The Golf-Ball And The Loan. After Longfellow

I drove a golf-ball into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I lent five shillings to some men,
They spent it all, I know not when,
For who is quick enough to know
The time in which a crown may go?

Long, long afterward, in a whin
I found the golf-ball, black as sin;
But the five shillings are missing still!
They haven't turned up, and I doubt if they will.

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

Youth Renewed

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

After Many Days

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

The Delights Of Mathematics

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

A May-Day Madrigal

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

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The City Of Golf

Would you like to see a city given over,
    Soul and body, to a tyrannising game?
If you would, there's little need to be a rover,
    For St. Andrews is the abject city's name.

It is surely quite superfluous to mention,
    To a person who has been here half an hour,
That Golf is what engrosses the attention
    Of the people, with an all-absorbing power.

Rich and poor alike are smitten with the fever;
    Their business and religion is to play;
And a man is scarcely deemed a true believer,
    Unless he goes at least a round a day.

The city boasts an old and learned college,
    Where you'd think the leading industry was Greek;
Even there the favoured instruments of knowledge
    Are a driver and a putter and a cleek.

All the natives...

Robert Fuller Murray

Thirty Years After

Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn.    They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, speaks as follows:

If you were now a bejant,
    And I a first year man,
We'd grind and grub together
In every kind of weather,
When Winter's snows were regent,
    Or when the Spring began;
If you were now a bejant,
    And I a first year man.

If you were what you once were,
    And I the same man still,
You'd be the gainer by it,
For you--you can't deny it--
A most uncommon dunce were;
    My profit would be nil,
If you were what you once were,
    And I the same man still.

If you were last in Latin,
    And I ...

Robert Fuller Murray

Bedfordshire Ballad. - III.

    FRED AND BILL.


    Two twins were once born in a Bedfordshire home;
    Such events in the best managed households may come;
    Tho', as Tomkins remarked in a voice rather gruff,
    "One child at a time for poor folks is enough."

    But it couldn't be helped, so his wife did her best;
    The children were always respectably drest;
    Went early to school; were put early to bed;
    And had plenty of taters and bacon and bread.

    Now we all should suppose that the two, being twins,
    Resembled each other as much as two pins:
    But no - they as little resembled each other
    As the man in the moon is "a man and a brother."

    Fred's eyes were dark brown, and his hair was jet black;
    He was supple in body, and straight in t...

Edward Woodley Bowling

Further Language from Truthful James

Do I sleep? do I dream?
Do I wonder and doubt?
Are things what they seem?
Or is visions about?
Is our civilization a failure?
Or is the Caucasian played out?

Which expressions are strong;
Yet would feebly imply
Some account of a wrong
Not to call it a lie
As was worked off on William, my pardner,
And the same being W. Nye.

He came down to the Ford
On the very same day
Of that lottery drawed
By those sharps at the Bay;
And he says to me, Truthful, how goes it?
I replied, It is far, far from gay;

For the camp has gone wild
On this lottery game,
And has even beguiled
Injin Dick by the same.
Then said Nye to me, Injins is pizen:
But what is his number, eh, James?

I replied, 7, 2,
9, 8, ...

Bret Harte

Hard Luck

I left the course, and by my side
There walked a ruined tout,
A hungry creature, evil-eyed,
Who poured this story out.

"You see," he said, "there came a swell
To Kensington today,
And, if I picked the winners well,
A crown at least he's pay.

"I picked three winners straight, I did;
I filled his purse with pelf,
And then he gave me half-a-quid
To back one for myself.

"A half-a-quid to me he cast,
I wanted it indeed;
So help me Bob, for two days past
I haven't had a feed.

"But still I thought my luck was in,
I couldn't go astray,
I put it all on Little Min,
And lost it straightaway.

"I haven't got a bite or bed,
I'm absolutely stuck;
So keep this lesson in your head:
Don't over-trust your luck!"

Andrew Barton Paterson

Ballade Of The Golfer In Love

In the "foursome" some would fain
    Find nepenthe for their woe;
Following through shine or rain
    Where the "greens" like satin show;
    But I vote such sport as "slow"
Find it rather glum and gruesome;
    With a little maid I know
I would play a quiet "twosome"!

In the "threesome," some maintain,
    Lies excitement's gayest glow,
Strife that mounts unto the brain
    Like the sparkling Veuve Clicquot;
    My opinion? Nay, not so!
Noon or eve or morning dewsome
    With a little maid I know
I would play a quiet "twosome"!

Bays of glory some would gain
    With grim "Bogey" for their foe;
(He's a bogey who's not slain
    Save one smite with canny blow!)
    Yet I hold this tame, and though
My refrain seems tr...

Clinton Scollard