ower the bonnie dryin green.
Marion Angus