The Piper O’ Paisley

Yestreen I saw a strapping chiel
Wha played the bagpipes unco weel,
Th’ bluid gaed coursing thro’ ma veins
While listening to the stirring strains,
I sat entranced and couldna speak,
Ensconced beside the ingle cheek;
The ‘oors flew by on golden wing
While Fancy, soaring, had her fling.

He skillful played the martial march
Till voices answered frae each arch,
Flooding thro' space wild melody
In surging swell and peeling cry
The quick strathspey was fingered weel,
But faster still each rousing reel,
It fairly pit me fidging, fain
Frae dancing I could scarce refrain.

Enchanted wi’ the joyous sound,
The feet kept leaping from the ground;
Amazed, I watched the fingers slim
Like lightning over the chanter skim.
Unseen, they danced frae key to key
Too fast for mortal eyes tae see;
M’Crimmon’s shade looked down w’ joy
Enraptured wi’ his piper boy.

Oblivious to all around,
Wi’ bated breath, wi’ awe profound,
While aerial spirits loudly sang
The triumphs of each Gaelic clan
I saw them all as in a dream,
Resplendent dressed in tartan, green,
Attend that minstrel as he crowned
Young Jamie ‘mid the vocal sound

While plaudits rent the listening air,
He threw o’er him, his youthful heir,
The mantle of undying fame,
And said, “Be worthy of my name.”
There never was in Scotia fair,
A piper with thee to compare;
Of Highland bards you now are king,
O’er minstrelsy you reign supreme.

I rubbed my een – yes, it was true,
They slowly melt and fade frae view;
Unconsciously he plays away
Beneath the wreath of laurel bays.
Ah, M’Intosh, sae young and clever,
That happy night forget I’ll never;
Till grisly Death shall intervene,
I will remain yer dearest freen’.

ARCHIBALD M’PHEE
3 Oakshaw Brae
Paisley

Note- “The Braes ‘ Gleniffer,” Paisley, Scotland was the scene of the above inspiration when “Paisely’s Own Poet,” Archibald McPhee, in the gloaming of a Summer day in July 1903, was resting beside the burn or stream trickling down to the “bonnie wee well.” With historical “Stanley Castle” in view, the heather in bloom and the high trees with their summer splendure, swaying gracefully, the subject of the poem James McIntosh, then seventeen years of age, was playing the bagpipes, earnestly, modest and with little effort at the foot of the “braes.” He did not know he was playing his way into the heart and fancy of the genial poet, who composed and printed the above to show his feelings and friendship fro the boy he called “The Piper O' Paisley.”

1-B-98