My Fiddle and me.
[James Ballantine.—From "The Gaberlunzie's Wallet."]
O nature is bonnie and blythsome to see,
Wi' the gowd on her brow, an' the light in her e'e;
An' sweet is her summer sang rollin' in glee,
As it thrills the heart-strings o' my fiddle and me.
When the young morning blinks through amang the black cluds,
An' the southland breeze rustles out through the green wuds;
The lark in the lift, and the merl on the tree,
Baith strike the key-note to my fiddle an' me.
When amang the crisp heather upon the hill-side,
Mine e'e fu' o'rapture, my soul fu' o' pride;
The wee heather-lintie an' wild hinny-bee
A' join in the strain wi' my fiddle an' me.
When daunderin' at e'en doun the dark dowie dells.
To cheer the wee gowans, an' charm the wee bells—
The sweet purling rill wimples doun to the sea,
Dancing light to the notes o' my fiddle an' me.
At kirn or at weddin', at tryst or at fair,
There's nae saul-felt music unless we be there;
Wi' a spark in my heart, an' a drap in my e'e,
The vera floor loups to my fiddle an' me.
E'en now when the cauld drift sweeps ower the bleak hill,
An' mony stout hearts sink beneath the fell chill,
What keeps my puir callant alive on my knee.
But twa-three blythe staves frae my fiddle and me.
My fiddle's my life-spring, my fiddle's my a',
She clings to me close when a' else are awa';
Time may force friends to part, he may wyle faes to gree,
Death only can part my auld fiddle an' me.