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Poem by Robert Nicoll

Fiddler Johnnie


ALANG by yon burn-side
    I saw him gang yestreen,Ч
His fiddle upon his back
    Was row'd in claith o' green.
His wifie led her Johnny:Ч
    O' een she had but ane;
While he, for a' his mirth,
    Puir bodie! has gat nane.

He canna see a blink,
    Yet doesna greet an' grane;
An' ither folk he hands
    Fu' cheerfu' but an' ben.
A cantie spring he playsЧ
    A cantie sang he sings:
The Fiddler weel is kent,Ч
    For mirth wi' him he brings.

Mony a merry nicht
    The auld blind man has been
Wi' great folk in the ha'Ч
    Wi' sma' folk on the green.
He's aye a welcome guest
    Wherever he does gang,Ч
They gi'e him meat ail' claes,
    An' he gi'es them a sang.

The fient a hair cares he
    For ony mortal bodie,Ч
He'll geck e'en at the Minister,
    An' joke wi' laird an' lady!
The duddie plaid pretence,
    He laughin', rives in twa,Ч
A fool an' knave the Fiddler
    A fool an' knave doth ca'!

O! leeze me on the Fiddler:
    If we had monie mae
As blithe in heart as he,
    We wou'dna be sae wae!
An' gif, like him, the truth
    To tell, we a' would 'gree,
The world where we live
    Would meikle better be!

Robert Nicoll

Robert Nicoll's other poems:
  1. The Dominie
  2. We'll A' Go Pu' the Heather
  3. Youth's Dreams
  4. Our Auld Hearthstane
  5. The Ha' Bible

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