Till through the golden broom
A mile along we saw him last
Go lone-like up the coombe.
The belfry bells they rang—one—two;
The spell was lift from me,
The spell the oddly piper blew—
Tu-wit, he went, tu-wee;
The spell was lift that he had laid,
But still—tu-wee, tu-wit—
I can't forget the tune he played,