Ursus

Canto the First
Song of a Wanderer

Bear with me now as I recount
The story of a bet
It’s such a tale of derring-don’t
Once heard ~ you won’t forget!

It is a tale: a grizzly one
A boy now lost to fame
One night a mighty wager won
But failed to give his name.

He came from somewhere else, it seems
Into the chill-wind North
We know he came to chase his dreams
But not whence he set forth.

We know for sure his road was tough
By foot and train and car
And once arrived; he’d had enough
And stepped into a bar.

The patrons gathered round him. They
thought him a foreign sort.
The leader of the barflies says:
"I know! Let's have some sport."

And turning to the new-come lad:
"Hello, my wandering friend,
A tiring journey you have had
But this is not the end.

For if you want to count as one
Amongst our honoured swarm
There are three tasks, without a gun,
We need you to perform."

"Without a gun?!" the boy replied
"Why levy such a rule?
In doing this, has someone died?"
The barfly left his stool:

"No! No-one died ~ no, not at all!"
He moved with simple grace
The barfly leader, stout and tall,
with smileless, guileless face

Bore down upon the traveller
with guileless, smileless eyes:
"But bar room bet's a leveller
And he who gets the prize

Can drink with us, with me and mine
Carouse and laugh and sob
From opening till closing time
If he but does this job."

"So what's the wager? What's the bet?"
Our weary wanderer asked
"What triple trial will you set
with which I'm to be tasked?"

The barfly leader thanked his luck
"This fool is dim, unwitting
And if he is a kind of duck
that kind is used to sitting!"

These thoughts he kept unto himself
But spoke, once more, aloud
“There is a drink upon that shelf
Kept secret from the crowd.”

He told the landlord to break out
The hardest of the grog
It was a most peculiar stout
Which rendered all agog!

There is a tale of evil brew
Attached this bottle fair
A tale I shall not tell to you
For it would curl your hair!

Suffice to say, the grog was strong;
Had killed too many men
And now, to move the tale along
We’ll go back to the Den

Of Bacchus and Terpsichore
Of brawls, carousing, death,
Of nights unbridled, raucous, free!!
Perhaps you should draw breath:

For once you’ve heard the rest of it
You’ll wonder if it’s wise
To ever take a drink or bet
No matter what the prize.

This tale is strange and rather long
So I’d be grateful if you’d
watch out for five more Ursus Songs
where it will be continued…