The shelly pit is cleared at one fell blow,
A stroke to be remembered in your dreams!
But here the Eden on your vision gleams,
Lovely, but treach'rous in its solemn flow.
The hole is perched aloft, too near the tide,
The green is small, and broken is the ground
Which doth that little charmed space surround!
Go not too far, and go not to a side;
Take the short spoon to do your second stroke;
Sandy entreats you will the wind take heed on,
For, oh, it would a very saint provoke,
If you should let your ball plump in the Eden.
You do your best, but who can fate control?
So here against you is another hole.
R. C. Jr.
VIII. THE SHORT HOLE.
Brief but not easy is the next adventure;
Legend avers it has been done in one,
Though such long steals are now but rarely done—
In three 'twere well that you the hole should enter.
Strangely original is this bit of ground,
For, while at hand the smooth and smiling green,
One bunker wide and bushy yawns between,
Where Tyro's gutta is too often found.
Nervous your rival strikes and heels his ball—
From that whin-bush at six he'll scarce extract it:
Yours, by no blunder this time counteracted,
Is with the grass-club lofted over all.
There goes a hole in your side—how you hug it!
Much as th' Australian digger does a nugget.
R. C. Jr.
IX. THE END HOLE.
The end, but not the end—the distance-post
That halves the game—a serious point to thee,
For if one more thou losest, 'twill be three:
Yet even in that case, think not all is lost.
Men four behind have been, on the return,
So favoured by Olympus, or by care,
That all their terrors vanished into air,
And caddies cried them dormy at the burn!
I could quote proverbs, did I speak at random:
Full many a broken ship comes into port,
Full many a cause is gained at last resort,
But Golf impresses most, Nil desperandum.
Turn, then, my son, with two against, nor dread
To gain the winning-post with one ahead.
R. C. Jr.
