No other could wake such detestable groans
With reed and with chaunter, with bag and with drones.
All day and all night he delighted the chiels
With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.
He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground,
And the neighboring maidens would gather around
To list to his pipes and to gaze in his een,
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
All loved their McClan, save a Sassenach brute
Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot.
He dressed himself up in a Highlander way;
Though his name it was Pattison Corby Torbay.
Torbay had incurred a good deal of expense
To make him a Scotchman in every sense;
But this is a matter, you'll readily own,
That isn't a question of tailors alone.
A Sassenach chief may be bonnily built;
He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;
Stick a skean in his hose—wear an acre of stripes—
But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.
Clonglocketty's pipings all night and all day
Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay.
The girls were amused at his singular spleen,
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
"Macphairson Clonglocketty Angus, my lad,
With pibrochs and reels you are driving me mad.
If you really must play on that horrid affair,
My goodness, play something resembling an air."
Boiled over the blood of Macphairson McClan—
The Clan of Clonglocketty rose as one man;
For all were enraged at the insult, I ween,
Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.
"Let's show," said McClan," to this Sassenach loon
That the bagpipes can play him a regular tune.
Let's see," said McClan, as he thoughtfully sat,
"'In my Cottage' is easy,—I'll practise at that."
He blew at his "Cottage," and he blew with a will,
For a year, seven months, and a fortnight, until
(You'd hardly believe it) McClan, I declare,
Elicited something resembling an air.