Song: The Links O' Innerleven

Sung at the Autumn Meeting of the Innerleven Golfing Club, 1841.

Tune—Dainty Davie.

Wha wad be free from doctor's bills—
From trash o' powders and o' pills—
Will find a cure for a' his ills
On the Links o' Innerleven.
For there whar lassies bleach their claes,
And bairnies toddle doun the braes,
The merry Golfer daily plays
On the Links o' Innerleven.

Sae hie ye to the Golfer's ha',
And there, arranged alang the wa',
O' presses ye will see a raw,
At the Club o' Innerleven.
There from some friendly box ye'll draw
A club and second-handed ba',—
A Gourlay pill's the best o' a'
For health at Innerleven.

And though the Golfer's sport be keen,
Yet oft upon the putting-green
He'll rest to gaze upon the scene
That lies round Innerleven—
To trace the steamboat's crumpled way
Through Largo's loch-like silvery bay,
Or to hear the hushing breakers play
On the beach o' Innerleven.

When in the evening of my days,
I wish I could a cottage raise
Beneath the snugly-sheltering braes
O'erhanging Innerleven.
There in the plot before the door
I'd raise my vegetable store,
Or tug for supper at the oar
In the bay near Innerleven.

But daily on thy matchless ground
I and my caddie would be found,
Describing still another round
On thy Links, sweet Innerleven!
Would I care then for fortune's rubs,
And a' their Kirk and State hubbubs,
While I could stump and swing my clubs
On the Links o' Innerleven?

And when the e'ening grey sat doun,
I'd cast aside my tacket[11] shoon,
And crack o' putter, cleek, and spoon,[12]
Wi' a friend at Innerleven.
Syne o'er a glass o' Cameron Brig,[13]
A nightcap we would doucely swig,
Laughing at Conservative and Whig,
By the Links o' Innerleven.

[11] Golfers wear tacks in their shoes that they may stand firm when they strike.

[12][12] Names for different kinds of clubs.

[13] The name of a noted distillery.