Poems on Golf

Poems on Golf

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. By Thomas Mathison, originally a Writer in Edinburgh, and afterwards Minister of Brechin. Reprinted from the second edition of the Poem.1763. 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 Phbus 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. ......Buy Now (To Read More)

Product details

Ebook Number: 37323
Author: Royal Burgess Golfing Society of Edinburgh
Release Date: Sep 6, 2011
Format: eBook
Language: English

Contributors

Editor: Royal Burgess Golfing Society of Edinburgh