A Draughts-player's Lilt.

Otago Witness, Issue 2181, 19 December 1895, Page 33

A Draughts-player's Lilt.

Air —" Laird o' Cockpen." Hey, Wyllie, my lad, just awake frae youv dreami Behold there's an odiyin Furtuue's faiua stream, Here's Mac an' mys^l', twa braw sturdy chtels, Wad lick ye though backed by a legion 0' dei's. The corner that's single we'll show you is bad ; The ane that is double, don't trust it my lad, An' crouse in the centre destruction abi -ci, Thus doon ye maun totter whatever betides. Hicht wao is my heart thus to gar ye come doon, An' pluck frae thy templeß the champion's braw croon; Though a doughtier cbiel it shall never adorn : 'Midst thy conquests, remembtr there still is a thorn. When the hands 0' the hero grow nerveless aa' auld, ° The mud-larks he conquered grow fearless an' bauld, Your foes shall rejoice when age roon 1 ye shall blnw, Au' the smaller their soul, frien', the louder they'll craw. At nicht. wi' a frien', the bottle and brod. We mindna the ills that we met on life's roid; An' lang may we live wantiu 1 honour or fame, Ere we seek them, my frien', on the wreck o' thy name. —From " Heather Blossoms," by H. Macpherson, Inverness.