The Whistle - a Ballad

The Whistle - A Ballad -

I sing of a Whistle, a whistle of worth
I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,
Was brought to the court of our good Scotish king,
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring. -

Old Loda still rueing the arm of Fingal (See Ossian's Caricthura)
The god of the bottle sends down from his Hall;
"The Whistle's your challenge - to Scotland get o'er,
"And drink them to hell, Sir! or ne'er see me more!"

Old poets have sung, & old Chronicles tell,
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell:
The son of great Loda was conqueror still,
And blew on the Whistle their requiem shrill.-

Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn & the Scaur,
Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war;
He drank his poor godship as deep as the sea,
No tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than he. -

Thus Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd,
Which now, in his House, has for ages remain'd;
Till three noble chieftains, & all of his blood,
The jovial contest again have renew'd.

Three joyous good-fellows with hearts clear of flaw;
Craigdaroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law;
And trusty Glenriddel, so vers'd in old coins,
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.

Craigdaroch

Craigdaroch began with a tongue smooth as oil,
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil;
Or else he would muster the heads of the clan,
And once more in claret try which was the man. -

"By the gods of the ancients!" Glenriddel replies,
"Before I surrender so glorious a prize,
"I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rory More, (See Johnson's tour to the Hebrides -
"And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er."

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend,
But he ne'er turn'd his back on his foe or his friend;
Said toss down the Whistle the prize of the field
And knee-deep in claret he'd die or he'd yield.-

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair,
So noted for drowning of sorrow & care;
But for Wine & for Welcome not more known to fame,
Than the sense, wit and taste, of a sweet, lovely Dame. -

A Bard was selected to witness the fray,
And tell future ages the feats of the day;
A Bard who detested all sadness and spleen,
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been.-

The dinner being over, the claret they ply,
And every new cork is a new spring of joy,
In the bands of old friendship & kindred so set;
And the bands grew the tighter the more they were wet.-

Gay Pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er:
Bright Phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a corps; And

And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn,
Till Cynthia hinted, he'd find them next morn.-

Six bottles a piece had well wore out the night,
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight,
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red,
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestor did.-

Then worthy Glenriddel so cautious & sage,
No longer the warfare ungodly would wage;
A high ruling Elder to wallow in wine!
He left the foul business to folks less devine. -

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end,
But who can with Fate & quart bumpers contend?
Tho' Fate said, a hero should perish in light,
So uprose bright Phoebus, & downfell the Knight.

Next uprose our Bard, like a prophet in drink,
Craigdaroch thou'lt soar when Creation shall sink.
"But if thou would'st flourish immortal in rhyme,
"Come-one bottle more- & have at the sublime!!!

"Thy Line that have struggled for freedom with Bruce,
"Shall heroes & patriots ever produce;
"So thine be the laurel, & mine be the bay;
"The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!