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.