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Blue Mountain Rhymes, Grave and Gay
by R. Ogilvie Rodger,
published by Quin & Rodger, Tapanui 1914, p. 8
Bonnie Rankleburn
Come all you boys that's fond of sport,
I'll tell you where to go;
It is the very best resort,
And you the road I'll show.
Go down the flat till near Mainholm,
Then up Glenburnie turn,
And, on the rise, with both your eyes
Behold the Rankleburn.
There you'll get trout both long and large,
They're running by the score;
From one foot up to five, by George!
I'm told that some are more.
It much depends upon the man
Who spins the fisher yarn,
How long they are - one yard or four -
In Bonnie Rankleburn.
Then there are eels, by Jove! They're eels!
Myself I'll vouch for them;
I've seen them hunting shags and teals,
And swallowing off the same.
And once in Tap there lived a chap
Of a poetic turn,
He went to swim - we ne'er saw him
Again in Rankleburn.
And, when you're wearied with the trout,
Then go and get your gun,
And to the bush we will set out,
Where we can get some fun.
They're pigeons blue in the Black Cleugh,
And pigs that sometimes turn
And make you scout like deer that rout
On Bonnie Rankleburn.
Oh, Rankleburn, dear Rankleburn,
Thy fame's gone far and wide;
I heard about the Rankleburn,
Before I left the Clyde.
There Isaac Waltons, old and young,
Said Bert! The truth now learn,
And of the trout's what they made out,
We'll come to Rankleburn.
But little, little, did I think,
Such crowds would run and ride;
You see them by the river's brink,
All singing "Farewell Clyde;
You're but small beer to what I've here;
With trout the waters churn."
And, till I die, my rod I'll ply
In Bonnie Rankleburn.
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