Scotch Rapsody

"Scotch Rapsody"

'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 in 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? -- 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
(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!

-by Edith Sitwell