Page:The Family Legend.pdf/103

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The Lord of Lorne has spoilt thee with indulging Thy wilful humours. Cease thy cursed din! See; here the Earl himself comes forth to chide thee. (Exit.)

Good morrow, Piper! thou hast roused me bravely: A younger man might gird his tartans on With lightsome heart to martial sounds like these, But I am old.

O no, my noble chieftain! It is not age subdues you.

No; what else?

Alack! the flower and blossom of your house The wind hath blown away to other towers. When she was here, and gladsome faces brighten'd With looking on her, and around your board Sweet lays were sung, and gallants in the hall Footed it trimly to our varied measures,