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 the end?
The god of the bottle send down from this hall,
"This 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 then he. ---

Thus Robert, victorious the troph trophy has gain'd,
Which now in his House has for ages remain'd,
Till three noble Chieftans, & 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 & law;
And trusty Glenriddel, so vers'd in old coins;
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines. --

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 war 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 the end}
"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's 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 & 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 & spleen,
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard has been. ----

The dinner being over, the claret they ply,
And every new cork was 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 Phebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a Corps;
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 divine. ----

The

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

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

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

________

+ "Fingal," See Ossian's Poem, Carricthura ----
+ "Rory More," See Johnson's tour to the Hebrides. ----

________

But one sorry quill, & that worn to the core;
No Paper, but such as I shew it;
But such as it is, will the good laird of Tore
Accept, & excuse the poor Poet. --------