Yea, hope and despondence and pleasure and pain

Are mingled together like sunshine and rain.

The approach and the stymie, the drive and the slice

Still follow each other in a way that's not nice.

'Tis the draught of a breath, 'tis the twink of an

eye,

From a shot off a tee to a shocking bad lie.

By vict'ry we're gladdened, by defeat we are cowed

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud!

A Reminiscence

Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:

Leave me here, and when you want me sound upon the bugle-horn.

'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old, I see

again;

Joyous throngs of happy people swarming round Midlothian.

Here about the links I wandered, nourishing a hope

sublime,

With the fairy tales of Whigham and the long result of time;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful land

reposed;

When I clung to all the present for the promise that it closed;

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see

Saw the vision of the medal and the wonder that

would be.

In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast;

In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another crest;

In the spring the sporty member feels himself a little off;

In the spring the young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of golf.

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young,

And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

And I said, "My cousin Amy, speak, and speak the truth to me;

Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee.

Lo, these many months you've watched me with an int'rest close and warm;

Tell me, dearest, as you love me, now what think you of my form?"

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a color and a light,

As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the

A Reminiscence

27

And she turned - her bosom shaken with a sudden

storm of sighs

All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes -

Saying, "I have hid my feelings, fearing just this very thing;

But I've nearly died a-laughing watching your St. Andrews swing."

Many a morning on the moorland have I coached her through her game;

Lugged her clubs when caddies failed us, praised her where was naught but blame.

Many an eve on the veranda have I given her valued tips,

And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.

Oh, my cousin, shallow-hearted! Oh, my Amy, mine no more!

Oh, the dreary, dreary moorland! Oh, the barren, barren shore!

Is it well to wish thee happy — having known me, to decline

To commend my style of driving, favoring poorer forms than mine?

Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level day

by day,

All the strokes I once had taught you count for nothing in your play.

As the husband is the wife is; thou art mated to a duffer,

And by justest compensation you alone will have to suffer.

He will hold thee, whose affection you considered such a boon,

Something better than his mashie, something dearer than his spoon.

Were you pleased when news was brought you, of the score the other day,

When I smashed him good and plenty, seven up and six to play?

Were you glad or were you sorry; were you with misgivings rent

When you read in daily papers how I won the tournament?

And the swing you once made fun of- does it seem now such a joke?

It has won all driving contests, every record it