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Till Robert, the lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, Unmatch'd at the bottle, unconquer'd in war, He drank his poor god-ship 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, and all of his blood, The jovial contest again have renew'd.

Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of

flaw ;

Craigdarroch, so famous for wit, worth, and law ; And trusty Glenriddel, so skill'd in old coins; And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; Or else he would muster the beads 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 Rorie More,* * 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.

• See Johnson's Tour to the Hebridov. Vol. XXXVIII. Bb

To the board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; (fame, But for wine and for welcome not more known to Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely


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 ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; In the bands of old friendship and kindred so set, And the bands grew the tighter the more they

were wet.

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; Bright Phæbus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn Till Cynthia binted he'd see them next morn.

Six bottles a-piece had well wore out the night, Wben 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 and 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 gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end; But who can with fate and quart bumpers contend? Though fate said-a hero should perish in light; So uprose bright Phæbusand down fell the knight.

Next uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink :Craigdarroch, thou’lt soar when creation shall sink! ‘But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, Come-one bottle more—and have at the sublime!


“Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with

Bruce, * Shall heroes and patriots ever produce : «So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; * The field thou hast won, by yon bright god of day!'

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