FINGERS on the holes, Johnny, Fairly in a raw: Lift this and then that, And blaw, blaw, blaw! That's hoo to play, Johnny, On the pipes sae shrill: Never was the piper yet But needit a' his skill. And lang and sair he tried it, tae, Afore he wan the knack O' making bag and pipe gie His verra yearnin's back. The echo tae his heart-strings Frae sic a thing to come; Oh, is it no a wonder -- Like a voice frae out the dumb? Tak' tentie, noo, my Johnny lad, Ye maunna hurry thro', Tak' time and try it ower again -- Sic a blast ye blew! It's no alane by blawing strang, But eke by blawing true, That ye can mak' the music To thrill folk thro' and thro'. The waik folk and the learnin', 'T is them that mak's the din; But for the finish'd pipers They count it as a sin: And maybe it's the verra same A' the warld thro', The learners are the verra ones That mak' the most ado! Ye ken the Southrons taunt us -- I sayna they're unfair -- Aboot oor squallin' music, And their taunts hae hurt me sair; But if they 'd heard a piper true At nicht come ower the hill, Playin' up a pibroch Upon the wind sae still: Risin' noo, and fallin' noo, And floatin' on the air, The sounds come saftly on ye Amaist ere ye're aware, And wind themsels aboot the heart, That hasna yet forgot The witchery o' love and joy Within some lanely spot: I'm sure they wadna taunt us sae, Nor say the bagpipe's wild, Nor speak o' screachin' noises Enuch to deave a child: They would say the bagpipe only Is the voice of hill and glen; And would listen to it sorrowing, Within the haunts of men. Fingers on the holes, Johnny, Fairly in a raw: Lift this and then that, And blaw, blaw, blaw! That's hoo to play, Johnny, On the pipes sae shrill: Never was the piper yet But needit a' his skill. |