Only page of title Moderate
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Brings peace and enjoyment to some,
The cornet appeals to one fellow,
Another enjoys a big drum;
The horn and the bugle, of melody frugal,
A third deems agreeably stirring,
The twang of the zither, the piccolo's twitter,
A fourth is preferring;
But none who attains to the years known as riper
Can fail to be moved by the pipes of the Piper!
Round tables where men sit at meat,
Performing your pibrochs so loudly
That no human voice can compete,
What memories tender your dirges engender!
Your wind-bag successfully squeezing,
You stir the affections and wake recollections,
Both painful and pleasing,
That soothe (like a poultice) or sting (like a viper)
The hearts that respond to the pipes of the Piper!
At dawn round some castle in Skye,
Where guests (with their ears full of wadding)
On couches of agony lie,
No thrush in the thicket, no frog, and no cricket,
No creature on land or in ocean,
Expressing its passion in musical fashion,
Can rouse such emotion
As sets the most soulless of Sassenachs wiping
The tears from his eyes at the sound of your piping!
Discordant, or dull, as they please,
Or say that your skirls are suggestive
Of pigs being bitten by bees;
There's nought so exciting, for marching or fighting,
As sounds that your chanter produces;
No strains so entrancing, for dining, or dancing,
Or similar uses!
In peace or in war, for civilian or 'sniper,'
There's nothing on earth like the pipes of the Piper!
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