The Scarlet Gown: Being Verses by a St. Andrews Man

Transcribed from the 1891 Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton & Co. edition by David Price, ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
ST. ANDREWS, N.B.: A. M. HOLDEN LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON & CO. 1891
‘ . . . the little town, The drifting surf, the wintry year, The college of the scarlet gown, St. Andrews by the Northern Sea, That is a haunted town to me.’ Andrew Lang.
St. Andrews, but for its Town Council and its School Board, is a quiet place; and the University, except during the progress of a Rectorial Election, is peaceable and well-conducted. I hope these verses may so far reflect St. Andrews life as to be found pleasant, if not over exciting.
I am able to reprint the verses on ‘The City of Golf’ by the special courtesy of the Editor of the Saturday Review .
A few explanatory notes are given at the end of the book.
R. F. MURRAY.
The voice that sings across the night Of long forgotten days and things, Is there an ear to hear aright The voice that sings?
It is as when a curfew rings Melodious in the dying light, A sound that flies on pulsing wings.
And faded eyes that once were bright Brim over, as to life it brings The echo of a dead delight, The voice that sings.
In vain you fervently extol, In vain you puff, your cutty clay. A twelvemonth smoked and black as coal, ’Tis redolent of rank decay And bones of monks long passed away— A fragrance I do not admire; And so I hold my nose and say, Give me a finely seasoned briar.