And its melody did my young heart win,
Recollection goes back to my violin.
This old fiddle came to me in a trade,
That I with our work-hand made;
And I learned to play for the serenade.
I rosined my bow and handled it too,
And loved this fiddle the whole day through.
I played it nights before I went to sleep;
Rolled it in flannel its tone to keep;
Put it in the box which I did make;