"Then the clergy made oot 'twas witchcraft, nae doot, And searchit up and doon,
And... foond your auld mither (wae's me !) and twa ither, And dragg'd them up to the toon!
"O Robin, dear Robin, hearken nae mair!" "Speak on, I'll heark to the en'!"
"O Robin, Robin, the sea oot there Is kinder than cruel men!
"They took her before King Jamie the King,
Whaur he sat wi' sceptre and croon,
And the cooard courtiers stood in a ring,
And the meenisters gather'd roon'.
They bade her tell she had wrought the spell
That made the tempest blaw;
They strippit her bare as a naked bairn,
They tried her wi' pincers and heated airn,
Till she shriek'd and swoon'd awa'!
"O Robin, Robin, the King sat there,
While the cruel deed was done,
And the clergy o' Christ ne'er bade him spare
For the sake o' God's ain Son! . . ."
The lights of Leith! the lights of Leith!
Like Hell's own lights they glow
While the sailor stands, with his trembling hands
Prest hard on his heart in woe!
"O Robin, Robin . . . they doom'd her to burn Doon yonner upon the quay ...
This night was the night.. see the light! see the light! How it burns by the side o' the sea!"
... She paused with a moan. . . .
And rushing through drift and snow,
Down the side of the wintry hill he had flown,
His eyes on the lights below!
The lights of Leith! the lights of Leith!
They flame on the eyes of the crowd,
Around, up and down, move the folk of the town,
While the bells of the kirk peal aloud!
High up on the quay, blaze the balefires, and see!
Three stakes are deep set in the ground,
To each stake smear' with pitch clings the corpse of a witch,
With the fire flaming redly around!
What madman is he who leaps in where they gleam,
Close, close, to the centremost form?
"O mither, O mither!" he cries, with a scream,
That rings thro' the heart of the storm!
He can see the white hair snowing down thro' the glare,
The white face upraised to the skies—
Then the cruel red blaze blots the thing from his gaze
And he falls on his face,—and dies.
The lights of Leith! the lights of Leith!
See, see! they are flaming still!
Thro' the clouds of the past their flame is cast,
While the Sabbath bells ring shrill !
The lights of Leith! the lights of Leith!
They'll burn till the Judgment Day!
Till the Church's curse and the monarch's shame,
And the sin that slew in the Blessed Name,
Are burned and purg'd away!
THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN.
the wedding of Shon Maclean,
Twenty Pipers together
Came in the wind and the rain
Playing across the heather;
Backward their ribbons flew,
Blast upon blast they blew,
Each clad in tartan new,
Bonnet, and blackcock feather:
And every Piper was fou,
Twenty Pipers together!—
He's but a Sassenach blind and vain
Who never heard of Shon Maclean
The Duke's own Piper, called "Shon the Fair,"
From his freckled skin and his fiery hair.
Father and son, since the world's creation,
The Macleans had followed this occupation,
And played the pibroch to fire the Clan
Since the first Duke came and the earth began.
Like the whistling of birds, like the humming of bees,
Like the sough of the south-wind in the trees,
Like the singing of angels, the playing of shawms,
Like Ocean itself with its storms and its calms,
Were the strains of Shon, when with cheeks aflame
He blew a blast thro' the pipes of fame.
At last, in the prime of his playing life,
The spirit moved him to take a wife-
A lassie with eyes of Highland blue,
Who loved the pipes and the Piper too,
And danced to the sound with a foot and a leg
White as a lily and smooth as an egg.
So, twenty Pipers were coming together
O'er the moor and across the heather,
All in the wind and the rain:
Twenty Pipers so brawly dressed
Were flocking in from the east and west,
To bless the bedding and blow their best
At the wedding of Shon Maclean.
At the wedding of Shon Maclean
'Twas wet and windy weather!
Yet thro' the wind and the rain
Came twenty Pipers together!
Earach and Dougal Dhu,
Sandy of Isla too,
Each with the bonnet o' blue,
Tartan, and blackcock feather:
And every Piper was fou,
Twenty Pipers together!
The knot was tied, the blessing said,
Shon was married, the feast was spread.
At the head of the table sat, huge and hoar,
Strong Sandy of Isla, age fourscore,
Whisker'd, grey as a Haskeir seal,
And clad in crimson from head to heel.
Beneath and round him in their degree
Gathered the men of minstrelsie,
With keepers, gillies, and lads and lasses,
Mingling voices, and jingling glasses.
At soup and haggis, at roast and boil'd,
Awhile the happy gathering toil'd,—
While Shon and Jean at the table ends
Shook hands with a hundred of their friends.--
Then came a hush. Thro' the open door
A wee bright form flash'd on the floor,-
The Duke himself, in the kilt and plaid,
With slim soft knees, like the knees of a maid.
And he took a glass, and he cried out plain-
"I drink to the health of Shon Maclean!
To Shon the Piper and Jean his wife,
A clean fireside and a merry life!"
Then out he slipt, and each man sprang
To his feet, and with "hooch" the chamber rang
"Clear the tables!" shriek'd out one-
A leap, a scramble,-and it was done!
And then the Pipers all in a row
Tuned their pipes and began to blow,
While all to dance stood fain:
Sandy of Isla and Earach More,
Dougal Dhu from Kilflannan shore,
Played up the company on the floor
At the wedding of Shon Maclean.
At the wedding of Shon Maclean,
Twenty Pipers together
Stood up, while all their train
Ceased to clatter and blether.
Full of the mountain-dew,
First in their pipes they blew,
Mighty of bone and thew,
Red-cheek'd, with lungs of leather:
And every Piper was fou,
Twenty Pipers together!
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