It stands in its place in the dusty old case On a rack at the end of the hall
It is long out of use and its strings have been loose For more years than I care to recall
The fingers are cold, that played it of old And I'd think it a shame and a sin
For the old fiddler's sake, if a strange hand should wake The strains of that old violin
He was lame, he was poor and the coat that he wore Was shabby and threadbare and frayed
But his face seemed to glow when he handled the bow And we danced to the tunes that he played
I can still see him there with his long silver hair
And his fiddle-tied hair
Tucked under his chin
And we swayed and we swung
Oh, it's grand to be young
To the strains of an old violin
In the bush long ago
With the lambs all aglow
We hadn't a sorrow or care
When we met all the night
But it didn't seem to be
Right unless the old fiddler was there
With his kindly old face and his violin case We were eager to welcome him in
For soft as the dew were the notes that he drew From the heart of that old violin
He would bow, he would smile In an old-fashioned style
That belonged to a courtier day
And the music would flutter in the air And the music would flutter in the air


From under his bow
Whatever we asked him to play
He knew all the airs That were played at the fairs
And loud was the laughter and din
But plainter than sweet
Or the shuffle of feet
Rose the strains of the old violin
When the old fiddler died, I was called to his side, his breathing was laboured and low.
But a smile crossed his face when I opened the case, and gave him the fiddle and bow.
He held it caressed like a babe to his breast, with his fingers so shrunken and thin.
I'm dying, he said, as I bent all the bed, and he gave me his old violin.
But the years have rolled on, and my youth has long gone, and the fiddle is all that remains.
To recall the delights of those faraway nights, when I danced to its silvery strains.
But a glory still clings round its silent old strings, and I'd think it a shame and a sin.
If ever I sold for silver or gold, my keepsake they all would be mine.
My old violin.
My old violin.