Classic Poem

The bagpipe's wild music comes o'er the braid lea,
An' the thoughts o' langsyne it is bringin' to me,
When the warrior's foot on the heather was placed—
When his heart an' his hand for the combat were braced—
When the free by the brave to the battle were led,
An' when ilka man's hand had to keep his ain head:—
Thae auld-warld fancies my heart winna tyne,
Of the bold an' the true o' the days o' langsyne.

When the bairn was born the bagpipes were brought;
The first sound in its ears was their bauld-speakin' note;
An' when forth came the Tartan in battle array,
The proud voice o' war aye was leading the way:
And when dead with his fathers the warrior was laid,
Aboon his low dwelling the coronach was play'd.
In weal, as in woe,—amid tears, amid wine,
The bagpipes aye moved the bold hearts o' langsyne.

Alang the hill-side comes the dear pibroch's sound,
And auld Scottish thoughts from my heart are unwound:
The days of the past are around me again—
The hall of the chieftain—the field of the slain—
The men of the plaid and the bonnet sae blue,
Who by Scotland, my country, stood leally an' true.
O! the land o' the bagpipes and thistle is mine,
W' its auld rousing thoughts of the days o' langsyne!