Poems on Golf Part 4

R. C.

IV. THE FOURTH OR GINGER-BEER HOLE.

Though thou hast lost this last unlucky hole, I say again, betake thee not to swearing, Or any form of speech profanely daring, Though some allege it tendeth to console.

Better do thou thy swelling griefs control, Sagacious that at hand a joy awaits thee (Since out of doubt a gla.s.s of beer elates thee), Without that frightful peril to thy soul.

A gla.s.s of beer! go dip thine angry beak in it, And straight its rage will melt to soft placidity, That solace finding thou art wise to seek in it; Ah, do not thou on this poor plea reject it, That in thy inwards it will breed acidity-- One gla.s.s of Stewart's brandy will correct it.

P. A.

V. THE h.e.l.l HOLE.

What daring genius first yclept thee h.e.l.l?

What high, poetic, awe-struck grand old Golfer, Much more of a mythologist than scoffer!

Whoe'er he was, the name befits thee well.

"All hope abandon, ye who enter here,"

Is written awful o'er thy gloomy jaws, A threat to all save Allan might give pause: And frequent from within come tones of fear-- Dread sound of cleeks, which ever fall in vain, And--for mere mortal patience is but scanty-- Shriekings thereafter, as of souls in pain, Dire gnas.h.i.+ngs of the teeth, and horrid curses, With which I need not decorate my verses, Because, in fact, you'll find them all in Dante.

P. A.

VI. THE HEATHER HOLE.

Ah me! prodigious woes do still environ-- To quote verbatim from some grave old poet-- The man who needs must meddle with his _iron_; And here, if ever, thou art doomed to know it.

For now behold thee, doubtless for thy sins, Tilling some bunker, as if on a lease of it, And so a.s.siduous to make due increase of it; Or wandering homeless through a world of whins!

And when, these perils past, thou seemest _dead_.

And hop'st a half--O woe, the ball goes crooked, Making thy foe just one more hole ahead, Surely a consummation all too sad, Without that sneering devilish "Never lookit,"

The parting comment of the opposing cad.

P. A.

VII. THE HIGH OR EDEN HOLE.

The sh.e.l.ly pit is cleared at one fell blow, A stroke to be remembered in your dreams!

But here the Eden on your vision gleams, Lovely, but treach'rous in its solemn flow.

The hole is perched aloft, too near the tide, The green is small, and broken is the ground Which doth that little charmed s.p.a.ce surround!

Go not too far, and go not to a side; Take the short spoon to do your second stroke; Sandy entreats you will the wind take heed on, For, oh, it would a very saint provoke, If you should let your ball plump in the Eden.

You do your best, but who can fate control?

So here against you is another hole.

R. C. Jr.

VIII. THE SHORT HOLE.

Brief but not easy is the next adventure; Legend avers it has been done in _one_, Though such long _steals_ are now but rarely done-- In _three_ 'twere well that you the hole should enter.

Strangely original is this bit of ground, For, while at hand the smooth and smiling green, One bunker wide and bushy yawns between, Where Tyro's gutta is too often found.

Nervous your rival strikes and heels his ball-- From that whin-bush at six he'll scarce extract it: Yours, by no blunder this time counteracted, Is with the gra.s.s-club lofted over all.

There goes a hole in your side--how you hug it!

Much as th' Australian digger does a nugget.

R. C. Jr.

IX. THE END HOLE.

The end, but not the end--the distance-post That halves the game--a serious point to thee, For if one more thou losest, 'twill be _three_: Yet even in that case, think not all is lost.

Men four behind have been, on the return, So favoured by Olympus, or by care, That all their terrors vanished into air, And caddies cried them _dormy_ at the burn!

I could quote proverbs, did I speak at random: Full many a broken s.h.i.+p comes into port, Full many a cause is gained at last resort, But Golf impresses most, _Nil desperandum_.

Turn, then, my son, with two against, nor dread To gain the winning-post with one ahead.

R. C. Jr.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

The following Sc.r.a.p relative to GOLF occurs in a very rare work ent.i.tled _Westminster Drollery_, 12mo, 1671, p. 28.

A Song called--

"And to each pretty la.s.s We will give a green gown."

Thus all our life long we are frolick and gay, And instead of Court revels we merrily play At Trap, at Rules, and at Barly-break run, At GOFF and at Foot-Ball; and when we have done These innocent sports, we'll laugh and lie down, And to each pretty la.s.s We will give a green gown.

_N.B._--The above was copied from a book containing many curious Sc.r.a.ps relating to Golfing, Archery, and Curling, belonging to JAMES MAIDMENT, Esq., advocate.

[Decoration]

THE GOLFER'S GARLAND.[10]

Of rural diversions, too long has the chase All the honours usurped, and a.s.sumed the chief place; But truth bids the muse from henceforward proclaim, That Golfing of field sports stands foremost in fame.

With a fal-the-ral-a, etc.

At Golf we contend without rancour or spleen, And bloodless the laurels we reap on the green; From vig'rous exertions our pleasures arise, And to crown our delight no poor fugitive dies.

With a fal-the-ral-a, etc.

O'er the green see our heroes in uniform clad, In parties well matched how they gracefully spread, Whilst with long strokes, and short strokes, they tend to the goal, And with putt well directed plump into the hole.

With a fal-the-ral-a, etc.