Текст песни
The hermit sits upon his stone,
The spuggies tucked and nestled prone,
Below the ridge the Beltane burns,
He watches aye, but never turns.
Let them dance, let them sing,
He has the nicht and every wing,
The fires are bonnie frae up here,
A warmer light sits in his ear.
His blackthorn stick against the wall,
His kettle on, his curtain's fall,
The village drums come up the brae,
He counts the flames and looks away.
He minds the years when he walked doon,
When Fenella hummed her walking tune,
She brocht him flour and stayed for tea,
Noo just the spuggies keep company.
Let them dance, let them sing,
He has the nicht and every wing,
The fires are bonnie frae up here,
A warmer light sits in his ear.
