Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PIPES OF THE NORTH, by EDWARD FORRESTER SUTTON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PIPES OF THE NORTH, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Do ye hear 'em sternly soundin' through the noises of the street
Last Line: Ye're sure the wings of gaelic souls as far as blood is true!
Alternate Author Name(s): Sutton, E.
Subject(s): Bagpipes; Ireland; Musical Instruments; Patriotism; Scotland; War; Irish


Do ye hear 'em sternly soundin' through the noises of the street,
O heart from the heather overseas?
Do ye leap up to greet 'em, does your pulse skip a beat?
There's a lad with a plaid and naked knees.
Here where all is strange and foreign to the swing of kilt and sporran,
With his head proud and high and a lightin' in his eye,
He's skirlin' 'em, he's dirlin' 'em, he's blowin' like a storm —
O pipes of the North, O the pibroch pourin' forth,
You're fierce and loud as Winter but ye make the blood run warm!

All the battle-names of story, all the jewel-names of song
Down the spate of the clangor swing and reel,
And the claymores come a-flashin' for a thousand years along
From Can-More to bonnie Charlie and Lochiel.
Though the high-singin' bugle and the brazen crashin' fugue'll —

With the drum and the fife — wake the trampin' lines to life,
But neighin' 'em, and brayin' 'em, and shatterin' all the air,
O pipes of the North, when the legions thunder forth
There's naught like ye to lift 'em on to death or glory there!

Now he tunes an ancient ditty for the leal Highland lover,
A rill of the mountain clear and pure,
How the bee is in the blossom and the peewit passin' over
And the cloud-shadows chasin' on the moor.
Hark the carol of the chanter rollicking' a skeltin' canter,
And the hum of the drones with their "windarisin' " tones!
He's flightin' 'em, he's kitin' 'em, he's fingin' gay and free —
O pipes of the North, when the reel comes tumblin' forth
'Tis the breeze amid the bracken or the wavelets on the sea!

Now hark the wrechin' sob of it, the "wild with all regret,"
O heart from the heather overseas,
For the homeland of your fathers, though you've never known it yet,
'Tween Tay and the outer Hebrides.
O the rugged misty Highlands, O the grim and lonely islands,
And the solemn fir and pine, and the grey tormented brine —
He's trailin' 'em, he's wailin' 'em, to tear your bosom's core!
O pipes of the North, when the long lament goes forth
No sorrow's left to utter, for the tongue can say no more!

Oh, Breton pipes are clear and strong, and Irish pipes are sweet
And soft upon the heather overseas,
But Scottish aye can take your throat or make ye swing your feet,
O hark the lad a-paddlin' on the keys!
See him footin' straight and proud through the wonder-gawkin' crowd,
With his feathered Glengarry like a gun at the carry;
He's bellin' 'em, he's yellin' 'em, he's skirlin' high to you —
O pipes of the North, O the wild notes rushin' forth,
Ye're sure the wings of Gaelic souls as far as blood is true!





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