Musa Burschicosa :: :: University of Virginia Library

Now all the world is touring gone,
My friends are all in Paris,
A fool is he, and I am none,
At home who longer tarries.
I'll give a furlough to my books,
Let no man count it treason,
And fish for health and ruddy looks
At Oban in the season!
For Oban is a dainty place;
In distant or in nigh lands,
No town delights the tourist race
Like Oban in the Highlands!

'Tis there the steam-boats drive about—
My tongue is no deceiver—
Out and in, and in and out,
Like shuttle of the weaver;

'Tis now to Mull, and now to Skye,
And now to mouth of Clyde, sir,
Like magic steed, with snorting speed,
They paw the purple tide, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

At Oban all the world you see,
The doctor and the scholar,
The poor man with his penny fee,
The rich man with his dollar;
The father with his hopeful boy,
The mother with her daughters,
All flock to plash about with joy
Like ducks in Oban waters.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

At Oban on the pier, how gay,
How motley, and how grand, sir,
With tourists all in quaint array,
About to leave the land, sir!
The priest who steals short holiday,
The prince who goes incog., sir,
The schoolboy with his dreams of play,
The sportsman with his dog, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

The dark Italian and the Greek,
The light-haired Northern nation,
In Oban all unite to seek
Their summer recreation;
The Yankee with his long clay face,
The rubicund port-drinker,
The Frenchman with his nimble pace,
The broad-browed German thinker.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Praise be to noble Hutcheson,
Who made the Celtic seas, sir,
A highway smooth for any man
To travel on at ease, sir!
Like moving towns his vessels go,
And no one ever dreams now
Of staggering with a face of woe,
So steadily he steams now.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

At Oban, on a breezy morn,
The merry bell invites you,
And on the waters you are borne
Where every turn delights you:

The wooded hill, the bright green isle,
The gleaming loch before you,
The mighty ocean's boundless smile,
The mountain nodding o'er you.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

The huge rock foreland harsh and grey,
That fronts the broad Atlantic,
The rainbow that bestrides the spray
From waterfall romantic;
The floating gull, the flying skiff,
That cuts the water hoary,
The ivied castle on the cliff,
Where hangs the grim old story.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

And now your way you steer to Skye,
Where savage green-scarred mountains
The surly western blast defy,
And nurse the roaring fountains;
And there, if happy chance befall
That clouds from rain refrain, sir,
You'll see the rock-built Fairy hall
Which mortals call Quirain, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or, if it better suits your plan,
You'll see the wondrous dome, sir,
At Staffa, without help from man,
God reared from out the foam, sir.
Then land upon the sacred beach,
Where, like a shining star, sir,
The saint from Erin came to preach,
When gospel truth was far, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

And if you know to use your eyes,
And are not stiff and mulish,
You'll spend a day in paradise
At lovely Ballachulish.
Then up the stream you'll wend your way
With thoughtful foot, and slow, sir,
Where white mists veil the bloody tale
Of dreary, dark Glencoe, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or you may go where thousands flock
To hear the hollow rumbling
Of waters through the rifted rock,
With foamy fury tumbling,

At Foyers, by the long Loch Ness;
Or you may make your orison
To Nature in her birchen dress,
At lovely Invermorrison.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or wander where the high Ben Chee
Bewails her sons and daughters,
Transported far by harsh decree
Across the western waters.
Macdonnells now are named no more,
Where once they loved to tarry,
And on the far Canadian shore
They find a new Glengarry.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or you may roam where sharp green Bens
Hem in the narrow valley
At lone Shiel Inn, and from the Glens
The foaming torrents sally;
Then take your wand in cunning hand,
And lash the brown flood yarely,
And bring the big fish to the land
When you have hooked him fairly.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or in Glenelg your foot may trace
The forts where Celtic freemen
Sought refuge from the plundering race
Of fierce Norwegian seamen;
Into their hollow walls they crept
Like conies under cover,
Then forth to light they blithely stept
When the black storm was over.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

Or you at Arisaig may land,
Where all the kilted clanship
For royal Charlie made a stand
With flaming partisanship;
Where gallant chiefs and ladies gay,
With glory held brief parley,
And grandly diced their lives away,
To win a smile from Charlie.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.

But why should I sit moping here,
With cobwebs in my head, sir,
When I might stand on Oban pier
With brightness round me shed, sir?

I'll shut my Greek and Latin shop,
And for a month and more, sir,
About the Celtic seas I'll hop
From Oban's bonny shore, sir.
For what my song declares is true,
And wise men think it treason
To pass a year without a view
Of Oban in the season.