The WhistleA Ballad
书迷正在阅读:兔女郎娶老婆、人间录、·缠、几时熟、短篇炸裂故事~、美人账、网游之天下无双之【肏逼无双】、穿书后我和反派在一起了、猎郎、冥婚少女:鬼夫大人我怕黑
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 ood scottish king, and long with this whistle all scotland shall ring. old loda, still rueing the arm of fingal, the god of the bottle sends down from his hall— “the whistle's your challeo scotla o'er, and drink them to hell, sir! or ne'er see me more!” old poets have sung, and old icles tell, what champiour'd, what champions fell: the son of great loda was queror still, and blew on the whistle their requiem shrill. till robert, the lord of the and the scaur, unmatch'd at the bottle, unquer'd in war, he drank his pod-ship as deep as the sea; no tide of the baltic e'er druhan he. thus robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd; whiow in his house has fes remain'd; till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood, the jovial test again have renew'd. three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw craigdarroch, so famous for with, worth, and law; and trusty glenriddel, so skill'd in old s; and gallant sir robert, deep-read in old wines. craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, desiring dhtly to yield up the spoil; or else he would muster the heads of the , and once more, in claret, try which was the man. “by the gods of the as!” dhtly replies, “before i surrender so glorious a prize, i'll jure 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 urn'd his ba his foe, or his friend; said, “toss down the whistle, the prize of the field,” and, knee-deep in claret, he'd die ere he'd yield. to the board of glenriddel our heroes repair, so noted for drowning of sorrow and care; but, for wine and for wele, not more known to fame, than the sense, wit, and taste, of a sweet lovely dame. a bard was selected to withe 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 phoebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, and vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, till thia hinted he'd see them 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 aor did. then worthy glenriddel, so cautious and sage, no lohe warfare ungodly would wage; a high ruling elder to wallow in wine; he left the foul busio folks less divine. the gallant sir robert fought hard to the end; but who with fate and quart bumpers tend! though fate said, a hero should perish in light; so uprose bright phoebus—and dowhe knight. uprose our bard, like a prophet in drink:— “craigdarroch, thou'lt soar wheion shall sink! but if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme, e—otle more—and have at the sublime! “thy lihat have struggled for freedom with bruce, shall heroes and patriots ever produce: so thihe laurel, and mihe bay; the field thou hast won, by yht god of day!”