There came an ancient man and slow-
Who piped his way along our street-
How could the neighbours children know-
That to Her ears was passing sweet?
With smiles they spoke the ragged kilt-
And jeered the pipes, in mirthful file-
But, strangly moved, She heard the lilt-
That rallied Carrick and Argyll.
A stroller, walking in the street-
Half hearted, weary, out of place-
But his old measure stirred Her feet-
My baby with the Gaelic face.
She squared her shoulders, as she stood-
To watch the piper 'round the turn-
Nor dreamed what beat within her blood-
Was Robert Bruce, at Bannochburn!
