Текст оригинала на английском языке 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. |
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