 BAG PIPES AT SEA by Clinton Scholar Red for LibriVox.org by Andrea Fiori Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed, the sea to him the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked too the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem This recording is in the public domain. BAG PIPES AT SEA by Clinton Scholar Red for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence Of the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheets, the dashing spray, I heard, with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. That were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure. In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked too the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Ted C., by Clinton Schollard, read for LibriVox.org by Harry Ink, above the shouting of the Gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray. I heard, with notes of joy and wail, along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a skull, and war went down the darkling air. And then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery war. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked too the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep-seed din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Bike Pipes at Sea, by Clinton Schollard, read for LibriVox.org by Jess and Mills. Above the shouting of the girl, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked to the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Bike Pipes at Sea, by Clinton Schollard, read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Burgoyne. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard, with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed, the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked two, the eternal stars, shine through the wreck. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Red Pipes at Sea, by Clinton Scolard, read for LibriVox.org, by Lucy Perry. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard, with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked two, the eternal stars, shine through the wreck. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Bagpipes at Sea by Clinton Scolad, read for LibriVox.org, by Neil Harrison. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard, with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk around his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dimsinn pipes a skull, and wore went down a darkling air, and then came a sudden, subtle swell, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In the dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked to the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea dim, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Bagpipes at Sea by Clinton Scolad, read for LibriVox.org, by Margaret Brichon. Of the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dimsinn pipes a skull, and wore went down a darkling air, then came a sudden, subtle swell, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked to the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea dim, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Bagpipes at Sea by Clinton Scolad, read for LibriVox.org, by Mike Vendetti, MikeVendetti.com. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dimsinn pipes a skull, and wore went down the darkling air, then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed, the sea to him, the night of skewer? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked to the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep sea dim, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in, his island home. In a poem this recording is in the public domain. Bagpipes at Sea, by Clinton Schollert, RedfordLibervox.org by Pat Jambatista. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed, the sea to him, the night of skewer? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked, too, the eternal stars shine through the wreck. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his island home. End of poem, this recording is in the public domain. Bagpipes at Sea, by Clinton Schollert, RedfordLibervox.org by Raven Notation. Up the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard, with notes of joy and wail, a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim scene pipes a scurl, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed, to see to him the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some bracken glade, some heathery moor. And if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track, he marked, too, the eternal stars shine through the wreck. And so amid the deep sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his highland home. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. BEG PIPES AT SEA BY CLINTON SCOLARD. RED FOR LIBERVOX.ORG BY TOMMY HERSANT. CARL'S BAD, CALIFORNIA. WINTER 2009. Above the shouting of the gale, the whipping sheet, the dashing spray, I heard with notes of joy and wail a piper play. Along the dipping deck he trod, the dusk about his shadowy form, he seemed like some strange, ancient god of song and storm. He gave his dim-seen pipes a scurril, and war went down the darkling air. Then came a sudden, subtle swirl, and love was there. What were the winds that flailed and flayed the sea to him, the night obscure? In dreams he strayed some brackened glade, some heathery moor, and if he saw the slanting spars, and if he watched the shifting track he marked, too, the eternal stars shine through the rack. And so amid the deep-sea din, and so amid the wastes of foam, afar his heart was happy in his Highland home.