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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508694" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Ballad Of How Macpherson Held The Floor</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Said President MacConnachie to Treasurer MacCall:<br>"We ought to have a piper for our next Saint Andrew's Ball.<br>Yon squakin' saxophone gives me the syncopated gripes.<br>I'm sick of jazz, I want to hear the skirling of the pipes."<br>"Alas! it's true," said Tam MacCall. "The young folk of to-day<br>Are fox-trot mad and dinna ken a reel from Strathspey.<br>Now, what we want's a kiltie lad, primed up wi' mountain dew,<br>To strut the floor at supper time, and play a lilt or two.<br>In all the North there's only one; of him I've heard them speak:<br>His name is Jock MacPherson, and he lives on Boulder Creek;<br>An old-time hard-rock miner, and a wild and wastrel loon,<br>Who spends his nights in glory, playing pibrochs to the moon.<br>I'll seek him out; beyond a doubt on next Saint Andrew's night<br>We'll proudly hear the pipes to cheer and charm our appetite.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh lads were neat and lassies sweet who graced Saint Andrew's Ball;<br>But there was none so full of fun as Treasurer MacCall.<br>And as Maloney's rag-time bank struck up the newest hit,<br>He smiled a smile behind his hand, and chuckled: "Wait a bit."<br>And so with many a Celtic snort, with malice in his eye,<br>He watched the merry crowd cavort, till supper time drew nigh.<br>Then gleefully he seemed to steal, and sought the Nugget Bar,<br>Wherein there sat a tartaned chiel, as lonely as a star;<br>A huge and hairy Highlandman as hearty as a breeze,<br>A glass of whisky in his hand, his bag-pipes on his knees.<br>"Drink down your doch and doris, Jock," cried Treasurer MacCall;<br>"The time is ripe to up and pipe; they wait you in the hall.<br>Gird up your loins and grit your teeth, and here's a pint of hooch<br>To mind you of your native heath - jist pit it in your pooch.<br>Play on and on for all you're worth; you'll shame us if you stop.<br>Remember you're of Scottish birth - keep piping till you drop.<br>Aye, though a bunch of Willie boys should bluster and implore,<br>For the glory of the Highlands, lad, you've got to hold the floor."<br>The dancers were at supper, and the tables groaned with cheer,<br>When President MacConnachie exclaimed: "What do I hear?<br>Methinks it's like a chanter, and its coming from the hall."<br>"It's Jock MacPherson tuning up," cried Treasurer MacCall.<br>So up they jumped with shouts of glee, and gaily hurried forth.<br>Said they: "We never thought to see a piper in the North."<br>Aye, all the lads and lassies braw went buzzing out like bees,<br>And Jock MacPherson there they saw, with red and rugged knees.<br>Full six foot four he strode the floor, a grizzled son of Skye,<br>With glory in his whiskers and with whisky in his eye.<br>With skelping stride and Scottish pride he towered above them all:<br>"And is he no' a bonny sight?" said Treasurer MacCall.<br>While President MacConnachie was fairly daft with glee,<br>And there was jubilation in the Scottish Commy-tee.<br>But the dancers seemed uncertain, and they signified their doubt,<br>By dashing back to eat as fast as they had darted out.<br>And someone raised the question 'twixt the coffee and the cakes:<br>"Does the Piper walk to get away from all the noise he makes?"<br>Then reinforced with fancy food they slowly trickled forth,<br>And watching in patronizing mood the Piper of the North.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Proud, proud was Jock MacPherson, as he made his bag-pipes skirl,<br>And he set his sporran swinging, and he gave his kilts a whirl.<br>And President MacConnachie was jumping like a flea,<br>And there was joy and rapture in the Scottish Commy-tee.<br>"Jist let them have their saxophones wi' constipated squall;<br>We're having Heaven's music now," said Treasurer MacCall.<br>But the dancers waxed impatient, and they rather seemed to fret<br>For Maloney and the jazz of his Hibernian Quartette.<br>Yet little recked the Piper, as he swung with head on high,<br>Lamenting with MacCrimmon on the heather hills of Skye.<br>With Highland passion in his heart he held the centre floor;<br>Aye, Jock MacPherson played as he had never played before.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maloney's Irish melodists were sitting in their place,<br>And as Maloney waited, there was wonder in his face.<br>'Twas sure the gorgeous music - Golly! wouldn't it be grand<br>If he could get MacPherson as a member of his band?<br>But the dancers moped and mumbled, as around the room they sat:<br>"We paid to dance," they grumbled; "But we cannot dance to that.<br>Of course we're not denying that it's really splendid stuff;<br>But it's mighty satisfying - don't you think we've had enough?"<br>"You've raised a pretty problem," answered Treasurer MacCall;<br>"For on Saint Andrew's Night, ye ken, the Piper rules the Ball."<br>Said President MacConnachie: "You've said a solemn thing.<br>Tradition holds him sacred, and he's got to have his fling.<br>But soon, no doubt, he'll weary out. Have patience; bide a wee."<br>"That's right. Respect the Piper," said the Scottish Commy-tee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And so MacPherson stalked the floor, and fast the moments flew,<br>Till half an hour went past, as irritation grew and grew.<br>Then the dancers held a council, and with faces fiercely set,<br>They hailed Maloney, heading his Hibernian Quartette:<br>"It's long enough, we've waited. Come on, Mike, play up the Blues."<br>And Maloney hesitated, but he didn't dare refuse.<br>So banjo and piano, and guitar and saxophone<br>Contended with the shrilling of the chanter and the drone;<br>And the women's ears were muffled, so infernal was the din,<br>But MacPherson was unruffled, for he knew that he would win.<br>Then two bright boys jazzed round him, and they sought to play the clown,<br>But MacPherson jolted sideways, and the Sassenachs went down.<br>And as if it was a signal, with a wild and angry roar,<br>The gates of wrath were riven - yet MacPherson held the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Aye, amid the rising tumult, still he strode with head on high,<br>With ribbands gaily streaming, yet with battle in his eye.<br>Amid the storm that gathered, still he stalked with Highland pride,<br>While President and Treasurer sprang bravely to his side.<br>And with ire and indignation that was glorious to see,<br>Around him in a body ringed the Scottish Commy-tee.<br>Their teeth were clenched with fury; their eyes with anger blazed:<br>"Ye manna touch the Piper," was the slogan that they raised.<br>Then blows were struck, and men went down; yet 'mid the rising fray<br>MacPherson towered in triumph - and he never ceased to play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alas! his faithful followers were but a gallant few,<br>And faced defeat, although they fought with all the skill they knew.<br>For President MacConnachie was seen to slip and fall,<br>And o'er his prostrate body stumbled Treasurer MacCall.<br>And as their foes with triumph roared, and leagured them about,<br>It looked as if their little band would soon be counted out.<br>For eyes were black and noses red, yet on that field of gore,<br>As resolute as Highland rock - MacPherson held the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Maloney watched the battle, and his brows were bleakly set,<br>While with him paused and panted his Hibernian Quartette.<br>For sure it is an evil spite, and breaking to the heart,<br>For Irishman to watch a fight and not be taking part.<br>Then suddenly on high he soared, and tightened up his belt:<br>"And shall we see them crush," he roared, "a brother and a Celt?<br>A fellow artiste needs our aid. Come on, boys, take a hand."<br>Then down into the mêlée dashed Maloney and his band.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now though it was Saint Andrew's Ball, yet men of every race,<br>That bow before the Great God Jazz were gathered in that place.<br>Yea, there were those who grunt: "Ya! Ya!" and those who squeak: "We! We!"<br>Likewise Dutch, Dago, Swede and Finn, Polack and Portugee.<br>Yet like ripe grain before the gale that national hotch-potch<br>Went down before the fury of the Irish and the Scotch.<br>Aye, though they closed their gaping ranks and rallied to the fray,<br>To the Shamrock and the Thistle went the glory of the day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">You should have seen the carnage in the drooling light of dawn,<br>Yet 'mid the scene of slaughter Jock MacPherson playing on.<br>Though all lay low about him, yet he held his head on high,<br>And piped as if he stood upon the caller crags of Skye.<br>His face was grim as granite, and no favour did he ask,<br>Though weary were his mighty lungs and empty was his flask.<br>And when a fallen foe wailed out: "Say! when will you have done?"<br>MacPherson grinned and answered: "Hoots! She's only ha'f begun."<br>Aye, though his hands were bloody, and his knees were gay with gore,<br>A Grampian of Highland pride - MacPherson held the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still in Yukon valleys where the silent peaks look down,<br>They tell of how the Piper was invited up to town,<br>And he went in kilted glory, and he piped before them all,<br>But wouldn't stop his piping till he busted up the Ball.<br>Of that Homeric scrap they speak, and how the fight went on,<br>With sally and with rally till the breaking of the dawn.<br>And how the Piper towered like a rock amid the fray,<br>And the battle surged about him, but he never ceased to play.<br>Aye, by the lonely camp-fires, still they tell the story o'er-<br>How the Sassenach was vanquished and - MacPherson held the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+William+Service">Robert William Service</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=508694" data-title="The Ballad Of How Macpherson Held The Floor de Robert William Service" data-description="Said President MacConnachie to Treasurer MacCall: "We ought to have a piper for our next Saint Andrew's Ball. Yon squakin' saxophone gives me the syncopated gripes. I'm sick of jazz, I want to hear the skirling of the pipes." "Alas!..."></div> </div> </div>
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