Poems on Golf Part 6

"Far and sure!" there is honour and hope in the sound; Long over these Links may it roll!

It will--O it will! for each face around Shows its magic is felt in each soul.

Let it guide us in life; at the desk or the bar, It will s.h.i.+eld us from folly's gay lure; Then, tho' rough be the course, and the winning post _far_, We will carry the stakes--O be _sure_!

Let it guide us in Golf, whether "Burgess" or "Star;"

At the last round let none look demure: All Golfers are brothers when _driving_ is _far_, When putting is canny and _sure_.

"Far and sure! far and sure!" fill the b.u.mper and drain it, May our motto for ever endure; May time never maim it, nor dishonour stain it; Then drink, brothers, drink, "Far and sure!"

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

SONG.

TUNE--_Scotland yet._

Gae bring my guid auld clubs ance mair-- Come, laddie, bring them fast, For I maun hae anither game, E'er the autumn season's past; And trow ye as I play, my lads, My song shall ever be, "Auld Scotland's royal game o' Gouf-- Our country's game for me."

Then here's a toast to Goufin' yet, Wi' a' the honours three.

Throw by that walloping surtout-- On wi' my auld red jacket-- Haul aff thae gripless Wellingtons For yon shoon wi' mony a tacket.

Hang up that snoring Albert hat-- Yon foraging-cap for me; And now a Golfer I walk forth, Frae worldly care set free.

Then here's a toast, etc.

Now, laddie, pouch thae Gourlay ba's, Wi' joy they'll dance a reel-- My play-club capers in my hand, As supple as an eel.

And see! my partner's on the green, His ba' upon the tee-- Impatient, round he swings his club, Making heads o' gowans flee.

Then here's a toast, etc.

How sweet's the air upon the links That stretch along the sea!

Where, bending down white clover heads.

In silence sips the bee.

Our steps how light! as on we speed O'er buoyant knowes o' balm, To where our b.a.l.l.s in distance lie, Like mushrooms on the lawn.

Then here's a toast, etc.

And 'tween each stroke how socially Abreast in crack we go, And shape o' club and mak o' ba'

Discuss wi' sportsman's glow.

Then hale-lung'd laughter peals aloud, And banter stingless flies, And tears o' mirth astonished run From sad dyspeptics' eyes.

Then here's a toast, etc.

And when some rounds demand a rest, And appet.i.te is keen, How sweet to taste the Golfer's fare, Reclining on the green!

Ne'er aldermen at turtle feast Washed over with champagne, Rejoiced like us, as baps we tear, And jugs o' "Berwick's" drain.

Then here's a toast, etc.

Our caddies at our feet reclined, Their sheaves o' clubs at rest-- Happy to hear the Golfers' lore, Chew on wi' silent zest.

But up, like giants flushed with wine, Again our clubs we wield-- We feel new vigour in our arms, And ardent take the field.

Then here's a toast, etc.

Thus on we've toiled at Dubbieside, But 'neath the Lomond hill The sun has sunk, and the whirling din Has ceased at Kirkland Mill.

The sand-eel crowd is thickening black By the mouth o' Leven stream, And the wearied _Tar_ in Largo Bay Lets off the roaring _steam_.

So here's a toast, etc.

So here's a health to our ain club, St. Andrews next, our mither-- A b.u.mper to Dunbarnie next, Our neibour and our brither: Auld Dubbieside salutes ye a'; And if you wish to meet her, You'll find her ready at a ca', Wi' her gallant captain PETER.

So here's a toast, etc.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

A GOLFING SONG.

BY MR. JAMES BALLANTINE.

TUNE--_Let Haughty Gaul._

Come, leave your dingy desks and shops.

Ye sons of ancient Reekie, And by green fields and sunny slopes, For healthy pastime seek ye.

Don't bounce about your "_dogs of war_,"

Nor at our _s.h.i.+nties_ scoff, boys, But learn our motto, "_Sure and Far_,"

Then come and play at Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds of Bruntsfield Links will chase All murky vapours off, boys; And nothing can your sinews brace Like the glorious game of Golf, boys.

Above our head the clear blue sky, We bound the gowan'd sward o'er, And as our b.a.l.l.s fly far and high, Our bosoms glow with ardour; While dear Edina, Scotland's Queen, Her misty cap lifts off, boys, And smiles serenely on the green, Graced by the game of Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds, etc.

We putt, we drive, we laugh, we chat, Our strokes and jokes aye clinking, We banish all extraneous fat, And all extraneous thinking.

We'll cure you of a summer cold, Or of a winter cough, boys, We'll make you young, even when you're old, So come and play at Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds, etc.

When in the dumps with mulligrubs, Or doyte with barley-bree, boys, Go get you of the green three rubs, 'Twill set you on the "_Tee_," boys.

There's no disease we cannot cure, No care we cannot doff, boys; Our aim is ever "_Far and Sure_"-- So come and play at Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds, etc.

O blessings on pure cauler air, And every healthy sport, boys, That makes sweet Nature seem more fair, And makes long life seem short, boys; That warms your hearts with genial glow, And makes you halve your loaf, boys, With every needy child of woe-- So bless the game of Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds, etc.

Then don your brilliant scarlet coats, With your bright blue velvet caps, boys.

And some shall play the _rocket shots_ And some the _putting paps_, boys.

No son of Scotland, man or boy, Shall e'er become an oaf, boys, Who gathers friends.h.i.+p, health, and joy, In playing at the Golf, boys.

_Chorus_--Three rounds, etc.