Robert Burns




Amang the Trees

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.