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Ode To Macduff And Wallace

....by Wm. L. Mackenzie Loeppky

Ah, Macduff, come meet this stalwart soldier, Wallace, James.
No countryman nor kin o' mine is he,
but more of yours, although swore foes ye might well be.
But, be that true, set it aside tae bide wi' us a while.
Put up your blades an' share a cup of nectar from the Highland hills.

Wallace, friend, come meet my 'nother friend, t'is Macduff, Alistair.
But stop! Afore ye shake his hand, I'll tell ye 'bout Macduff.
He, like you, has skeletons to hide.
A valiant man, Macduff. Fought well the wars
and wore his tartan proudly.
When peace had settled in the land, this man,
Macduff hied to the barren north.

A brave one he, for in his quest for treasure there,
became besot with dame who reeked of walrus fat gone bad.
Fastidious tho' he be, his caution to the wind was toss't
an' he dallied an' rassle't in the frost
and ice not knowing if the flesh he'd feel was that of her or seal.

Aha, I hear you say, Wallace, James, no wages can be made
whilst in those frozen climes.
Wha' did Macduff gain or win by gangin north to snow and ice.
Nae, nae, Wallace ye hae it wrong, the very stone ye tread upon
up there is worth a ransom!

Macduff, wise wi' a penny, prudent wi' a pound, found fame and fortune too.
Forsook his maid and journeyed back, his sporran buldged with gain.
But, tha's not yet the end of it.
Macduff, not satisfied with vaults fill't with guineas, each
worth a shilling more nor pound,
was to set sail for nether regions of the east.
Ever seeking wealth to swell his hoarde an' buy his ev'ry wish.

He found it too!
He trekked on an' on for many leagues, search't out the fortunes
- celedon, sang boeuf, turquoise an' crackle -
from ancient kilns of auld Cathay.

Aye, Wallace. Here's a man, this Macduff who travelled then again.
He once more left the shore of his River Clyde.
But, shame of shame, and say this softly,
lest others hear and gang awa to tell the tale.
He fell in love wi' a Gypsy lass. He loved her hard and fast
upon the rocky Basque ground of Iberia.
T'was not to be, for he lost his love to a matador,
who with his espada, drew blood from the breast
of Macduff and banished him ever from España.

So come, Macduff, an' shake the hand o' Wallace, James.
But, stop. Before ye do, I'll tell ye his sad story too.

Wallace, a proud and firey soldier, hail't from Auld Reekie.
He swore upon his mother's head, and father's,
he would be true to thistle and cause, and was!
He heard the call and went to war.
Fought bravely and with honour, as any Wallace would.
Alas, I ken not more of Wallace' history,
but this last bit that will again be softly said
so others may not hear.

He fell.
His troth to kin forgate, Wallace, James did guard the throne.
Aye, say it so quietly, did guard the throne of England's Queen!

But, he's forgiven, is Wallace, James, and so's my friend Macduff.
Come, Macduff, now shake the hand of countryman Wallace.
When ye've shook, take out ye chanter, an' pipe a pibroch,
a lament to misspent youth,
an' we'll march to the inn to share us a cup o' forgivness an' friendship.


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