Blair Collection > Celtic magazine > Volume 5

346 THE CELTIC MAGAZINE.
OH Poets have sung, and old chronicles tell,
What champions ventured, what champions fell ;
The son of great Loda was conqueror still_,
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill.
The story of the Whistle is curious : — A Dane came to Scotland with
the Princess of Denmark in the reign of James VI., and challenged all the
topers of the north to a contest of the bottle. A whistle of ebony was to
be the prize of the day ; this he had blown in triumph at the Courts of
Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, and "Warsaw, and was only prevented
from doing the same at the Scottish Court by Sir Eobert Laurie, the
laird of MaxweUton, who, after a contest of three days and three nights,
left the Dane under the table, "and blew on the whistle his requiem
shrill."
On Friday, the 16th October 1790, the whistle was again contended
for in the same element by the descendants of the great Sir Eobert: —
Three joyous good fellows, with hearts clear of flaw ;
Craigdarroch so famous for wit, worth, and law ;
And trusty Glenriddel, so skilled in old coins.
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-read in old wines.
And that their deeds might not be inglorious, they chose an inspired
chronicler to attend them : —
A bard was selected to witness the fray,
And tell future ages the feats ot the day ;
A bard who detested all sadness and spleen.
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been.
This is one of the most dramatic of lyrics ; all is in character, and in
the strictest propriety of sentiment and language. The contest took place
at Friar's Carse, a place of great natui*al beauty ; but the combatants
closed the shutters against the loveliness of the landscape, and lighting
the dining-room, ordered the corks of the claret to be drawn. They had
already swallowed six bottles apiece, and day was breaking when Craig-
darroch, decanting a quart of wine, dismissed it at a draught. Upon this
Glenriddel, recollecting that he was an elder, and a ruling one in the kirk,
and feeling he was waging an ungodly strife, meekly withdrew from the
contest, and
Left the foul business to folks less divine.
Though Sir Robert could not well contend both with fate and quart
bumpers, he fought to the last, and fell not till the sun rose. Not so
Craigdarroch and not so Burns ; the former sounded a note of triumph on
his whistle : —
Next up rose our bard like a prophet in drink,
Craigdarroch thou'lt soar when creation shall sink !
But if thou would flourish immortal in rhyme.
Come, one bottle more — and have at the sublime !
The poet drank bottle for bottle in the arduoiis contest, and when the
day dawned seemed much disposed to take up the conqueror. The
whistle, it is said, is still kept as a great curiosity in the family of Craig-
darroch.
We conclude this article by quoting the Poet's " Higldand Welcome,"
which he composed improm})tu, when called upon for a toast at table