BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. 139
many years ; and at his death, his son was installed in the office. Besides being
piper he was a shoemaker to trade; and was an honest unassuming man.
Although he continued to draw the salary, he had no duty to perform, save that
of repairing twice a year to Dalkeith House, dressed in the uniform described ;
and he received his clothing on his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch’s birthday.
The worthy piper continued to play through the town until about the year
1821 ; but the practice had long been considered by the inhabitants as an annoying
and useless remnant of barbarous times ; and the following poetical
remonstrance-printed and circulated about that time-is understood to have
operated with considerable effect in accelerating its final abolition.
‘‘ 0 L-R ! thou wicked wag,
I wish thee, an’ thy dinsome bag,
Were t w d feet ’neath a black peat hag,
Or pipin’ to the Laird 0’ Lagg,’
I ferlie what intention he
Could hae, wha thus cornmission’d thee,
Against a’ rule an’ harmonie,
Our nerves to shock ;
My sang ! it is a sad decree
For peacefu’ folk.
I frankly own, that for my share,
Your visits I could right weel spare ;
To rise on winter mornin’s ear,
I like to hear the tempest rair-
Upon a heartsome simmer’s morn,
Whan thousand sweets our fields adorn,
An‘ music, frae the brake an’ thorn,
Salutes the ear-
Wha wadna rise at bugle-horn
0’ chanticleer !
0 how delightfu’ then to stray,
Sweet Esk ! amang thy scenes sae gay ;
To mark the glorious god 0‘ day
Frae ocean spring,
An’ wide ower tow’r an’ mountain grey
His radiance fling.
But now, whan dull December doure
Has spoil’d the sweets 0’ simmer bow’r,
An’ made our sangsters a’ to cow’r
To be eae wakd at early hour,
Wet as the Severn,
In Belzie’s Cavern.
.
Shaws nae great sense ;
Snug i’ my spence.
In pensive mood-
Aye fires my bluid.
E’er daylight peeps within my cham’er,
Is heard the vile unearthly clammer ;
Waukes the gudewife-the young anes yammer
Wi’ ceaseless din ;
I seize my breeks, an’ outward stammer ;
Compell’d to rin.
Sair pain’d wi’ toothache, as I’m aft,
An’ tir’d wi’ tum’lin’ like ane daft,
Should sleep a wee, wi’ poppies saft,
My e’elids close,
I’m soon brought bac,k, wi’ thy curst craft,
To a’ my woes.
In sleep, whan I’m sair dung wi’ toil,
Aft fancy does my care beguile ;
Me to some far aff happy isle
Where basks eternal summer’s smile
She kindly leads,
On flow’ry meads. .
I hear lone murm’ring waterfalls-
Sweet thrilling, soothing madrigals-
Drink fairy nectar that inthrals
This mortal life ;
Till thy dissonant drone recalls
To warldly strife.
What freaks are aft play’d while we dream !
I thought that Fortune, in a whim,
Made me Lord Mayor-then I like him,
Saw routh 0’ gowden guineas gleam,
Rich coofs, wha now stand far abeigh,
An’ toss the head an’ look fu’ heigh,
Whan this they saw, they were na’ skeigh
As heretofore ;
But shook my hands, an’ bending high,
Firm friendship swore.
Ye weel may think,
An’ heard them clink.
1 Grierson of Lagg, one of the must unpopular of the cavaliers.