  By Alice C. Macdonell of Keppoch Did ye hear the light feet marching, Marching down the birchclad glen? Did ye see the pipers' streamers, Floating free behind the men? Did ye hear the brave tunes ringing, As they swung the drones on high? Did ye watch the rythm of the kilt, Did ye hear the war march die? Behind the sharp bend of the road, Beyond the wild Ben Nevis range: The strains of Donald Dubh again, Bore out the clans to battles strange. But, it's O! our tears ran sorely, As they left the Scottish shore; For who'd come back, and who would see Lochaber's wooded braes no more? Only the Lord of Hosts could tell, And the wae heart's own prophetic knell. Did ye see the brave lads smiling, As they drew their bonnets' down, With the shortened breath indrawn and tight, The flashing eyes, the steadfast frown? Did ye hear the whistling shot and shell, That swept the kilted foremost ranks Like the snow wind's call before its fall, As clouds lie piled in fleecy banks? Ah! no, t'was not the keen gust bite, That reddens cheeks with healthful glow, Nor the hissing as the shrapnel fell The sound of melting driving snow. Did ye hear the war pipes calling, Like the mavis, in the van, 'Mid the thunder of the battle storm, To the valour of each Scottish man? The blood call of the march they knew, With bayonet charge was answered true. O! Piper lads! O! Piper lads! What magic woven spell Amergin breathed within your reeds, Is not for mortal voice to tell. The wizard winds thro' reed and drone, The soul draws on to follow after To splendid heights of hero fame, Or, spellbound, led to grim disaster. Great Fingal heard beyond the hills Your quivering grace notes heavenward soar; Old Ossian followed in a dream The "Broom of Peril" Blow softly, then, O! Piobaireachd's wail, Or loud and bold, to stir the heart; No music stirs as yours can stir, Wild glamour of the fairies Art. Did ye hear the war pipes shrilling, Out beyond the German lines, Where the gallant soldiers pressing on, Drove home their charge, despite the mines? Did ye see yon brave lad casting His broken pipes aside, As he plunged among the German lines To do his part what'er betide? Did ye watch the tartans pouring down From hill, and trench, and sweep The cruel Teuton from the field, Like herds of driven sheep? Did ye hear the shot that echoed, Till it reached a woodland lone? Did ye see the mother's auld grey plaid, Wrapped round her mourning head?—Ochone! Did ye see the tears that dropped like rain, For the lads we ne'er may see again? O! Piper lads! O! Piper lads! What magic woven spell Amergin breathed within your reeds, Is not for mortal voice to tell. The wizard winds thro' reed and drone, The soul draws on to follow after, To splendid heights of hero fame, Or, spellbound, led to grim disaster. Great Fingal heard beyond the hills, Your quivering grace notes heavenward soar; Old Ossian followed in a dream The "Broom of Peril" Oscar bore. Blow softly, then, O! Piobaireachd's wail, Or loud and bold, to stir the heart; No music stirs as yours can stir, Wild glamour of the fairies Art. True hearts, as ever ready, to guard their native land, O! Scotland's sons are bonnie, and Scotland's sons are grand. True hearts that never failed her yet, to-day as yester year, O! Scotia rouse thine echoes, with one resounding cheer. Let the Lion Rampant proudly raise his head on cloth of gold, For the deeds of valour done to-day, in pages yet untold. Gay Gordon lads, brave Seaforths, Black Watch and Camerons tell, What steeled your dauntless hearts to face that living screen of hell! The pipes of Loos, of Mons, of far and distant Dardanelles, That spake in Gaelic tones to each who dared those deadly shells. The old time slogan of the race, the spell that cannot fail, "À chlanna nan gaidheal! À chlanna nan, Gaidheal! Guillain ri Guillain a chÈile!" |
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