POEMS ON GOLF

EDINBURGH Printed for Private Circulation 1867

J. M. CORNER

Some Members of The Edinburgh Burgess Golfing Society having resolved to collect and print a few fugitive pieces in verse relating to the game of GOLF, the following Poems and Songs have been after some labour procured, and are now printed (some for the first time) for private circulation among the Subscribers whose names are appended.

Edinburgh, April 1867.

CONTENTS.

Page

The Goff, an Heroi-comical Poem 1

Golfiana—Address to St. Andrews 20

" The Golfiad 22

" The first Hole at St. Andrews on a crowded day 29

" Another Peep at the Links 36

The Nine Holes of St. Andrews Links48

Scrap—"The following scrap" &c.56

Song—The Golfers' Garland57

" The Links o' Innerleven 60

" In praise of Gutta Percha 63

" "Far and Sure" 66

" "Gae bring my guid auld clubs" 68

" "Come, leave your dingy desks" 73

" "When Tom and me were laddies" 77

LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS.

THE GOFF.

By Thomas Mathison, originally a Writer in Edinburgh, and afterwards Minister of Brechin. Reprinted from the second edition of the Poem.—1763.

CANTO I.

GOFF, and the Man, I sing, who, em'lous, plies The jointed club, whose balls invade the skies, Who from Edina's tow'rs, his peaceful home, In quest of fame o'er Letha's plains did roam. Long toil'd the hero, on the verdant field, Strain'd his stout arm the weighty club to wield; Such toils it cost, such labours to obtain The bays of conquest, and the bowl to gain. O thou Golfinia, Goddess of these plains! Great Patroness of GOFF! indulge my strains; Whether beneath the thorn-tree shade you lie, Or from Mercerian tow'rs the game survey, [2]Or round the green the flying ball you chase, Or make your bed in some hot sandy face: Leave your much-lov'd abode, inspire his lays Who sings of Goff, and sings thy fav'rite's praise. North from Edina eight furlongs and more, Lies that fam'd field, on Fortha's sounding shore. Here Caledonian Chiefs for health resort, Confirm their sinews by the manly sport. Macdonald and unmatch'd Dalrymple ply Their pond'rous weapons, and the green defy; Rattray for skill, and Corse for strength renown'd, Stewart and Lesly beat the sandy ground, And Brown

and Alston, Chiefs well known to fame, And numbers more the Muse forbears to name. Gigantic Biggar here full oft is seen, Like huge behemoth on an Indian green; His bulk enormous scarce can 'scape the eyes, Amaz'd spectators wonder how he plies. Yea, here great Forbes,[1] patron of the just, The dread of villains and the good man's trust, [3]When spent with toils in serving human kind, His body recreates, and unbends his mind. Bright Phœbus now had measur'd half the day, And warm'd the earth with genial noon-tide ray; Forth rush'd Castalio and his daring foe, Both arm'd with clubs, and eager for the blow. Of finest ash Castalio's shaft was made, Pond'rous with lead, and fenc'd with horn the head (The work of Dickson, who in Letha dwells, And in the art of making clubs excels), Which late beneath great Claro's arm did bend, But now is wielded by his greater friend. Not with more fury Norris cleav'd the main, To pour his thund'ring arms on guilty Spain; Nor with more haste brave Haddock bent his course To guard Minorca from Iberian force,— Than thou, intrepid hero, urg'd thy way

O'er roads and sands, impatient for the fray. With equal warmth Pygmalion fast pursu'd (With courage oft are little wights endued), 'Till to Golfinia's downs the heroes came, The scene of combat and the field of fame. [4]Upon a verdant bank by Flora grac'd, Two sister Fairies found the Goddess plac'd; Propp'd by her snowy hand her head reclin'd, Her curling locks hung waving in the wind. She eyes intent the consecrated green, Crowded with waving clubs and vot'ries keen, And hears the prayers of youths to her address'd, And from the hollow face relieves the ball distress'd. On either side the sprightly Dryads sat, And entertained the Goddess with their chat. First Verdurilla, thus: O rural Queen! What chiefs are those that drive along the green? With brandish'd clubs the mighty heroes threat, Their eager looks foretell a keen debate. To whom Golfinia: Nymph, your eyes behold Pygmalion stout, Castalio brave and bold. From silver Ierna's banks Castalio came, But first on Andrean plains he courted fame. His sire, a Druid, taught (one day of seven) The paths of

virtue, the sure road to heaven. In Pictish capital the good man passed His virtuous life, and there he breath'd his last. [5]The son now dwells in fair Edina's town, And on our sandy plains pursues renown. See low Pygmalion, skilled in GOFFING art, Small is his size, but dauntless is his heart: Fast by a desk in Edin's domes he sits, With saids and sicklikes length'ning out the writs. For no mean prize the rival chiefs contend, But full rewards the victor's toils attend. The vanquish'd hero for the victor fills A mighty bowl containing thirty gills; With noblest liquor is the bowl replete; Here sweets and acids, strength and weakness meet. From Indian isles the strength and sweetness flow, And Tagus' banks their golden fruits bestow; Cold Caledonia's lucid streams controul The fiery spirits, and fulfil the bowl; For Albion's peace and Albion's friends they pray, And drown in Punch the labours of the day. The Goddess spoke, and thus Gambolia pray'd: Permit to join in brave Pygmalion's aid, O'er each deep road the hero to sustain, And guide his ball to the desired plain.

[6]To this the Goddess of the manly sport: Go, and be thou that daring chief's support. Let Verdurilla be Castalio's stay; I from this flow'ry seat will view the fray. She said: the nymphs trip nimbly o'er the green, And to the combatants approach unseen.

[1] Duncan Forbes, Lord President of the Court of Session in Scotland.

END OF CANTO I.

CANTO II.

END OF CANTO II.

CANTO III.

ADDRESS TO ST. ANDREWS.

THE GOLFIAD.

Arma, virumq. cano.—Virgil, Æn. i. l. 1.

[2] Hell is a range of broken ground on St. Andrews Links, bearing probably the same proportion to the ordinary course of the Links as hell would to heaven in the opinion of these immortals.

[3] A place on North Berwick Links, so awkward, that in playing out of it one is allowed to remove everything, provided the position of the ball is not altered.

[4] A long and scientific stroke at golf.

[5] Steal, the act of holing the ball contrary to probability.

[6] A slang term for such.

[7] Fifth hole.

[8] Sixth hole.

THE FIRST HOLE AT ST. ANDREWS ON A CROWDED DAY.

Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit.—Æn. i. l. 208.