Thou running foremost of the throng,
The fire of striving in thy breast,
Shalt win, although the race be long,
And ever be the best.
And wilt thou question of the prize?
`Tis not of silver or of gold,
Nor in applauses manifold,
But hidden in the heart it lies:
To know that but for thee not one
Had run the race or sought the quest,
To know that thou hast ever done
And ever been the best.
Murray was never a great athlete: his ambition did not lead him to
desire a place in the Scottish Fifteen at Football. Probably he was
more likely to be found matched against `The Man from Inversnaid.'
IMITATED FROM WORDSWORTH
He brought a team from Inversnaid
To play our Third Fifteen,
A man whom none of us had played
And very few had seen.
He weighed not less than eighteen stone,
And to a practised eye
He seemed as little fit to run
As he was fit to fly.
He looked so clumsy and so slow,
And made so little fuss;
But he got in behind--and oh,
The difference to us!
He was never a golfer; one of his best light pieces, published later
in the Saturday Review, dealt in kindly ridicule of The City of
Golf.
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