Scotch rhapsody

Do not take a bath in Jordan

Gordon,

On the holy Sabbath, on the peaceful day!

Said the huntsman,

playing on his old bagpipe,

Boring to death the pheasant

and the snipe -

Boring the ptarmigan

and grouse for fun -

Boring them worse

than a nine-bore gun.

Till the flaxen leaves where the

prunes are ripe,

Heard the tartan wind a-droning

through the pipe,

And they, heard Macpherson say:

"Where do the waves go; What hotels

Hide their bustles

and their gay ombrelles?

And would there be room for me? -

Would there be room,

Would there be room for me?"

There is a hotel at Ostend

Cold as the wind, without an end,

Haunted by ghostly poor relations

Of Bostonian conversations

(Like bagpipes rotting

through the walls.)

And there the pearl-ropes fall like shawls

With a noise like marine waterfalls.

And "Another little drink

wouldn't do us any harm"

Pierces through the sabbatical calm.

And that is the place for me!

So do not take a bath in Jordan,

Gordon,

On the holy Sabbath on the

peaceful day-

Or you'll never go to heaven,

Gordon Macpherson,

And speaking purely as a private person

That is the place - that is the place -

that is the place for me!