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ALONG
THE NORTHERN COAST
By
Adam Mathers M.D [Published 1940]
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OFF
HIS GAME - A GOLFER'S SONG
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ADDRESS
TO A GOLF BALL
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| A
Man 'off his game' is a terrible sight, |
Oh
ghastly gutty, source of woe, |
| From
him all pleasures flee, |
Oh
damnable delight, |
| Tormented
by furies, by day and by |
Desirable
Calamity, |
| night, |
That
fills my soul with fright, |
| A
woeful wight is he. |
Sepulchre
whited, wanton decked |
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With
bramble, star, or dimple; |
| And
ever each morning he breakfasts with |
Cursed
by thy face although it wear |
| hope, |
The
pockmark or the pimple. |
| At
noon every hope disappears; |
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| At
eve 'tis a question of razor or rope, |
Oh
mighty atom, globe unblessed ! |
| Night
drenches his pillow with tears. |
Satanic,
though so small, |
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Cored
with compressed iniquity, |
| My
days were a torment, my nights were a |
My
curse upon thee fall. |
| fraud, |
Hence,
to Gehenna, take thy flight, |
| Insomnia
sought me to slay, |
By
maledictions driven, |
| I'd
have joined the majority under the sod, |
Avaunt
thee, fiend ! that taints the earth, |
| But
a dream charmed my troubles away. |
And
blasts my hopes to heaven. |
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| Twas
a beautiful dream, and it came to me |
What
horrent demon moulded thee |
| thrice, |
Of
inconsistencies ? |
| My
soul was suffused with delight, |
Love
and affliction, weal and woe, |
| And
the messenger sent, was uncommonly |
Fears
and felicities, |
| nice, |
Transports
and torments alternate, |
| She
was robed in diaphanous white. |
Hope
and despair acurst ; |
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A
gay balloon, at mourn, thour soar'st, |
| And
these were the words of her message to |
At
eve, a bladder burst. |
| me: |
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| They
were written in letters of flame, |
The
frolic gods that run the world, |
| "There
is nothing like killing a caddie, you |
Chuckled
with impish glee ; |
| see, |
"Ho,
ho," they cried, and flung thee forth |
| When
you find you are off your game; |
To
crown man's misery. |
| A
sacrificed caddie's the medicine, oh ho, |
On
golfer's wives they poured their spleen, |
| When
you find you are off your game." |
Desertion's
deep they know ; |
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Widows
and spinsters laughs-to see |
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Them
quaff the cup of woe. |
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Shrined
in your little sphere, you hold |
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Prodigious
powers of evil ; |
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The
dumb you render eloquent, |
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The
good invoke the devil. |
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You
educate the meanest minds, |
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To
add, subtract, divide; |
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And
leagued with rabbits dissolute, |
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Within
their holes you hide. |
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Ever
you shun the narrow way, |
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Betwixt
the hole and tee ; |
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Invisibly,
to thee I'm tied, |
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Oh,
shall I ne'er be free ? |
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All,
all in vain, my sighs, my moans, |
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My
tears in torrents flow ; |
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What
profits it my prayers, my groans, |
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You
will not let me go ! |
