To the make of a piper…

"Piper to the Laird of Grant" (1714) von Richard Waitt

To the make of a piper go seven years …

At the end of his seven years one born to it

will stand at the start of knowledge, and

leaning a fond ear to the drone he may

have parley with old folks of old affairs.

Playing the tune of the ‚Fairy Harp‘, he can

hear his forefolk, plaided in skins, towsy-

headed and terrible, grunting at the oars

and snoring in the caves, he has his own

whittle and club in ‚The Desperate Battle‘

(my own tune, my darling), where the

white-haired sea-rovers are on the shore,

and a stain’s on the edge of the tide; or,

trying his art on Laments, he can stand by

the cairn of kings, ken the colour of

Fingal’s hair, and see the moon-glint on the

hook of the Druids.