The Golfer’s Garland

By Edinburgh Burgess Golfing Society

OF rural diversions, too long has the chase

All the honours usurped, and assumed 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.

From exercise keen, from strength active and bold,

We traverse the green, and forget to grow old;

Blue devils, diseases, dull sorrow and care,

Are knock’d down by our balls as they whiz through the air.

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

The strong-sinew’d son of Alcmena would drub,

And demolish a monster when armed with a club;

But what were the monsters which Hercules slew,

To those fiends which each week with our balls we subdue?

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

Health, happiness, harmony, friendship, and fame,

Are the fruits and rewards of our favourite game:

A sport so distinguished the fair must approve;

So to Golf give the day and the evening to love.

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

Our first standing toast we to Golfing assign,

No other amusement so truly divine;

It has charms for the aged, as well as the young,

Then as first of field sports let its praises be sung.

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

And to crown our devotion, and grateful goodwill,

A bumper brimhigh to their healths let us fill;

Our charming instructresses—blessings attend them,

And cursed be the clown who would dare to offend them!

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

The next we shall drink to our friends far and near;

To the mem’ry of those who no longer appear,

Who have play’d their last round, and passed over that bourne

From which the best Golfer can never return.

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

Then fill up your glass, and let each social soul

Drink to the putter, the balls, and the hole;

And may every true Golfer invariably find

His opponent play fair, and his fair one prove kind.

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

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