| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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| 34. Bag-Pipes at Sea |
| | | By Clinton Scollard |
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| ABOVE the shouting of the gale, | |
| The whipping sheet, the dashing spray, | |
| I heard, with notes of joy and wail, | |
| A piper play. | |
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| Along the dipping deck he trod, | 5 |
| The dusk about his shadowy form; | |
| He seemed like some strange ancient god | |
| Of song and storm. | |
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| He gave his dim-seen pipes a skirl | |
| And war went down the darkling air; | 10 |
| Then came a sudden subtle swirl, | |
| And love was there. | |
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| What were the winds that flailed and flayed | |
| The sea to him, the night obscure? | |
| In dreams he strayed some brackened glade, | 15 |
| Some heathery moor. | |
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| And if he saw the slanting spars, | |
| And if he watched the shifting track, | |
| He marked, too, the eternal stars | |
| Shine through the wrack. | 20 |
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| And so amid the deep sea din, | |
| And so amid the wastes of foam, | |
| Afar his heart was happy in | |
| His highland home! | |
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