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Save for a curl at the end where the curve rejoins the level,
Save for a ripple at last, a sheeted descent unbroken,—
How to the element offering their bodies, down-shooting the fall, they
Mingled themselves with the flood and the force of imperious water.
And it was told too, Arthur narrating, the Piper correcting,
How, as one comes to the level, the weight of the downward impulse
Carries the head under water, delicious, ineffable; how the
Piper, here ducked and blinded, got stray, and borne off by the current
Wounded his lily—white thighs, below, at the craggy corner.
And it was told, the Piper resuming, corrected of Arthur,
More by word than by motion, change ominous, noted of Adam,
How at the floating-bridge of Laggan, one morning at sunrise,
Came in default of the ferryman out of her bed a brave lassie;
And, as Philip and she together were turning the handles,
By which the chain is wound that works it across the water,
Hands intermingled with hands, and at last, as they stept from the boatie,
Turning about, they saw lips also mingle with lips; but
That was flatly denied and loudly exclaimed at by Arthur:
How at the General's hut, the Inn by the Fall of Foyers,
Where o'er the loch looks at you the summit of Méalfourvónie,
How here too he was hunted at morning, and found in the kitchen
Watching the porridge being made, pronouncing them[1] smoked for certain,
Watching the porridge being made, and asking the lassie that made them,
What was the Gaelic for girl, and what was the Gaelic for pretty;
How in confusion he shouldered his knapsack, yet blushingly stammered,
Waving a hand to the lassie, that blushingly bent o'er the porridge
Something outlandish—Slan-something, Slan leat, he believed, Caleg Looach,[2]
That was the Gaelic it seemed for "I bid you good-bye, bonnie lassie;"
Arthur allowed it was true, not of Philip, but of the Piper.
And it was told by the Piper, while Arthur looked out at the window,
How in thunder and rain—it is wetter far to the westward,
Thunder and rain and wind, losing heart and road, they were welcomed,
Welcomed, and three days detained at a farm by the lochside of Rannoch;
How in the three days' detention was Philip observed to be smitten,
Smitten by golden-haired Katie, the youngest and comeliest daughter;
Was he not seen, even Arthur observed it, from breakfast to bedtime,
Following her motions with eyes ever brightening, softening ever?
Did he not fume, fret, and fidget to find her stand waiting at table?
Was he not one mere St. Vitus' dance, when he saw her at nightfall
