"If I know the Gorbaliers, they are sure to dip their ears
In the very inmost tiers of the drink.
Let them win the outer court, and hold it for their sport,
Since their time is rather short,
I should think!"
With a loud triumphant yell, as the heavy drawbridge fell,
Rushed the Gorbaliers pell-mell, wild as Druids;
Mad with thirst for human gore, how they threatened and
they swore,
Till they stumbled on the floor,
O'er the fluids.
Down their weapons then they threw, and each savage
soldier drew
From his belt an iron screw, in his fist;
George of Gorbals found it vain their excitement to re-
strain,
And indeed was rather fain
To assist.
With a beaker in his hand, in the midst he took his stand,
And silence did command, all below—
"Ho! Launcelot the bold, ere thy lips are icy cold,
In the centre of thy hold,
Pledge me now!
"Art surly, brother mine? In this cup of rosy wine,
I drink to the decline of thy race!
Thy proud career is done, thy sand is nearly run,
Never more shall setting sun
Gild thy face!
"The pilgrim, in amaze, shall see a goodly blaze,
Ere the pallid morning rays flicker up;
And perchance he may espy certain corpses swinging
high!
What, brother! art thou dry?
Fill my cup!"
Dumb as death stood Launcelot, as though he heard him
not,
But his bosom Provan smote, and he swore:
And Sir Roderick Dalgleish remarked aside to Neish,
"Never sure did thirsty fish
Swallow more!
"Thirty casks are nearly done, yet the revel's scarce
begun;
It were knightly sport and fun to strike in!"
"Nay, tarry till they come," quoth Neish, "unto the
rum—
They are working at the mum,
And the gin!"
Then straight there did appear to each gallant Gorbalier
Twenty castles dancing near, all around;
The solid earth did shake, and the stones beneath them
quake,
And sinuous as a snake
Moved the ground.
Why and wherefore they had come, seemed intricate to
some,
But all agreed the rum was divine.
And they looked with bitter scorn on their leader highly
born,
Who preferred to fill his horn
Up with wine!