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diff --git a/18009.txt b/18009.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..58cb607 --- /dev/null +++ b/18009.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4104 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sagittulae, Random Verses, by E. W. Bowling + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sagittulae, Random Verses + +Author: E. W. Bowling + +Release Date: March 17, 2006 [EBook #18009] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAGITTULAE, RANDOM VERSES *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +SAGITTULAE, + +RANDOM VERSES + + + +BY + +E. W. BOWLING, + + + RECTOR OF HOUGHTON CONQUEST, AND + LATE FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. + + + Si dulce est desipere in loco, + ignosce nostro, blande lector, ioco. + + + + +LONDON: + +LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO., + +PATERNOSTER ROW. + +CAMBRIDGE: W. METCALFE & SON, TRINITY STREET. + +1885. + + + + +PREFACE. + +A very few of the following pieces appeared in "Punch," during the +Consulship of Plancus. The rest have been written by me during the +past twenty-five years, under the signature of "Arculus," for "The +Eagle," the Magazine of St. John's College, Cambridge. I hope their +reappearance will be welcome to a few of my old College friends. + +The general reader will probably think that some apology is due to him +from me for publishing verses of so crude and trivial a character. + +I can only say that the smallest of bows should sometimes be unstrung, +and that if my little arrows are flimsy and light they will, I trust, +wound no one. + +E. W. BOWLING. + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + THE BATTLE OF THE PONS TRIUM TROJANORUM + JULIA + CLIO FATIDICA + ATHLETES AND AESTHESIS + A VISION + A MAY TERM MEMORY + THE MAY TERM + A TRAGEDY OF THE 19TH CENTURY + "NUNC TE BACCHE CANAM" + A ROMANCE IN REAL (ACADEMIC) LIFE + THE SENIOR FELLOW + A VALENTINE + A CURATE'S COMPLAINT + TEMPORA MUTANTUR + SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS + TURGIDUS ALPINUS + THE ALPINE CLUB MAN + THE MODERN CLIMBER + THE CLIMBER'S DREAM + THE BEACONSFIELD ALPHABET + THE GLADSTONE ALPHABET + SOLITUDE IN SEPTEMBER + MEDITATIONS OF A CLASSICAL MAN ON A MATHEMATICAL + PAPER DURING A LATE FELLOWSHIP EXAMINATION + THE LADY MARGARET 5TH BOAT (May, 1863) + IN CAMUM + FATHER CAMUS + IN MEMORIAM G. A. P. + GRANTA VICTRIX + THE GREAT BOAT RACE + LINES BY A CAMBRIDGE ANCIENT MARINER + THE SORROWS OF FATHER CAM + THE COMING BOAT RACE + A BALLAD + AN APRIL SQUALL + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--I. + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--II. + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--III. + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--IV. + + +[Transcriber's note: The poems "In Camus" and "Father Camus" appear to +be the same poem, the former in Latin; the latter in English. In the +original book, they are printed on facing pairs of pages, the left-hand +page Latin, the right-hand page English. In this e-text, each poem is +together, and are in the same order as shown in the Table of Contents.] + + + + +THE BATTLE OF THE PONS TRIUM TROJANORUM: + +_A lay sung in the Temple of Minerva Girtanensis_. + + +[NOTE.--On Thursday, February 24th, 1881, three Graces were submitted +to the Senate of the University of Cambridge, confirming the Report of +The Syndicate appointed June 3rd, 1880, to consider four memorials +relating to the Higher Education of Women. The first two Graces were +passed by majorities of 398 and 258 against 32 and 26 respectively; the +third was unopposed. The allusions in the following lay will probably +be understood only by those who reside in Cambridge; but it may be +stated that Professor Kennedy, Professor Fawcett, and Sir C. Dilke gave +their votes and influence in favour of The Graces, while Dr. +Guillemard, Mr. Wace, Mr. Potts, Professor Lumby, Dr. Perowne, Mr. +Horne and Mr. Hamblin Smith voted against The Graces.] + + + I + + Aemilia Girtonensis, + By the Nine Muses swore + That the great house of Girton + Should suffer wrong no more. + By the Muses Nine she swore it, + And named a voting day, + And bade her learned ladies write, + And summon to the impending fight + Their masters grave and gay. + + + II. + + East and West and South and North + The learned ladies wrote, + And town and gown and country + Have read the martial note. + Shame on the Cambridge Senator + Who dares to lag behind, + When light-blue ladies call him + To join the march of mind. + + + III. + + But by the yellow Camus + Was tumult and affright: + Straightway to Pater Varius + The Trojans take their flight-- + 'O Varius, Father Varius, + 'To whom the Trojans pray, + 'The ladies are upon us! + 'We look to thee this day!' + + + IV. + + There be thirty chosen Fellows, + The wisest of the land, + Who hard by Pater Varius + To bar all progress stand: + Evening and morn the Thirty + On the Three Graces sit, + Traced from the left by fingers deft + In the great Press of Pitt. + + + V. + + And with one voice the Thirty + Have uttered their decree-- + 'Go forth, go forth, great Varius, + 'Oppose the Graces Three! + 'The enemy already + 'Are quartered in the town, + 'And if they once the Tripos gain, + 'What hope to save the gown?' + + + VI. + + 'To Hiz, [1] the town of Offa, + 'Their classes first they led, + 'Then onward to Girtonia + 'And Nunamantium sped: + 'And now a mighty army + 'Of young and beardless girls + 'Beneath our very citadel + 'A banner proud unfurls.' + + + VII. + + Then out spake Father Varius, + No craven heart was his: + 'To Pollmen and to Wranglers + 'Death comes but once, I wis. + 'And how can man live better, + 'Or die with more renown, + 'Than fighting against Progress + 'For the rights of cap and gown?' + + + VIII. + + 'I, with two more to help me, + 'Will face yon Graces Three; + 'Will guard the Holy Tripod, + 'And the M.A. Degree. + 'We know that by obstruction + 'Three may a thousand foil. + 'Now who will stand on either hand + 'To guard our Trojan soil?' + + + IX. + + Then Parvue Mariensis, + Of Bearded Jove the Priest, + Spake out 'of Trojan warriors + 'I am, perhaps, the least, + 'Yet will I stand at thy right hand.' + Cried Pottius--'I likewise + 'At thy left side will stem the tide + 'Of myriad flashing eyes. + + + X. + + Meanwhile the Ladies' Army, + Right glorious to behold, + Came clad in silks and satins bright, + With seal-skins and with furs bedight, + And gems and rings of gold. + Four hundred warriors shouted + 'Placet' with fiendish glee, + As that fair host with fairy feet, + And smiles unutterably sweet, + Came tripping each towards her seat, + Where stood the dauntless Three. + + + XI. + + The Three stood calm and silent, + And frowned upon their foes, + As a great shout of laughter + From the four hundred rose: + And forth three chiefs came spurring + Before their ladies gay, + They faced the Three, they scowled and scoffed, + Their gowns they donned, their caps they doffed, + Then sped them to the fray. + + + XII. + + Generalis Post-Magister, + Lord of the Letter-bags; + And Dilkius Radicalis, + Who ne'er in combat lags; + And Graecus Professorius, + Beloved of fair Sabrine, + From the grey Elms--beneath whose shade + A hospitable banquet laid, + Had heroes e'en of cowards made.-- + Brought 'placets' thirty-nine. + + + XIII + + Stout Varius hurled 'non placet' + At Post-Magister's head: + At the mere glance of Pottius + Fierce Radicalis fled: + And Parvus Mariensis-- + So they who heard him tell-- + Uttered but one false quantity, + And Professorius fell! + + * * * * + + XIV. + + But fiercer still and fiercer + Fresh foemen sought the fray. + And fainter still and fainter + Stout Varius stood at bay. + 'O that this too, too solid + Flesh would dissolve,' he sighed; + Yet still he stood undaunted, + And still the foe defied. + + + XV. + + Then Pollia Nunamensis, + A student sweetly fair, + Famed for her smiles and dimples + Blue eyes and golden hair, + Of Cupid's arrows seized a pair, + One in each eye she took: + Cupid's best bow with all her might + She pulled--each arrow winged its flight, + And straightway reason, sense, and sight + Stout Varius forsook. + + + XVI. + + 'He falls'--the Placets thundered, + And filled the yawning gap; + In vain his trusty comrades + Avenge their chief's mishap-- + His last great fight is done. + 'They charge! Brave Pottius prostrate lies, + No Rider helps him to arise: + They charge! Fierce Mariensis dies. + The Bridge, the Bridge is won! + + + XVII. + + In vain did Bencornutus + Flash lightnings from his beard; + In vain Fabrorum Maximus + His massive form upreared; + And Lumbius Revisorius-- + Diviner potent he!-- + And Peronatus robed in state, + And fine old Fossilis sedate, + All vainly stemmed the tide of fate-- + Triumphed the Graces Three! + + + XVIII. + + But when in future ages + Women have won their rights, + And sweet girl-undergraduates + Read through the lamp-lit nights; + When some, now unborn, Pollia + Her head with science crams; + When the girls make Greek Iambics, + And the boys black-currant jams; + + + XIX. + + When the goodman's shuttle merrily + Goes flashing through the loom, + And the good wife reads her Plato + In her own sequestered room; + With weeping and with laughter + Still shall the tale be told, + How pretty Pollia won the Bridge + In the brave days of old. + + (1881). + +[1] The ancient name of Hitchin. + + + + + JULIA. + + An Ode. + +[NOTE.--The following imitation of Cowper's _Boadicea_ was written in +1858; most of its predictions have since been fulfilled.] + + When the Cambridge flower-show ended, + And the flowers and guests were gone, + And the evening shades descended, + Roamed a man forlorn alone. + + Sage beside the River slow + Sat the Don renowned for lore + And in accents soft and low + To the elms his love did pour. + + "Julia, if my learned eyes + Gaze upon thy matchless face: + 'Tis because I feel there lies + Magic in thy lovely grace. + + "I will marry! write that threat + In the ink I daily waste: + Marry--pay each College debt-- + College Ale no more will taste. + + "Granta, far and wide renowned, + Frowns upon the married state; + Soon her pride shall kiss the ground + Hark! Reform is at the gate. + + "Other Fellows shall arise, + Proud to own a husband's name: + Proud to own their infants' cries-- + Harmony the path to fame. + + "Then the progeny that springs + From our ancient College walls, + Armed with trumpets, noisy things, + Shall astound us by their squalls. + + "Sounds no wrangler yet has heard, + Our posterity shall fright: + E'en 'the Eagle,' [1] valiant bird, + Shall betake itself to flight." + + Such the thoughts that through him whirl'd + Pensively reclining there: + Smiling, as his fingers curled + His divinely-glowing hair. + + He, with all a lover's pride, + Felt his manly bosom glow, + Sought the Bull, besought the Bride, + All she said was "No, Sir, No!" + + Julia, pitiless as cold, + Lo the vengeance due from Heaven! + College Living he doth hold; + Single bliss to thee is given. + +[1] "The Eagle" is the well-known Magazine of St. John's College, +Cambridge. + + + + +CLIO FATIDICA. + +[NOTE.--The following lines were written to celebrate the 'bump' by +which the Lady Margaret 1st Boat became "Head of the River" in 1871. +On the next evening Professor Selwyn delighted the eyes and the hearts +of all Johnians by sculling down the river to salute the Head of the +River. The title of _psychroloutes_ [*] needs no explanation to those +who know the Selwyns, who are no less renowned as swimmers than as +oarsmen.] + + + "Tell me, Muse, what colour floateth round + the River's ancient head: + Is it white and black, or white and blue, is it + scarlet, blue, or red?" + Thus I prayed, and Clio answered, "Why, I thought + the whole world knew + That the red of Margareta had deposed the flag + of blue! + Babes unborn shall sing in rapture how, desiring + Close [1] affinity, + Goldie, rowing nearly fifty, overlapped, and bumped + First Trinity. + I myself was at the Willows, and beheld the victory won; + Saw the victor's final effort, and the deed of daring done. + I myself took off my bonnet, and forgetful of my years, + Patting Goldie on the shoulder, gave him three + times thrice three cheers. + Ne'er, oh! ne'er, shall be forgotten the excitement + of that night; + Aged Dons, deem'd stony-hearted, wept with + rapture at the sight: + E'en the Master of a College, as he saw them overlap, + Shouted 'Well rowed, Lady Margaret,' and took + off his College cap; + And a Doctor of Divinity, in his Academic garb, + Sang a solemn song of triumph, as he lashed his + gallant barb; + Strong men swooned, and small boys whistled, + sympathetic hounds did yell + Lovely maidens smiled their sweetest on the men + who'd rowed so well: + Goldie, Hibbert, Lang, and Bonsey, Sawyer, + Burnside, Harris, Brooke; + And the pride of knighthood, Bayard, who the + right course ne'er forsook, + But the sight which most rejoiced me was the + well-known form aquatic + Of a scholar famed for boating and for witticisms Attic. + Proud, I ween, was Lady Margaret her Professor + there to view, + As with words of wit and wisdom he regaled the + conquering crew. + Proud, I ween, were Cam and Granta, as they + saw once more afloat + Their Etonian _psychroloutes_ [*], in his "Funny" + little boat. + Much, I ween, their watery spirits did within + their heart's rejoice, + As they listened to the music of that deep and + mellow voice. + Ah! 'tis well, to sing of boating, when before + my swimming eyes + Baleful visions of the future, woes unutterable rise. + All our palmy days are over; for the fairer, feebler sex + Has determined every College in succession to annex; + And before another decade has elapsed, our eyes shall see + College Tutors wearing thimbles o'er convivial cups of tea. + For 'golden-haired girl-graduates,' with 'Dowagers + for Dons,' + Shall tyrannize in Trinity, and domineer in 'John's.' + Then, instead of May Term races in the science grand + of rowing, + There'll be constant competition in the subtle art + of sewing. + Soon the modern undergraduate, with a feather in her hat, + Shall parade the streets of Cambridge, followed + by her faithful cat. + From Parker's Piece and Former's shall be banished + bat and wicket, + For crotchet work and knitting shall supplant the + game of cricket, + Save whene'er a match at croquet once a Term is + played at Girton + By the Members of "the College" and the Moralists + of Merton. + Then no tandems shall be driven, and no more + athletic sports, + Save fancy balls and dances, shall appear in + "Field" reports: + And instead of 'pots' and 'pewters' to promote + the art of walking, + We shall have a silver medal for proficiency in talking. + Wranglers fair shall daily wrangle, who no + Mathematics ken; + Lady preachers fill the pulpit, lady critics + wield the pen. + O ye gallant, gallant heroes who the River's + head have won, + Little know ye what an era of confusion hath begun. + I myself shall flee from Cambridge, sick at heart + and sorely vexed, + Ere I see my University disestablished and unsexed.'" + Thus she spake, and I endeavoured to console the + weeping Muse: + "Dry your tears, beloved Clio, drive away this + fit of blues. + Cease your soul with gloomy fancies and forebodings + to perplex; + You are doing gross injustice to the merits of your sex. + Know you not that things are changing, that the + Earth regains her youth, + Since Philosophers have brought to light the one + primeval truth? + Long have all things been misgoverned by the + foolish race of men, + Who've monopolized sword, sceptre, mitre, ermine, + spade, and pen, + All the failures, all the follies, that the weary + world bewails, + Have arisen, trust me, simply from the government of males. + But a brighter age is dawning; in the circling of the years + Lordly woman sees before her new 'ambitions,' new careers; + For the world's regeneration instantaneously began, + When Philosophers discovered the inferior claims of man. + With new honours Alma Mater shall eternally be crowned, + When the Ladies march in triumph, and her learned + seat surround; + Then a nobler race of students, and of athletes + shall arise, + Students fair who thirst for knowledge, athletes + true who 'pots' despise. + It is well for thee, sweet Clio, at their harmless + tastes to sneer, + At their love of cats and croquet, their antipathy + to beer; + But as soon as every College has surrendered to the fair, + Life up here will be perfection, we shall breathe + ambrosial air; + For the problem of past ages will be solved, and + we shall find + The superior powers of woman, both in body and in mind. + She shall teach us how to study, how to ride, + and run, and row; + How to box and play at cricket; how the heavy + weight to throw; + How to shoot the trembling pigeon; how the wily rat + to slay; + How at football and at racquets; how at whist and + chess to play; + How to drive the rapid tandem; how to jump, and how + to walk; + (For young women, trust me, Clio, can do something + more than talk) + How to climb the Alps in summer; how in winter time + to skate; + How to hold the deadly rifle; how a yacht to navigate; + How to make the winning hazard with an effort sure + and strong; + How to play the maddening comet, how to sing a comic song; + How to 'utilize' Professors; how to purify the Cam; + How to brew a sherry cobbler, and to make red-currant jam. + All the arts which now we practise in a desultory way + Shall be taught us to perfection, when we own the + Ladies' sway." + Thus I spake, and strove by speaking to assuage + sweet Clio's fears; + But she shook her head in sorrow, and departed drowned + in tears. + + (1874). + + +[1] Mr. J. B. Close, a well-known oarsman, stroke of the First Trinity +1st Boat. + +[*] [Transcriber's note: The word "psychroloutes" appears in the +original book in Greek. It has been transliterated from the Greek +letters psi, upsilon, chi, rho, omicron, lambda, omicron, upsilon, tau, +eta, and sigma.] + + + + + ATHLETES AND AESTHESIS. + + _An Idyll of the Cam_. + + + It was an Undergraduate, his years were scarce nineteen; + Discretion's years and wisdom's teeth he plainly ne'er had seen; + For his step was light and jaunty, and around him wide and far + He puffed the fragrant odours of a casual cigar. + + It was a sweet girl-graduate, her years were thirty two; + Her brow was intellectual, her whole appearance blue; + Her dress was mediaeval, and, as if by way of charm, + Six volumes strapped together she was bearing 'neath her arm. + + 'My beautiful Aesthesis,' the young man rashly cried, + 'I am the young Athletes, of Trinity the pride; + I have large estates in Ireland, which ere long + will pay me rent; + I have rooms in Piccadilly, and a farm (unlet) in Kent. + + 'My achievements thou hast heard of, how I chalk the wily cue, + Pull an oar, and wield the willow, and have won my double-blue; + How I ride, and play lawn tennis; how I make a claret cup; + Own the sweetest of bull terriers, and a grand St. Bernard pup. + + 'But believe me, since I've seen thee, all these + pleasures are a bore; + Life has now one only object fit to love and to adore; + Long in silence have I worshipped, long in secret have I sighed: + Tell me, beautiful Aesthesis, wilt thou be my blooming bride?' + + 'Sir Student,' quoth the maiden, 'you are really quite intense, + And I ever of this honour shall retain the highest sense; + But forgive me, if I venture'--faintly blushing thus she spoke-- + 'Is not true love inconsistent with tobacco's mundane smoke?' + + 'Perish all that comes between us,' cried Athletes, as he threw + His weed full fifty paces in the stream of Camus blue: + The burning weed encountered the cold river with the hiss + Which ensues when fire and water, wranglers old, are forced to kiss. + + 'Sir Student, much I thank thee,' said the Lady, 'thou hast shown + The fragrance of a lily, or of petals freshly blown; + But before to thee I listen there are questions not a few + Which demand from thee an answer satisfactory and true.' + + 'Fire away,' exclaimed Athletes, 'I will do the best I can; + But remember, gentle Maiden, that I'm not a reading man; + So your humble servant begs you, put your questions pretty plain, + For my Tutors all assure me I'm not overstocked with brain. + + 'Sir Student' cried the Lady, and her glance was stern and high, + Hast thou felt the soft vibration of a summer sunset sky? + Art thou soulful? Art thou tuneful? Cans't thou + weep o'er nature's woes? + Art thou redolent of Ruskin? Dost thou love a yellow rose? + + 'Hast thou bathed in emanations from the canvass of Burne Jones? + As thou gazest at a Whistler, doth it whistle wistful tones? + Art thou sadly sympathetic with a symphony in blue? + Tell me, tell me, gentle Student, art thou really quite tootoo?' + + ''Pon my word,' replied the Student, 'this is coming + it too strong: + I can sketch a bit at Lecture, and can sing a comic song; + But my head with all these subjects 'tis impossible to cram; + So, my beautiful Aesthesis, you must take me as I am.' + + 'Wilt thou come into my parlour,' sweetly blushing + asked the Maid, + 'To my little bower in Girton, where a table shall be laid? + Pen and paper I will bring thee, and whatever thou shalt ask, + That is lawful, shall be granted for performance of thy task.' + + Lightly leapt the young Athletes from his seat beside the Cam: + 'This is tempting me, by Jingo, to submit to an Exam! + So it's time, my learned Lady, you and I should say good-bye'-- + And he stood with indignation and wild terror in his eye. + + They parted, and Athletes had not left her very far, + Ere again he puffed the odours of a casual cigar; + But he oftentimes lamented, as to manhood's years he grew, + 'What a pity such a stunner was so spoilt by being blue!' + + And Aesthesis, as she watched him with his swinging manly stride, + The 'double-blue' Athletes, of Trinity the pride, + Found it difficult entirely to eradicate love's dart, + As she listened to thy Lecture, Slade Professor of Fine Art. + + And Ruskin, and the warblings of Whistler and Burne Jones, + And symphonies in colours, and sunset's silent tones, + Move her not as once they moved her, for she weeps in sorrow sore, + 'O had I loved Athletes less, or he loved culture more!' + + (1882). + + + + + A VISION. + + As hard at work I trimmed the midnight lamp, + Yfilling of mine head with classic lore, + Mine hands firm clasped upon my temples damp, + Methought I heard a tapping at the door; + 'Come in,' I cried, with most unearthly rore, + Fearing a horrid Dun or Don to see, + Or Tomkins, that unmitigated bore, + Whom I love not, but who alas! loves me, + And cometh oft unbid and drinketh of my tea. + + 'Come in,' I rored; when suddenly there rose + A magick form before my dazzled eyes: + 'Or do I wake,' I asked myself 'or doze'? + Or hath an angel come in mortal guise'? + So wondered I; but nothing mote surmise; + Only I gazed upon that lovely face, + In reverence yblent with mute surprise: + Sure never yet was seen such wondrous grace, + Since Adam first began to run his earthlie race. + + Her hands were folded on her bosom meek; + Her sweet blue eyes were lifted t'ward the skie; + Her lips were parted, yet she did not speak; + Only at times she sighed, or seemed to sigh: + In all her 'haviour was there nought of shy; + Yet well I wis no Son of Earth would dare, + To look with love upon that lofty eye; + For in her beauty there was somewhat rare, + A something that repell'd an ordinary stare. + + Then did she straight a snowycloth disclose + Of samite, which she placed upon a chair: + Then, smiling like a freshly-budding rose, + She gazed upon me with a witching air, + As mote a Cynic anchorite ensnare. + Eftsoons, as though her thoughts she could not smother, + She hasted thus her mission to declare:-- + 'Please, these is your clean things I've brought instead of brother, + 'And if you'll pay the bill you'll much oblige my mother.' + + (1860). + + + + + A MAY TERM MEMORY. + + She wore a sweet pink bonnet, + The sweetest ever known: + And as I gazed upon it, + My heart was not my own. + For--I know not why or wherefore-- + A pink bonnet put on well, + Tho' few other things I care for, + Acts upon me like a spell. + + 'Twas at the May Term Races + That first I met her eye: + Amid a thousand Graces + No form with her's could vie. + On Grassy's sward enamelled + She reigned fair Beauty's Queen; + And every heart entrammell'd + With the charms of sweet eighteen. + + Once more I saw that Bonnet-- + 'Twas on the King's Parade-- + Once more I gazed upon it, + And silent homage paid. + She knew not I was gazing; + She passed unheeding by; + While I, in trance amazing, + Stood staring at the sky. + + The May Term now is over: + That Bonnet has 'gone down'; + And I'm myself a rover, + Far from my Cap and Gown. + But I dread the Long Vacation, + And its work by night and day, + After all the dissipation + Energetic of the May. + + For _x_ and _y_ will vanish, + When that Bonnet I recall; + And a vision fair will banish, + Newton, Euclid, and Snowball. + And a gleam of tresses golden, + And of eyes divinely blue, + Will interfere with Holden, + And my Verse and Prose imbue. + + * * * * + + These sweet girl graduate beauties, + With their bonnets and their roses, + Will mar ere long the duties + Which Granta wise imposes. + Who, when such eyes are shining, + Can quell his heart's sensations; + Or turn without repining + To Square Root and Equations? + + And when conspicuous my name + By absence shall appear; + When I have lost all hopes of fame, + Which once I held so dear; + When 'plucked' I seek a vain relief + In plaintive dirge or sonnet; + Thou wilt have caused that bitter grief, + Thou beautiful Pink Bonnet! + + (1866). + + + + + THE MAY TERM. + + Mille venit variis florum Dea nexa coronis: + Scena ioci morem liberioris habet. + + OV. FAST. IV. 945, 946. + + + I wish that the May Term were over, + That its wearisome pleasures were o'er, + And I were reclining in clover + On the downs by a wave-beaten shore: + For fathers and mothers by dozens, + And sisters, a host without end, + Are bringing up numberless cousins, + Who have each a particular friend. + + I'm not yet confirmed in misogyny-- + They are all very well in their way-- + But my heart is as hard as mahogany, + When I think of the ladies in May. + I shudder at each railway-whistle, + Like a very much victimized lamb; + For I know that the carriages bristle + With ladies invading the Cam. + + Last week, as in due preparation + For reading I sported my door, + With surprise and no small indignation, + I picked up this note on the floor-- + 'Dear E. we are coming to see you, + 'So get us some lunch if you can; + 'We shall take you to Grassy, as Jehu-- + 'Your affectionate friend, Mary Ann.' + + Affectionate friend! I'm disgusted + With proofs of affection like these, + I'm growing 'old, tawny and crusted,' + Tho' my nature is easy to please. + An Englishman's home is his castle, + So I think that my friend Mary Ann + Should respect, tho' she deem him her vassal, + The rooms of a reading young man. + + In the days of our fathers how pleasant + The May Term up here must have been! + No chignons distracting were present, + And scarcely a bonnet was seen. + As the boats paddled round Grassy Corner + No ladies examined the crews, + Or exclaimed with the voice of the scorner-- + 'Look, _how_ Mr. Arculus screws!! + + But now there are ladies in College, + There are ladies in Chapels and Halls; + No doubt 'tis a pure love of knowledge + That brings them within our old walls; + For they talk about Goldie's 'beginning'; + Know the meaning of 'finish' and 'scratch,' + And will bet even gloves on our winning + The Boat Race, Athletics, or Match. + + There's nothing but music and dancing, + Bands playing on each College green; + And bright eyes are merrily glancing + Where nothing but books should be seen. + They tell of a grave Dean a fable, + That reproving an idle young man + He faltered, for on his own table + He detected in horror--a fan! + + Through Libraries, Kitchens, Museums, + These Prussian-like Amazons rush, + Over manuscripts, joints, mausoleums, + With equal intensity gush. + Then making their due 'requisition,' + From 'the lions' awhile they refrain, + And repose in the perfect fruition + Of ices, cold fowl, and champagne. + + Mr. Editor, answer my question-- + When, O when, shall this tyranny cease? + Shall the process of mental digestion + Ne'er find from the enemy peace? + Above all if my name you should guess, Sir, + Keep it quite to yourself, if you can; + For I dread, more than words can express, Sir, + My affectionate friend Mary Ann. + + (1871). + + + + + A TRAGEDY OF THE 19TH CENTURY. + + "Et potis es nigrum vitio praefigere Delta."--PERSIUS. + + + It was a young Examiner, scarce thirty were his years, + His name our University loves, honours, and reveres: + He pondered o'er some papers, and a tear stood in his eye; + He split his quill upon the desk, and raised a bitter cry-- + 'O why has Fortune struck me down with this unearthly blow? + "Why doom'd me to examine in my lov'd one's Little-go? + "O Love and Duty, sisters twain, in diverse ways ye pull; + "I dare not 'pass,' I scarce can 'pluck:' my cup of woe + is full. + "O that I ever should have lived this dismal day to see"! + He knit his brow, and nerved his hand, and wrote the fatal D. + + * * * * * * + + It was a lovely maiden down in Hertford's lovely shire; + Before her on a reading-desk, lay many a well-filled quire: + The lamp of genius lit her eyes; her years were twenty-two; + Her brow was high, her cheek was pale, + her bearing somewhat blue: + She pondered o'er a folio, and laboured to divine + The mysteries of "_x_" and "_y_," and many a magic sign: + Yet now and then she raised her eye, and ceased + awhile to ponder, + And seem'd as though inclined to allow her thoughts + elsewhere to wander, + A step was heard, she closed her book; her heart + beat high and fast, + As through the court and up the stairs a manly figure passed. + One moment more, the opening door disclosed unto her view + Her own beloved Examiner, her friend and lover true. + "Tell me, my own Rixator, is it First or Second Class?" + His firm frame shook, he scarce could speak, + he only sigh'd "Alas!" + She gazed upon him with an air serenely calm and proud-- + "Nay, tell me all, I fear it not"--he murmured + sadly "Ploughed." + She clasped her hands, she closed her eyes as fell + the word of doom; + Full five times round in silence did she pace her little room; + Then calmly sat before her books, and sigh'd "Rixator dear, + "Give me the list of subjects to be studied for next year." + + "My own brave Mathematica, my pupil and my pride, + "My persevering Student whom I destine for my bride; + "Love struggled hard with Duty, while the lover marked you B; + "In the end the stern Examiner prevailed and gave you D. + "Mine was the hand that dealt the blow! Alas, against my will + "I plucked you in Arithmetic--and can'st thou love me still?" + She gazed upon him and her eye was full of love and pride-- + "Nay these are but the trials, Love, by which + true love is tried. + + "I never knew your value true, until you marked me D: + "D stands for dear, and dear to me you evermore shall be." + + * * * * * * + + A year had passed, and she had passed, for morning, + noon, and night, + Her Euclid and her Barnard-Smith had been her sole delight. + Soon "Baccalaurea Artium" was added to her name, + And Hitchin's groves, and Granta's courts resounded + with her fame; + And when Rixator hurried down one day by the express, + And asked if she would have him, I believe she answered "Yes." + For now they live together, and a wiser, happier pair, + More learned and more loving, can scarce be found elsewhere; + And they teach their children Euclid, and + their babies all can speak + French and German in their cradles, and at five + can write good Greek; + And he is a Professor and she Professoress, + And they never cease the Little-go in gratitude to bless; + When love could not the Lover from the path of duty sway, + And no amount of plucking could his Student fair dismay. + + + MORAL. + + Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, if in love you would + have luck, + In wooing, as in warfare, trust in nothing else than pluck. + + (1871). + + + + + "NUNC TE BACCHE CANAM." + + 'Tis done! Henceforth nor joy nor woe + Can make or mar my fate; + I gaze around, above, below, + And all is desolate. + Go, bid the shattered pine to bloom; + The mourner to be merry; + But bid no ray to cheer the tomb + In which my hopes I bury! + + I never thought the world was fair; + That 'Truth must reign victorious'; + I knew that Honesty was rare; + Wealth only meritorious. + I knew that Women _might_ deceive, + And _sometimes_ cared for money; + That Lovers who in Love believe + Find gall as well as honey. + + I knew that "wondrous Classic lore" + Meant something most pedantic; + That Mathematics were a bore, + And Morals un-romantic. + I knew my own beloved light-blue + Might much improve their rowing: + In fact, I knew a thing or two + Decidedly worth knowing. + + But thou!--Fool, fool, I thought that thou + At least wert something glorious; + I saw thy polished ivory brow, + And could not feel censorious. + I thought I saw thee smile--but that + Was all imagination; + Upon the garden seat I sat, + And gazed in adoration. + + I plucked a newly-budding rose, + Our lips then met together; + We spoke not--but a lover knows + How lips two lives can tether. + We parted! I believed thee true; + I asked for no love-token; + But now thy form no more I view-- + My Pipe, my Pipe, thou'rt broken! + + Broken!--and when the Sun's warm rays + Illumine hill and heather, + I think of all the pleasant days + We might have had together. + When Lucifer's phosphoric beam + Shines e'er the Lake's dim water, + O then, my Beautiful, I dream + Of thee, the salt sea's daughter. + + O why did Death thy beauty snatch + And leave me lone and blighted, + Before the Hymeneal match + Our young loves had united? + I knew thou wert not made of clay, + I loved thee with devotion, + Soft emanation of the spray! + Bright, foam-born child of Ocean! + + One night I saw an unknown star, + Methought it gently nodded; + I saw, or seemed to see, afar + Thy spirit disembodied. + Cleansed from the stain of smoke and oil, + My tears it bade me wipe, + And there, relieved from earthly toil, + I saw my Meerschaum pipe. + + Men offer me the noisome weed; + But nought can calm my sorrow; + Nor joy nor misery I heed; + I care not for the morrow. + Pipeless and friendless, tempest-tost + I fade, I faint, I languish; + He only who has loved and lost + Can measure all my anguish. + + + + + A ROMANCE IN REAL (ACADEMIC) LIFE. + + By the waters of Cam, as the shades were descending, + A Fellow sat moaning his desolate lot; + From his sad eyes were flowing salt rivulets, blending + Their tide with the river which heeded them not-- + + "O! why did I leave,"--thus he wearily muttered-- + "The silent repose, and the shade of my books, + Where the voice of a woman no sound ever uttered, + And I ne'er felt the magic of feminine looks? + + "Then I rose when the east with Aurora was ruddy; + Took a plunge in my Pliny; collated a play; + No breakfast I ate, for I found in each study + A collation which lasted me all through the day. + + "I know not what temptress first came to my garden + Of Eden, and lured me stern wisdom to leave; + But I rather believe that a sweet 'Dolly Varden' + Came into my rooms on a soft summer eve. + + "From that hour to this, dresses silken and satin + Seem to rustle around me, like wings in a dream; + And eyes of bright blue, as I lecture in Latin, + Fill my head with ideas quite remote from my theme. + + "My life was once lonely, and almost ascetic; + But now, if I venture to walk in the street, + With her books in her hand, some fair Peripatetic + Is sure to address me with whisperings sweet. + + "O, dear DR. OXYTONE, tell me the meaning + Of this terrible phrase, which I cannot make out; + And what is the Latin for "reaping" and "gleaning?" + Is "podagra" the Greek, or the Latin for "gout?" + + "'And what do you mean by "paroemiac bases?" + Did the ladies in Athens wear heels very high? + _Do_ give me the rules for Greek accents, and Crasis? + Did CORNELIA drive out to dine in a fly? + + "'When were bonnets first worn? was the toga becoming? + Were woman's rights duly respected in Rome? + What tune was that horrible Emperor strumming, + When all was on fire--was it _Home, Sweet Home_?" + + "Such questions as these (sweetest questions!) assail me, + When I walk on our Trumpington-Road-Rotten-Row; + The voice of the charmer ne'er ceases to hail me + (Is it _wisely_ she charmeth?) wherever I go. + + "Locked up in my rooms, I sigh wearily '_ohe!_' + But cards, notes, and letters pour in by each post; + From PHYLLIS, EUPHROSYNE, PHIDYLE, CHLOE, + AMARYLLIS and JANE, and a numberless host. + + "And now, I must take either poison or blue-pill, + For things cannot last very long as they are." + He ceased, as the exquisite form of a pupil + Dawned upon him, serene as a beautiful star. + + Much of syntax and "accidence moving" our Fellow + Discoursed as they sat by the murmuring stream, + Till, as young _Desdemona_ was charmed by _Othello_, + She listened, as one who is dreaming a dream. + + * * * * * * + Now he, who was once a confirmed woman-hater, + Sees faces around him far dearer than books; + And no longer a Coelebs, but husband and "pater," + Lauds in Latin and Greek MRS. OXYTONE'S looks. + + (1871) + + + + + THE SENIOR FELLOW. + + When the shades of eve descending + Throw o'er cloistered courts their gloom, + Dimly with the twilight blending + Memories long forgotten loom. + From the bright fire's falling embers + Faces smile that smiled of yore; + Till my heart again remembers + Hopes and thoughts that live no more. + + Then again does manhood's vigour + Nerve my arm with iron strength; + As of old when trained with rigour + We beat Oxford by a length. + Once again the willow wielding + Do I urge the flying ball; + Till "lost ball" the men who're fielding + Hot and weary faintly call. + + Then I think of hours of study, + Study silent as the tomb, + Till the rays of morning ruddy + Shone within my lonely room. + Once again my heart is burning + With ambition's restless glow; + And long hidden founts of learning + O'er my thirsty spirit flow. + + Soon fresh scenes my fancy people, + For I see a wooded hill; + See above the well-known steeple; + Hear below the well-known rill; + Joyous sounds each gale is bringing, + Wafted on its fragrant breath; + Hark! I hear young voices singing, + Voices silent now in death. + + Brothers, sisters, loved and loving, + Hold me in their fond embrace; + Half forgiving, half reproving, + I can see my Mother's face, + Mid a night of raven tresses, + Through the gloom two sad eyes shine; + And my hand a soft hand presses, + And a heart beats close to mine. + + In mine ears a voice is ringing, + Sweeter far than earthly strain, + Heavenly consolation bringing + From the land that knows no pain, + And when slowly from me stealing + Fades that vision into air, + Every pulse beats with the feeling + That a Spirit loved was there. + + + + + A VALENTINE. + + O how shall I write a love-ditty + To my Alice on Valentine's day? + How win the affection or pity + Of a being so lively and gay? + For I'm an unpicturesque creature, + Fond of pipes and port wine and a doze + Without a respectable feature, + With a squint and a very queer nose. + + But she is a being seraphic, + Full of fun, full of frolic and mirth; + Who can talk in a manner most graphic + Every possible language on earth. + When she's roaming in regions Italic, + You would think her a fair Florentine; + She speaks German like Schiller; and Gallic + Better far than Rousseau or Racine. + + She sings--sweeter far than a cymbal + (A sound which I never have heard); + She plays--and her fingers most nimble + Make music more soft than a bird. + She speaks--'tis like melody stealing + O'er the Mediterranean sea; + She smiles--I am instantly kneeling + On each gouty and corpulent knee. + + 'Tis night! the pale moon shines in heaven + (Where else it should shine I don't know), + And like fire-flies the Pleiades seven + Are winking at mortals below: + Let them wink, if they like it, for ever, + My heart they will ne'er lead astray; + Nor the soft silken memories sever, + Which bind me to Alice De Grey. + + If I roam thro' the dim Coliseum, + Her fairy form follows me there; + If I list to the solemn "Te Deum," + Her voice seems to join in the prayer. + "Sweet spirit" I seem to remember, + O would she were near me to hum it; + As I heard her in sunny September, + On the Rigi's aerial summit! + + O Alice where art thou? No answer + Comes to cheer my disconsolate heart; + Perhaps she has married a lancer, + Or a bishop, or baronet smart; + Perhaps, as the Belle of the ball-room, + She is dancing, nor thinking of me; + Or riding in front of a small groom; + Or tossed in a tempest at sea; + + Or listening to sweet Donizetti, + In Venice, or Rome, or La Scala; + Or walking alone on a jetty; + Or buttering bread in a parlour; + Perhaps, at our next merry meeting, + She will find me dull, married, and gray; + So I'll send her this juvenile greeting + On the Eve of St. Valentine's day. + + + + + A CURATE'S COMPLAINT. + + Where are they all departed, + The loved ones of my youth, + Those emblems white of purity, + Sweet innocence and truth? + When day-light drives the darkness, + When evening melts to night, + When noon-day suns burn brightest, + They come not to my sight. + + I miss their pure embraces + Around my neck and throat, + The thousand winning graces + Whereon I used to dote. + I know I may find markets + Where love is bought and sold, + But no such love can equal + The tender ties of old. + + My gentle washer-woman, + I know that you are true; + The least shade of suspicion + Can never fall on you. + Then fear me not, as fiercely + I fix on thee stern eyes, + And ask in terms emphatic, + "Where are my lost white ties?" + + Each year I buy a dozen, + Yet scarce a year is gone, + Ere, looking in my ward-robe, + I find that I have none. + I don't believe in magic, + I know that you are true, + Yet say, my washer-woman, + What can those white ties do? + + Does each with her own collar + To regions far elope, + Regions by starch untainted, + And innocent of soap? + I know not; but in future + I'll buy no more white ties, + But wear the stiff 'all-rounder' + Of Ritualistic guise. + + + + + + TEMPORA MUTANTUR. + + There once was a time when I revelled in + rhyme, with Valentines deluged my cousins, + + Translated Tibullus and half of Catullus, and + poems produced by the dozens. + + Now my tale is nigh told, for my blood's running + cold, all my laurels lie yellow and faded. + + "We have come to the boss;" [1] like a weary old + hoss, poor Pegasus limps, and is jaded. + + And yet Mr. Editor, like a stern creditor, duns + me for this or that article, + + Though he very well knows that of Verse and of + prose I am stripped to the very last particle. + + What shall I write of? What subject indite of? + All my _vis viva_ is failing; + + _Emeritus sum_; Mons Parnassus is dumb, and my + prayers to the Nine unavailing.-- + + Thus in vain have I often attempted to soften + the hard heart of Mr. Arenae; + + Like a sop, I must throw him some sort of a + poem, in spite of unwilling Camenae. + + * * * * * * + + No longer I roam in my Johnian home, no more + in the "wilderness" wander; + + And absence we know, for the Poet says so, + makes the heart of the lover grow fonder. + + I pine for the Cam, like a runaway lamb that + misses his woolly-backed mother; + + I can find no relief for my passionate grief, nor + my groanings disconsolate smother. + + Say, how are you all in our old College Hall? + Are the dinners more costly, or plainer? + + How are Lecturers, Tutors, Tobacco and Pewters, + and how is my friend, the Complainer? + + Are the pupils of Merton, and students of Girton, + increasing in numbers, or fewer? + + Are they pretty, or plain? Humble-minded or + vain? Are they paler, or pinker, or bluer? + + How's the party of stormers, our so-called + Reformers? Are Moral and Natural Sciences + + Improving men's Minds? Who the money now + finds, for Museums, and all their appliances? + + Is Philosophy thriving, or sound sense reviving? + Is high-table talk metaphysic? + + Will dark blue or light have the best of the + fight, at Putney and Mortlake and Chiswick? + + I often importune the favour of Fortune, that no + misadventure may cross us, + + And Rhodes once again on the watery plain, + may prove an aquatic Colossus. + + [N.B. since I wrote I must add a short note, + by means of new fangled devices, + + Our "Three" was unseated, and we were + defeated, and robbed of our laurels by Isis.]-- + + O oft do I dream of the muddy old stream, the + Father of wisdom and knowledge, + + Where ages ago I delighted to row for the honour + and praise of my College. + + I feel every muscle engaged in the tussle, I hear + the wild shouting and screaming; + + And as we return I can see from the stern Lady + Margaret's red banner streaming; + + Till I wake with a start, such as nightmares impart, + and find myself rapidly gliding, + + And striving in vain at my ease to remain on a + seat that is constantly sliding. + + Institutions are changed, men and manners + deranged, new systems of rowing and reading, + + And writing and thinking, and eating and drinking, + each other are quickly succeeding. + + Who knows to what end these new notions will + tend? No doubt all the world is progressing, + + For Kenealy and Odgers, those wide-awake dodgers, + the wrongs of mankind are redressing. + + No doubt we shall soon take a trip to the moon, + if we need recreation or frolic; + + Or fly to the stars in the New Pullman Cars, + when we find the dull earth melancholic. + + We shall know the delights of enjoying our + _rights_ without any _duties_ to vex us; + + We shall know the unknown; the Philosopher's + stone shall be ours, and no problems perplex us; + + For all shall be patent, no mysteries latent; + man's mind by intuitive notion, + + The circle shall square, _x_ and _y_ shall declare, + and discover perpetual motion. + + Meanwhile till the Earth has accomplished its + birth, mid visions of imminent glory, + + I prefer to remain, as aforetime, a plain and + bloated and bigoted Tory. + + * * * * * * + Dear Mr. Editor, lately my creditor, now fully + paid and my debtor, + + I wonder what you will be minded to do, when + you get this rhapsodical letter. + + If you listen to me (I shall charge you no fee + for advice) do not keep or return it; + + To its merits be kind, to its faults rather blind; + in a word, Mr. Editor, burn it! + + (1875). + + +[1] '_iam fervenimus usque ad umbilicos_.' Martial iv. 91. + + + + + SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS + + (OR, WHAT SHOULD A MAIDEN BE?) + + + [NOTE.--The following lines were written by request, + to be read at a Meeting of the "Girls' Friendly Society."] + + + What should a maiden be? Pure as the rill, + Ere it has left its first home in the hill; + Thinking no evil, suspecting no guile, + Cherishing nought that can harm or defile. + + What should a maiden be? Honest and true, + Giving to God and to neighbour their due; + Modest and merciful, simple and neat, + Clad in the white robe of innocence sweet. + + What should a maiden be? She should be loath + Lightly to give or receive loving troth; + But when her faith is once plighted, till breath + Leave her, her love should be stronger than death. + + What should a maiden be? Merry, whene'er + Merriment comes with a natural air; + But let not mirth be an every-day guest, + Quietness sits on a maiden the best. + + Like a fair lily, sequestered and meek, + She should be sought for, not others should seek; + But, when the wild winds of trouble arise, + She should be calm and courageous and wise, + + What should her words be? Her words should be few, + Honest and genuine, tender and true; + Words that overflow from a pure heart within, + Guiltless of folly, untainted by sin. + + What should her dress be? Not gaudy and vain, + But unaffectedly pretty and plain; + She should remember these few simple words-- + "Fine feathers flourish on foolish young birds." + + Where should a maiden be? Home is the place + Which a fair maid is most fitted to grace; + There should she turn, like a bird to the nest, + There should a maiden be, blessing and blest. + + There should she dwell as the handmaid of God, + And if He bid her 'pass under the rod,' + Let her each murmur repining suppress, + Knowing He chasteneth that He may bless. + + But if earth's blessings each day He renew, + Let her give glory where glory is due; + Deem every blessing a gift from above, + Given, and designed for a purpose of love, + + What will her future be? If she become + Matron and mother, may God bless her home! + God to the matron all blessings will give, + If as God's maiden the young maiden live. + + What will her future be? If she should die, + Lightly the earth on her ashes will lie; + Softly her body will sleep 'neath the sod, + While her pure spirit is safe with her God. + + + + + TURGIDUS ALPINUS. + + My miserable countrymen, whose wont is once a-year + To lounge in watering-places, disagreeable and dear; + Who on pigmy Cambrian mountains, and in Scotch or Irish bogs + Imbibe incessant whisky, and inhale incessant fogs: + Ye know not with what transports the mad Alpine Clubman gushes, + When with rope and axe and knapsack to the realms of snow he rushes. + O can I e'er the hour forget--a voice within cries "Never!"-- + From British beef and sherry _dear_ which my young heart did sever? + My limbs were cased in flannel light, my frame in Norfolk jacket, + As jauntily I stepped upon the impatient Calais packet. + "Dark lowered the tempest overhead," the waters wildly rolled, + Wildly the moon sailed thro' the clouds, "and it grew wondrous cold;" + The good ship cleft the darkness, like an iron wedge, I trow, + As the steward whispered kindly, "you had better go below"-- + Enough! I've viewed with dauntless eye the cattle's bloody tide; + Thy horse, proud Duke of Manchester, I've seen straight at me ride; + I've braved chance ram-rods from my friends, blank cartridges from foes; + The jeers of fair spectators, when I fell upon my nose; + I've laughed at toils and troubles, as a British Volunteer; + But the thought of that nigh's misery still makes me pale with fear. + Sweet the repose which cometh as the due reward of toil; + Sweet to the sea-worn traveller the French or British soil; + But a railway-carriage full of men, who smoke and drink and spit, + Who disgust you by their manners, and oppress you with their wit; + A carriage garlic-scented, full of uproar and of heat, + To a sleepy, jaded Briton is decidedly not sweet. + Then welcome, welcome Paris, peerless city of delights! + Welcome, Boulevards, fields Elysian, brilliant days and magic nights! + "Vive la gloire, et vive Napoleon! vive l'Empire (c'est la paix); + "Vive la France, the land of beauty! vive la Rue St. Honore!" + Wildly shouting thus in triumph, I arrived at my Hotel-- + The exterior was palatial, and the dinner pretty well: + O'er the rest, ye muses draw a veil! 'Twas the Exhibition year-- + And everything was nasty, and proportionately dear, + Why should ye sing how much I paid for one poor pint of claret-- + The horrors of my bedroom in a flea-frequented garret-- + Its non-Sabaean odours--Liliputian devices + For washing in a tea-cup--all at "Exhibition prices?" + To the mountains, to the mountains, to their snowy peaks I fly! + For their pure, primeval freshness, for their solitude I sigh! + Past old Dijon and its Buffet, past fair Macon and its wine, + Thro' the lime-stone cliffs, of Jura, past Mont Cenis' wondrous line; + Till at 10 A.M., "Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face," + And I take outside the diligence for Chamonix my place. + Still my fond imagination views, in memory's mirror clear, + Purple rock, and snowy mountain, pine-wood black, and glassy mere; + Foaming torrents hoarsely raving; tinkling cowbells in the glade; + Meadows green, and maidens mowing in the pleasant twilight shade: + The crimson crown of sun-set on Mont Blanc's majestic head, + And each lesser peak beneath him pale and ghastly as the dead: + Eagle-nest-like mountain chalets, where the tourist for some sous + Can imbibe milk by the bucket, and on Nature's grandeur muse: + Mont Anvert, the "Pas" called "mauvais," which I thought + was "pas mauvais," + Where, in spite of all my boasting, I encountered some delay; + For, much to my amazement, at the steepest part I met + A matron who weighed twenty stones, and I think must be there yet: + The stupendous Col du Geant, with its chaos of seracs; + The procession into Cormayeur, with lantern, rope, and axe: + The sweet girl with golden ringlets--her dear name was Mary Ann-- + Whom I helped to climb the Jardin, and who cut me at Lausanne: + On these, the charms of Chamonix, sweeter far than words can tell, + At the witching hour of twilight doth my memory love to dwell. + Ye, who ne'er have known the rapture, the unutterable bliss + Of Savoy's sequestered valleys, and the mountains of La Suisse; + The mosquitos of Martigny; the confusion of Sierre; + The dirt of Visp or Minister, and the odours everywhere: + Ye, who ne'er from Monte Rosa have surveyed Italia's plain, + Till you wonder if you ever will get safely down again; + Ye, who ne'er have stood on tip-toe on a 'knife-like snow-arete,' + Nor have started avalanches by the pressure of your weight; + Ye, who ne'er have _packed_ your weary limbs in sleeping bags at night, + Some few inches from a berg-schrund, 'neath + the pale moon's freezing light: + Who have ne'er stood on the snow-fields, when the sun in glory rose, + Nor returned again at sun-set with parched lips and skinless nose; + Ye, who love not masked crevasses, falling stones, and blistered feet, + Sudden changes from Siberia's cold to equatorial heat; + Ye, who love not the extortions of Padrone, Driver, Guide; + Ye, who love not o'er the Gemmi on a kicking mule to ride; + You miserable creatures, who will never know true bliss, + You're not the men for Chamonix; avoid, avoid La Suisse! + + + + + THE ALPINE CLUB MAN. + + "Up the high Alps, perspiring madman, steam, + To please the school-boys, and become a theme." + _Cf. Juv. Sat. x, v. 106._ + + + We who know not the charms of a glass below Zero, + Come list to the lay of an Alpine Club hero; + For no mortal below, contradict it who can, + Lives a life half so blest as the Alpine Club man. + + When men of low tastes snore serenely in bed, + He is up and abroad with a nose blue and red; + While the lark, who would peacefully sleep in her nest, + Wakes and blesses the stranger who murders her rest. + + Now blowing their fingers, with frost-bitten toes, + The joyous procession exultingly goes; + Above them the glaciers spectral are shining, + But onward they march undismay'd, unrepining. + + Now the glacier blue they approach with blue noses, + When a yawning crevasse further progress opposes; + Already their troubles begin--here's the rub! + So they halt, and _nem. con._ call aloud for their grub. + + From the fountain of pleasure will bitterness spring, + Yet why should the Muse aught but happiness sing? + No! let me the terrible anguish conceal + Of the hero whose guide had forgotten the veal! [1] + + Now "all full inside" on the ice they embark: + The moon has gone down, and the morning is dark, + Dreary drizzles the rain, O, deny it who can, + There's no one so blest as the Alpine Club man! + + But why should I dwell on their labours at length? + Why sing of their eyelids' astonishing strength? + How they ride up "aretes" with slow, steady advance, + One leg over Italy, one over France. + + Now the summit is gained, the reward of their toil: + So they sit down contentedly water to boil: + Eat and drink, stamp their feet, and keep warm if they can-- + O who is so blest as the Alpine Club man? + + Now their lips and their hands are of wonderful hue, + And skinless their noses, that 'erst were so blue: + And they find to their cost that high regions agree + With that patient explorer and climber--the flea. + + Then they slide down again in a manner not cozy, + (Descensus baud facilis est Montis Rosae) + Now spread on all fours, on their backs now descending, + Till broad-cloth and bellows call loudly for mending. + + Now harnessed together like so many--horses, + By bridges of snow they cross awful crevasses; + So frail are these bridges that they who go o'er 'em + Indulge in a perilous "Pons Asinorum." + + Lastly weary and Jaded, with hunger opprest, + In a hut they chew goat's flesh, and court gentle rest; + But entomological hosts have conspired + To drive sleep from their eyelids, with clambering tired. + + O thou, who with banner of strangest device + Hast never yet stood on a summit of ice, + Where "lifeless but beautiful" nature doth show + An unvaried expanse of rock, rain, ice, and snow. + + Perchance thou may'st ask what avails all their toil? + What avails it on mountain-tops water to boil? + What avails it to leave their snug beds in the dark? + Do they go for a view? do they go for a lark? + + Know, presumptuous wretch, 'tis not science they prize, + The lark, and the view ('tis all mist) they despise; + Like the wise king of France with his ten thousand men, + They go up their mountain--to come down again. + + +[1] Cf. Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers, 1st Series, p. 296. + + + + + THE MODERN CLIMBER. + + Year after year, as Summer suns come round, + Upon the Calais packet am I found: + Thence to Geneva hurried by express, + I halt for breakfast, bathe, and change my dress. + My well-worn knapsack to my back I strap; + My Alpine rope I neatly round me wrap; + Then, axe in hand, the diligence disdaining, + I walk to Chamonix, by way of training. + Arrived at Coutlet's Inn by eventide, + I interview my porter and my guide: + My guide, that Mentor who has dragg'd full oft + These aching, shaking, quaking limbs aloft; + Braved falling stones, cut steps on ice-slopes steep, + That _I_ the glory of _his_ deeds might reap. + My porter, who with uncomplaining back + O'er passes, peaks, and glaciers bears my pack: + Tho' now the good man looks a trifle sadder, + When I suggest the ill-omened name of "ladder." + O'er many a pipe our heads we put together; + Our first enquiry is of course "the weather." + With buoyant hearts the star-lit heaven we view; + Then our next point is "What are we to '_do_'?" + My pipe I pocket, and with head up-tossed + My listening followers I thus accost:-- + "Mont Blanc, we know, is stupid, stale, and slow, + A tiresome tramp o'er lumps of lifeless snow. + The Col du Geant is a trifle worse; + The Jardin's fit for babies with their nurse: + The Aiguille Verte is more the sort of thing, + But time has robbed it of its former sting; + Alone the Dent du Geant and the Dru [1] + Remain 'undone,' and therefore fit to '_do_.' + Remember how I love, my comrades tried, + To linger on some rocky mountain's side, + "Where I can hear the crash of falling stones, + Threatening destruction to the tourist's bones! + No cadence falls so sweetly on my ear + As stones discharged from precipices sheer: + No sight is half so soothing to my nerves + As boulders bounding in eccentric curves. + If falling stones sufficient be not found, + Lead me where avalanches most abound. + Ye shake your heads; ye talk of home and wife, + Of babes dependent on the Father's life. + What! still reluctant? let me then make clear + The duties of the guide and mountaineer; + Mine is to order, yours is to obey-- + For you are hirelings, and 'tis I who pay. + I've heard, indeed, that some old-fashioned Herren, + Who've walked with Almer, Melchior, and Perren, + Maintain that mountaineering is a pleasure, + A recreation for our hours of leisure: + 'To be or not to be' perhaps may matter + To _them_, for they may have some brains to scatter; + But _we_, I trust, shall take a higher view, + And make our mountain motto 'die or do.' + "Nay, hear me out! your scruples well I know: + Trust me, not unrewarded shall ye go. + If ye succeed, much money will I give, + And mine unfaltering friendship, while ye live. + Nor only thus will I your deeds requite; + High testimonials in your books I'll write. + Thee, trusty guide, will I much eulogize + As strong and cautious, diligent and wise, + Active, unhesitating, cheerful, sure-- + Nay, _almost_ equal to an Amateur! + And thou, my meekest of meek beasts of burden, + Thou too shalt have thine undisputed guerdon: + I'll do for thee the very best I can, + And sound thy praise as 'a good third-rate man.' + But if ye fail, if cannonading stones, + Or toppling ice-crag, pulverize your bones; + O happy stroke, that makes immortal heroes + Of men who, otherwise, would be but zeroes! + What tho' no Alpine horn make music drear + O'er the lone snow which furnishes your bier; + Nor Alpine maiden strew your grave with posies + Of gentian, edelweiss, and Alpine roses? + "The Alpine Muse her iciest tears shall shed, + And 'build a stone-man' o'er your honour'd head, + Chamois and bouquetins the spot shall haunt, + With eagles, choughs, and lammergeyers gaunt; + The mountain marmots, marching o'er the snow, + Their yearly pilgrimage shall ne'er forego; + Tyndall himself, in grand, prophetic tones, + Shall calculate the movement of your bones; + And your renown shall live serene, eternal, + Embalmed in pages of the Alpine Journal!" + + * * * * * + + By reasoning such as this, year after year, + I overcome my men's unreasoning fear: + Twice has my guide by falling stones been struck, + Yet still I trust his science and my luck. + A falling stone once cut my rope in twain; + We stopped to mend it, and marched on again. + Once a big boulder, with a sudden whack, + Severed my knapsack from my porter's back. + Twice on a sliding avalanche I've slid, + While my companions in its depths were hid. + Daring all dangers, no disaster fearing, + I carry out my plan of mountaineering. + Thus have I conquered glacier, peak, and pass, + Aiguilles du Midi, Cols des Grandes Jorasses. + Thus shall I onward march from peak to peak, + Till there are no new conquests left to seek. + O the wild joy, the unutterable bliss + To hear the coming avalanche's hiss! + Or place oneself in acrobatic pose, + While mountain missiles graze one's sun-burnt nose! + And if some future season I be doom'd + To be by boulders crushed, or snow entombed, + Still let me upward urge my mad career, + And risk my limbs and life for honour dear! + Sublimely acquiescent in my lot, + I'll die a martyr for--I know not what! + + (1876) + + +[1] Written in 1876. + + + + + THE CLIMBER'S DREAM. + + I made an ascent of the Eiger + Last year, which has ne'er been surpassed; + 'Twas dangerous, long, and laborious, + But almost incredibly fast. + We started at twelve from the Faulberg; + Ascended the Monch by the way; + And were well at the base of our mountain, + As the peak caught the dawn of the day. + + In front of me Almer and Perren + Cut steps, each as big as a bucket; + While behind me there followed, as Herren, + George, Stephen, and Freshfield, and Tuckett. + We got to the top without trouble; + There halted, of course, for the view; + When clouds, sailing fast from the southward, + Veiled over the vault of dark blue. + + The lightning shone playfully round us; + The thunder ferociously growled; + The hail beat upon us in bullets; + And the wind everlastingly howled. + We turned to descend to the Scheideck, + Eyes blinded, ears deafened, we ran, + In our panic and hurry, forgetting + To add a new stone to the _man_. + + Palinurus himself--that is Almer-- + No longer could make out the track; + 'Twas folly, no doubt, to go onward; + 'Twas madness, of course, to go back. + The snow slope grew steeper and steeper; + The lightning more vividly flared; + The thunder rolled deeper and deeper; + And the wind more offensively blared. + + But at last a strong gust for a moment + Dispersed the thick cloud from our sight, + And revealed an astonishing prospect, + Which filled not our hearts with delight: + On our right was a precipice awful; + On the left chasms yawning and deep; + Glazed rocks and snow-slopes were before us, + At an angle alarmingly steep. + + We all turned and looked back at Almer. + Who then was the last on the rope; + His face for a moment was clouded, + Then beamed with the dawn of a hope; + He came to the front, and thence forward + In wonderful fashion he led, + Over rocks, over snow-slopes glissading, + While he stood, bolt upright on his head! + + We followed, in similar fashion; + Hurrah, what a moment is this! + What a moment of exquisite transport! + A realization of bliss! + To glissade is a pleasant sensation, + Of which all have written, or read; + But to taste it, _in perfect perfection_, + You should learn to glissade _on your head_. + + Hurrah! with a wild scream of triumph, + Over snow, over boulders we fly, + Our heads firmly pressed to the surface, + Our heels pointing up to the sky! + We bound o'er the bergschrund uninjured, + We shoot o'er a precipice sheer; + Hurrah, for the modern glissader! + Hurrah, for the wild mountaineer! + + * * * * * + + But, alas! what is this? what a shaking! + What a jar! what a bump! what a thump! + Out of bed, in intense consternation, + I bound with a hop, skip, and jump. + For I hear the sweet voice of a "person" + Of whom I with justice am proud, + "_My dear, when you dream about mountains, + I wish you'd not jodel so loud!_" + + + + + THE BEACONSFIELD ALPHABET. + + A's my new policy called Annexation; + B is the Bother it causes the nation. + C is Lord Chelmsford, engaged with Zulus; + D the Disasters which give me 'the blues.' + E is the Effort I make to look merry; + F is my Failure--deplorable very! + G is Sir Garnett, alas, not ubiquitous! + H stands for H----t, an M.P. iniquitous. + I stands for India, a source of vexation: + J are the Jews, a most excellent nation. + K is the Khedive, whose plan is to borrow + L _L. s. d._--I'll annex him to-morrow! + M's the Majority, which I much prize; + N are the Non-contents whom I despise. + O's the Opposition, so often defeated; + P is P----ll, that Home-ruler conceited. + Q are the Questions put by noble Lords; + R my Responses, more cutting than swords. + S is the Sultan, my friend true and warm; + T are the Turks, whom I hope to reform. + U's my Utopia--Cyprus, I mean: + V is Victoria, my Empress and Queen. + W's the World, which ere long I shall own; + X is the sign of my power unknown. + Y is the Yacht I shall keep in the Red Sea: + Z the Zulus, whom I wish in the Dead Sea. + + (1879). + + + + + THE GLADSTONE ALPHABET. + + A's Aristides, or Gladstone the Good; + B is Lord B., whom I'd crush if I could. + C are Conservatives, full of mad pranks; + D are the Dunces who fill up their ranks. + E stands for Ewelme, of some notoriety; + F for the Fuss made in Oxford society. + G stands for Gladstone, a hewer of wood; + H is my Hatchet of merciless mood. + I is the Irish Church which I cut down: + J are the Jobs which I kill with a frown, + K are the Knocks which I give and I take: + L are the Liberals whom I forsake. + M are the Ministry whom I revile; + N are the Noodles my speeches beguile. + O is the Office I mean to refuse: + P is the Premier--I long for his shoes. + Q are the Qualms of my conscience refined; + R is the Rhetoric nothing can bind, + S is Herr Schliemann who loves much to walk about + T ancient Troy, which _I_ love much to talk about. + U is the Union of Church and State; + V are my former Views, now out of date. + W is William, the People's 'True Bill,' + X is the Exit from power of that 'Will.' + Y is Young England, who soon will unite + Z in fresh Zeal for the 'People's Delight.' + + (1879) + + + + + SOLITUDE IN SEPTEMBER. + + O BEATA SOLITUDO; O SOLA BEATITUDO. + + (_Inscription in the Grounds of Burg Birseck, near Basel._) + + + Sweet Solitude where dost thou linger? + When and where shall I look in thy face? + Feel the soft magic touch of thy finger, + The glow of thy silent embrace? + Stern Civilization has banished + Thy charms to a region unknown; + The spell of thy beauty has vanished-- + Sweet Solitude, where hast thou flown? + + I have sought thee on pampas and prairie, + By blue lake and bluer crevasse, + On shores that are arid and airy, + Lone peak, and precipitous pass. + I have sought thee, sweet Solitude, ever + Regardless of peril and pain; + But in spite of my utmost endeavour + I have sought thee, fair charmer, in vain. + + To the Alps, to the Alps in September, + Unconducted by Cook, did I rush; + Full well even now I remember + How my heart with emotion did gush. + Here at least in these lonely recesses + With thee I shall cast in my lot; + Shall feel thy endearing caresses, + Forgetting all else and forgot. + + But I met a young couple "proposing" + On the top of the sunny Languard; + I surprised an old gentleman dozing, + "Times" in hand, on the heights of Fort Bard. + In the fir woods of sweet Pontresina + Picnic papers polluted the walks; + On the top of the frosty Bernina + I found a young mountain of--corks. + + I trod, by the falls of the Handeck, + On the end of a penny cigar; + As I roamed in the woods above Landeck + A hair-pin my pleasure did mar: + To the Riffel in vain I retreated, + Mr. Gaze and the Gazers were there; + On the top of the Matterhorn seated + I picked up a lady's back hair! + + From the Belle Vue in Thun I was hunted + By "'Arry" who wished to play pool; + On the Col du Bonhomme I confronted + The whole of a young ladies' school. + At Giacomo's Inn in Chiesa + I was asked to take shares in a mine; + With an agent for "Mappin's new Razor" + I sat down at Baveno to dine. + + On the waves of Lake Leman were floating + Old lemons (imagine my feelings!), + The fish in Lucerne were all gloating + On cast-away salads and peelings; + And egg-shells and old bones of chicken + On the shore of St. Moritz did lie: + My spirit within me did sicken-- + Sweet Solitude, where shall I fly? + + Disconsolate, gloomy, and undone + I take in the "Dilly" my place; + By Zurich and Basel to London + I rush, as if running a race. + My quest and my troubles are over; + As I drive through the desolate street + To my Club in Pall Mall, I discover + Sweet Solitude's summer retreat. + + + + + MEDITATIONS OF A + + CLASSICAL MAN ON A MATHEMATICAL PAPER + + DURING A LATE FELLOWSHIP EXAMINATION. + + Woe, woe is me! for whither can I fly? + Where hide me from Mathesis' fearful eye? + Where'er I turn the Goddess haunts my path, + Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath: + In accents wild, that would awake the dead, + Bids me perplexing problems to unthread; + Bids me the laws of _x_ and _y_ to unfold, + And with "dry eyes" dread mysteries behold. + Not thus, when blood maternal he had shed, + The Furies' fangs Orestes wildly fled; + Not thus Ixion fears the falling stone, + Tisiphone's red lash, or dark Cocytus' moan. + Spare me, Mathesis, though thy foe I be, + Though at thy altar ne'er I bend the knee, + Though o'er thy "Asses' Bridge" I never pass, + And ne'er in this respect will prove an ass; + Still let mild mercy thy fierce anger quell! oh + Let, let me live to be a Johnian fellow! + + * * * * * * + + She hears me not! with heart as hard as lead, + She hurls a Rhombus at my luckless head. + Lo, where her myrmidons, a wrangling crew, + With howls and yells rise darkling to the view. + There Algebra, a maiden old and pale, + Drinks "double _x_," enough to drown a whale. + There Euclid, 'mid a troop of "Riders" passes, + Riding a Rhomboid o'er the Bridge of Asses; + And shouts to Newton, who seems rather deaf, + I've crossed the Bridge in safety Q.E.F. + There black Mechanics, innocent of soap, + Lift the long lever, pull the pulley's rope, + Coil the coy cylinder, explain the fear + Which makes the nurse lean slightly to her rear; + Else, equilibrium lost, to earth she'll fall, + Down will come child, nurse, crinoline and all! + But why describe the rest? a motley crew, + Of every figure, magnitude, and hue: + Now circles they describe; now form in square; + Now cut ellipses in the ambient air: + Then in my ear with one accord they bellow, + "Fly wretch! thou ne'er shalt be a Johnian Fellow!" + + Must I then bid a long farewell to "John's," + Its stately courts, its wisdom-wooing Dons, + Its antique towers, its labyrinthine maze, + Its nights of study, and its pleasant days? + O learned Synod, whose decree I wait, + Whose just decision makes, or mars my fate; + If in your gardens I have loved to roam, + And found within your courts a second home; + If I have loved the elm trees' quivering shade, + Since on your banks my freshman limbs I laid; + If rustling reeds make music unto me + More soft, more sweet than mortal melody; + If I have loved to "urge the flying ball" + Against your Racquet Court's re-echoing wall; + If, for the honour of the Johnian red, + I've gladly spurned the matutinal bed, + And though at rowing, woe is me! no dab, + I've rowed my best, and seldom caught a crab; + If classic Camus flow to me more dear + Than yellow Tiber, or Ilissus clear; + If fairer seem to me that fragrant stream + Than Cupid's kiss, or Poet's pictured dream; + If I have loved to linger o'er the page + Of Roman Bard, and Academian sage; + If all your grave pursuits, your pastimes gay, + Have been my care by night, my joy by day; + Still let me roam, unworthy tho' I be, + By Cam's slow stream, beneath the old elm tree; + Still let me lie in Alma Mater's arms, + Far from the wild world's troubles and alarms: + Hear me, nor in stern wrath my prayer repel! oh + Let, let me live to be a Johnian Fellow! + + (1865). + + + + + THE LADY MARGARET 5TH BOAT, + + _May_, 1863. + + 1. BOYCOTT, W. 5. PALEY, G. A. + 2. FERGUSON, R. S. 6. GORST, P. F. + 3. BOWLING, E. W. 7. SECKER, J. H. + 4. SMITH, JASON. 8. FISHER, J. + Steerer--BUSHELL, W. D. + + Eight B.A.'s stout from town came out M.A. degrees to take, + And made a vow from stroke to bow a bump or two to make. + Weary were they and jaded with the din of London town, + And they felt a tender longing for their long-lost cap + and gown. + So they sought the old Loganus: well pleased, I trow, was he, + The manly forms he knew so well once more again to see: + And they cried--"O old Loganus, can'st thou + find us e'er a boat, + In which our heavy carcases may o'er the waters float?" + Then laughed aloud Loganus--a bitter jest lov'd he-- + And he cried "Such heavy mariners I ne'er before did see; + I have a fast commodious barge, drawn by a wellfed steed, + 'Twill scarcely bear your weight, I fear: for never + have I see'd + Eight men so stout wish to go out a rowing in a 'height;' + Why, gentlemen, a man of war would sink beneath your weight." + Thus spake the old Loganus, and he laughed both + long and loud, + And when the eight men heard his words, they + stood abashed and cowed; + For they knew not that he loved them, and that, + sharply tho' he spoke, + The old man loved them kindly, tho' he also loved his joke: + For Loganus is a Trojan, and tho' hoary be his head, + He loveth Margareta, and the ancient Johnian red. + So he brought them out an eight-oar'd tub, and + oars both light and strong, + And bade them be courageous, and row their ship along. + Then in jumped Casa Minor, the Captain of our crew, + And the gallant son-of Fergus in a "blazer" bright and new; + And _Thomas o Kulindon_ [*] full proudly grasped his oar, + And _Iason o Chalkourgos_ [*], who weighs enough for "four;" + For if Jason and Medea had sailed with him for cargo, + To the bottom of the Euxine would have sunk the + good ship Argo. + Then Pallidulus Bargaeus, the mightiest of our crew, + Than whom no better oarsman ever wore the Cambridge blue. + And at number six sat Peter, whom Putney's waters know; + Number seven was young Josephus, the ever-sleepless Joe; + Number eight was John Piscator, at his oar a wondrous dab, + Who, tho' all his life a fisher, yet has never caught a crab; + Last of all the martial Modius, having laid his good sword by, + Seized the rudder-strings, and uttered an invigorating cry: + "Are you ready all? Row, Two, a stroke! Eyes + front, and sit at ease! + Quick March! I meant to say, Row on! and + mind the time all, please." + Then sped the gallant vessel, like an arrow from a bow, + And the men stood wondering on the banks to + see the "Old'uns" row; + And Father Camus raised his head, and smiled upon the crew, + For their swing, and time, and feather, and their + forms, full well he knew. + They rowed past Barnwell's silvery pool, past + Charon's gloomy bark, + And nearly came to grief beneath the railway rafters dark: + But down the willow-fringed Long Reach so fearful + was their pace, + That joyous was each Johnian, and pale each foeman's face. + They rowed round Ditton corner, and past the pleasant Plough, + Nor listened to the wild appeal for beer that came from bow; + They rowed round Grassy Corner, and its fairy forms divine, + But from the boat there wandered not an eye + of all the nine; + They rowed round First-Post Corner, the Little + Bridge they passed, + And calmly took their station two places from the last. + Off went the gun! with one accord the sluggish Cam they smote, + And were bumped in fifty seconds by the Second Jesus Boat. + + (1863). + +[* Transcriber's note: The names "Thomas o Kulindon" and "Iason o +Chalkourgos" were transliterated from the Greek as follows: + + Thomas: Theta, omega, mu, alpha, sigma. + o: omicron. + Kulindon: Kappa, upsilon, lambda, iota, nu, delta, omega, nu. + + Iason (Jason?): Iota, alpha, sigma, omega, nu. + o: omicron. + Chalkourgos: Chi, alpha, lambda, kappa, omicron, upsilon, + rho, gamma, omicron, sigma.] + + + + + IN CAMUM. + + Ridicula nuper cymba, sicut meus est mos, + Flumineas propter salices et murmura Cami, + Multa movens mecum, fumo inspirante, iacebam. + Illic forte mihi senis occurrebat imago + Squalida, torva tuens, longos incompta capillos; + Ipse manu cymbam prensans se littore in udo + Deposuit; Camique humeros agnoscere latos + Immanesque artus atque ora hirsuta videbar: + Mox lacrymas inter tales dedit ore querelas-- + "Nate," inquit, "tu semper enim pius accola Cami, + Nate, patris miserere tui, miserere tuorum! + Quinque reportatis tumet Isidis unda triumphis: + Quinque anni videre meos sine laude secundo + Cymbam urgere loco cunctantem, et cedere victos. + Heu! quis erit finis? Quis me manet exitus olim? + Terga boum tergis vi non cedentia nostri + Exercent iuvenes; nuda atque immania crura, + Digna giganteas inter certare palaestras, + Quisque ferunt, latosque humeros et brachia longa, + Collaque Atlanteo non inferiora labore: + "Sed vis arte carens frustra per stagna laborat: + Fit brevis inque dies brevior (proh dedecus ingens!) + Ictus, et incerto tremulam movet impete cymbam, + Usque volaturae similem, tamen usque morantem. + Ah! Stanleius ubi est? ubi fortis et acer Ioenas + Et Virtus ingens, maiorque vel Hercule Iudas? + Ah! ubi, laeva mei novit quem fluminis ora, + Ile 'Ictus,' vitreis longe spectandus ocellis, + Dulce decus Cami, quem plebs ignoblis 'Aulam,' + Vulpicanem Superi grato cognomine dicunt? + Te quoque, magne Pales, et te mea flumina deflent + O formose puer, quibus alto in gurgite mersis + Mille dedit, rapuit mille oscula candida Naias? + Quid decus amissum repeto, aut iam laude perempta + Nomina Putnaeis annalibus eruta testor? + "Granta ruit, periitque decus, periitque vetusta + Gloria remorum primaeque per aequora navis. + Sed vos, O juvenes, sanguis quibus integer aevi, + Spes ventura domus, Grantaeque novissima proles, + Antiquum revocate decus, revocate triumphos! + Continuo Palinurus ubi 'iam pergite' dixit + Erectum librate caput; nec pandere crura + Parcite, nec solidis firmi considere transtris! + Ast ubi contactas iam palmula senserit undas, + Compressa incipiat iam tum mihi crura phaselus + Accipere, et faciles iter accelerare per undas. + "Incipiente ictu qui vim non prompserit omnem + Dique hominesque odere; hic, pondus inutile cymbae, + Tardat iter; comites necat; hunc tu, nauta, caveto! + Nec minus, incepto quoties ratis emicat ictu, + Cura sit ad finem justos perferre labores. + Vidi equidem multos--sileantur nomina--fluctus + Praecipites penetrasse, sed heu! brevis effluit ictus, + Immemor etremi mediique laboris in unda; + Nam tales nisus tolerare humana nequit vis; + Et quamvis primos jam jam victura carina + Evolet in cursus, primisque triumphet in undis, + Mox ubi finis adest atque ultima meta laborum, + Labitur exanimis, vi non virtute subacta. + + "Tu quoque qui cymbae tendis Palinurus habenas + Ultro hortare viros; fortes solare benignis + Vocibus; ignavos accende, suosque labores + Fac peragant, segnique veta torpere veterno. + Sed quid ego haec? priscae si iam pietatis imago + Ulla manet, si quid vobis mea gloria curae est, + Camigenae, misero tandem succurrite patri, + Ereptosque diu vincendo reddite honores! + Tunc ego arundinea redimitus tempora vitta + Antiquo fruar imperior iustisque triumphis: + Tum demum Cloacina meos foedissima fluctus + Desierit temerare, et puro flumine labens + Camus ad Oceanum volvetur amabilis amnis." + + Dixit, et in piceas Fluvius sese abdidit undas; + Sed me ridiculam solventem a littore cymbam + Nectaris ambrosii circumvolvuntur odores, + Decedente Deo; naresque impellit acutas + Confusi canis amnis et illaetabilis aura. + + + + + FATHER CAMUS. + + Smoking lately in my "Funny," as I'm wont, beneath the bank, + Listening to Cam's rippling murmurs thro' the + weeds and willows dank, + As I chewed the Cud of fancy, from the water there appeared + An old man, fierce-eyed, and filthy, with a long + and tangled beard; + To the oozy shore he paddled, clinging to my Funny's nose, + Till, in all his mud majestic, Cam's gigantic form arose. + Brawny, broad of shoulders was he, hairy were + his face and head, + And amid loud lamentations tears incessantly he shed. + "Son," he cried, "the sorrows pity of thy melancholy sire! + Pity Camus! pity Cambridge! pity our disasters dire! + Five long years hath Isis triumphed, five long + years have seen my Eight + Rowing second, vainly struggling 'gainst an unrelenting fate. + What will be the end, I know not! what will + be the doom of Camus? + Shall I die disowned, dishonoured? Shall I live, + and yet be famous? + Backs as strong as oxen have we, legs Herculean and bare, + Legs that in the ring with Titan wrestler might + to wrestle dare. + Arms we have long, straight, and sinewy, + Shoulders broad, necks thick and strong, + Necks that to the earth-supporting Atlas might + full well belong. + "But our strength un-scientific strives in vain + thro' stagnant water, + Every day, I blush to own it, Cambridge strokes + are rowing shorter. + With a short spasmodic impulse see the boats a moment leap, + Starting with a flying motion, soon they stop + and sink to sleep. + Where are Stanley, Jones, and Courage? where + is 'Judas' stout and tall, + Where the Stroke named ''all' by Bargemen, + known to Cambridge as 'Jack Hall'? + 'Twas a spectacle to see him in his gig-lamps row along, + And the good ship speeding onward swift as + Poet's gushing song. + Where is Paley? Where is Fairbairn, from + whose lips the Naiads dank + Snatched and gave their sweetest kisses when + our Eight at Chiswick sank? + What avails it to remember brilliant days now lost in night? + What avails it Putney's annals, and past glories to recite? + "Lost is Granta, lost our glory, lost our former pride of place, + Gone are all my blushing honours, nought is + left me but disgrace. + For regardless of all science, every oarsman now obeys + Wild, new fangled laws and notions, never + dream'd of in old days. + But do you, my gentle Freshmen, who have youth in every vein, + Labour by your manly valour our lost laurels to regain! + When you hear the Cox'n's 'row on all,' then + keep erect your head; + Then be your arms and bodies with one motion for'ard sped: + Sit firm upon your cushions all; and, when the oar is in, + With one harmonious action let your work at once begin: + Press your feet against the stretcher, and your + legs with vigour ply, + Till the ship, as swift as lightning, thro' the + yielding water fly. + "He who 'misses the beginning' makes his comrades + all to suffer, + Spoils the swing, and is a nuisance; turn him + out, for he's a duffer! + Having made a good beginning you must carry on the work, + And until the stroke is finished not an atom must you shirk. + I have seen--no names I mention--certain oarsmen with a dash + Plunge their oars into the water, and produce + a sudden splash! + But the middle and the finish are all wasted in the air, + And no human constitution can such toil incessant bear; + For although the ship at starting may at once + its distance clear, + And victory seem certain, when the winning post is near, + The crew worn out and breathless have nothing in them left, + And though pluck may ne'er desert them, of + their vigour are bereft. + + "And do you, my Palinuris, steering straight the gallant bark, + By voice and exhortation keep your heroes to the mark. + Cheer the plucky, chide the cowards who to do + their work are loth, + And forbid them to grow torpid by indulging selfish sloth. + Fool! I know my words are idle! yet if any love remain; + If my honour be your glory, my discredit be your pain; + If a spark of old affection in your hearts be still alive! + Rally round old Father Camus, and his glories past revive! + Then adorned with reedy garland shall I take my former throne, + And, victor of proud Isis, reign triumphant and alone. + Then no more shall Cloacina with my streams + her offerings blend, + And old Camus clear as crystal to the ocean shall descend!" + + He spoke, and 'neath the surface, black as pitch, + he hid his head, + And, punting out my Funny, I my homeward journey sped. + But a strange ambrosial odour, as the God sank + 'neath the flood, + Seem'd to float and hover round me, creeping + upward from the mud: + And for ever from the water's troubled face there + seem'd to rise + A melancholy fragrance of dead dogs unto the skies. + + + + + IN MEMORIAM G. A. P. + + He has gone to his grave in the strength of youth, + While life shone bright before him; + And we, who remember his worth and truth, + Stand vainly grieving o'er him. + + He has gone to his grave; that manly heart + No more with life is glowing; + And the tears to our eyes unbidden start, + Our sad hearts' overflowing. + + I gaze on his rooms as beneath I pace, + And the past again comes o'er me, + For I feel his grasp, and I see his face, + And his voice has a welcome for me. + + I gaze on the river, and see once more + His form in the race competing; + And I hear the time of his well-known oar, + And the shouts his triumph greeting. + + Flow on, cold river! Our bitter grief + No tears from thy waves can waken: + Thy whisp'ring reed, and thy willow leaf + By no sad sighs are shaken. + + Thy banks are thronged by the young and gay, + Who dream not of the morrow; + No ear hast thou for a mournful lay, + No sympathy with sorrow. + + Flow on, dull river! Thy heedless wave, + As it echoes shouts of gladness, + Bears forms as stalwart, and hearts as brave, + As his whom we mourn in sadness. + + But an arm more strong, and a heart more bold, + And with purer feelings glowing, + Thy flowing waters shall ne'er behold, + Till time has ceased from flowing. + + (1866). + + + + + GRANTA VICTRIX. + + Let penny-a-liners columns pour + Of turgid efflorescence, + Describe in language that would floor + Our Cayleys, Rouths, and Besants, + How Oxford oars as levers move, + While Cambridge mathematics, + Though excellent in theory, prove + Unstable in aquatics. + + Our muse, a maiden ne'er renowned + For pride, or self-reliance, + Knows little of the depths profound + Of "Telegraphic" science: + But now her peace she cannot hold + And like a true Camena, + With look half-blushing and half-bold, + Descends into the arena. + + Sing who was he that steered to win, + In spite of nine disasters, + And proved that men who ne'er give in + Must in the end be masters? + No warrior stern by land or sea, + With spurs, cocked hat, and sword on, + Has weightier work than fell to thee, + Our gallant little Gordon. + + Who when old Cam was almost dead, + His glory almost mouldy, + Replaced the laurels on his head? + Sweet Echo answers--"Goldie." + Who was our Seven of mighty brawn + As valiant as a lion? + Who could he be but strapping Strachan, + Australia's vigorous scion? + + Who rowed more fierce than lioness, + Bereft of all her whelps? + A thousand light-blue voices bless + The magic name of Phelps. + Who was our Five? Herculean Lowe, + (Not he of the Exchequer), + So strong, that he with ease could row + A race in a three-decker. + + Cam sighed--"When _shall_ I win a race"? + Fair Granta whispered--"When, Sir, + You see at Four, his proper place, + My Faerie-queen-like Spencer." + 'Tis distance robes the mountain pale + In azure tints of bright hue, + 'More than a distance' lends to Dale, + His well earned double light-blue. + + Proud Oxford burnt in days of old + Ridley the Cambridge Martyr, + But this year in our Ridley bold + Proud Oxford caught a Tartar. + And Randolph rowed as well beseemed + His school renowned in story, + And like old Nelson only dreamed + Of Westminster and glory. + + These men of weight rowed strong and straight, + And led from start to finish; + Their slow and steady thirty-eight + No spurts could e'er diminish: + Till Darbyshire, not given to lose, + Sees Cambridge rowing past him; + And Goldie steps into his shoes; + Long may their leather last him! + + Glory be theirs who've won full well + The love of Alma Mater, + The smiles of every light-blue Belle, + The shouts of every Pater! + Unlimited was each man's store + Of courage, strength, and fettle, + From Goldie downwards every oar + Was ore of precious metal. + + Then fare-ye-well till this time year, + Ye heroes stout and strapping, + And then beware, forgive my fear, + Lest Oxford find you napping; + And, oh! when o'er your work ye bend, + 'Mid shouts of--"light-blue's winning," + If ye would triumph in the end, + Remember the beginning! + + P.S. The Muse true to her sex, + Less to be blamed than pitied, + A Post-script must of course annex + To state a point omitted. + When Granta glorying in success + With Camus pours her orisons; + One name she gratefully must bless, + That name is mighty Morrison's. + + + + + THE GREAT BOAT-RACE. + + 1. HAWKSHAW 3rd Trinity. 5. KINGLAKE 3rd Trinity. + 2. PIGOTT Corpus. 6. BORTHWICK 1st Trinity. + 3. WATSON Pembroke. 7. STEAVENSON Trinity Hall. + 4. HAWKINS Lady Margaret. 8. SELWYN 3rd Trinity. + Steerer, ARCHER, Corpus. + + + BEFORE THE RACE. + + Come, list to me, who wish to hear the glories of our crew, + I'll tell you all the names of those who wear the + Cambridge Blue. + First HAWKSHAW comes, a stalwart bow, as + tough as oak, nay tougher; + Look at him ye who wish to see the Antipodes to "duffer." + Swift as the Hawk in airy flight, strong as the guardsman SHAW, + We men of mortal muscles must contemplate him with awe. + Though I dwell by Cam's slow river, and I hope + am not a bigot, + I think that Isis cannot boast a better man than PIGOTT: + Active, and strong, and steady, and never known to shirk, + Of Corpus the quintessence, he is always fit for work. + The men of Thames will be amazed when they + see our "Three" so strong, + And doubt if such a mighty form to mortal mould belong. + "_What son_ is this?" they, one and all, will ask + in awe and wonder; + The men of Cam will answer make, "A mighty son of thunder." + Next HAWKINS comes at "number 4," the sole surviving pet + Of the patroness of rowing, the Lady Margaret; + When they think of his broad shoulders, and + strong and sinewy arms, + Nor parents dear, nor brothers stern, need foster fond alarms. + O! a tear of love maternal in Etona's eye will quiver + When she sees her favourate KINGLAKE also + monarch of the river. + Oh! that I could honour fitly in this unassuming song + That wondrous combination of steady, long, and strong. + Then comes a true-blue mariner from the ever-glorious "First," + In the golden arms of Glory and the lap of Victory nurst; + Though blue may be his colours, there are better oarsmen few, + And Oxford when it sees him will perhaps look still more blue. + Then comes the son of STEPHEN, as solid as a wall; + We need not add, who know his name, that he + hails from Trinity Hall. + Oh! in the race, when comes at last the struggle + close and dire, + May he have the wind and courage of his tutor and his sire; + May he think of all the glories of the ribbon black and white, + And add another jewel to the diadem so bright! + Then comes a name which Camus and Etona know full well + A name that's always sure to win and ne'er will prove a sell. + O what joy will fill a Bishop's heart oft a far + far distant shore, + When he sees our Stroke; reviving the memories of yore! + Then old Cam will he revisit in fancy's fairy dream, + And rouse once more with sounding oar the slow + and sluggish stream: + But who is this with voice so shrill, so resolute and ready? + Who cries so oft "too late!" "too soon!" + "quicker forward!" "Steady, steady!" + Why 'tis our young toxophilite, our ARCHER bold and true, + The lightest and the tightest who has ever + steered light-blue. + O when he pulls the yielding string may he + shoot both strong and straight, + And may the night be swift and sure of his mighty arrows eight! + May he add another victory to increase our Cambridge score; + May Father Thames again behold the light blue to the fore! + But ah! the name of Victory falls feebly on my ear-- + Forgive me! 'tis not cowardice that bids me shed this tear, + I weep to think that three long years have + looked on our defeat; + For three long years we ne'er have known the + taste of triumph sweet; + O Father Cam! O Father Thames! O ye nymphs of Chiswick eyot! + O Triton! O Poseidon! Take some, pity on our fate! + What's the use of resolution, or of training, or of science, + If anxious friends and relatives to our efforts bid defiance? + If they take our strongest heroes from the middle of the boat, + Lest exposure to the weather should result in a sore throat? + We've rowed our boat when wave on wave o'er + ship and crew was dashing, + And little were we troubled by the steamers and the splashing. + O little do the light-blues care when tempests + round them gather, + We'll meet the raging of the skies, but not an angry father! + For though our vessel sank, our hearts were + buoyant as a feather, + Since we knew that we had done our best in + spite of wind and weather. + Then all ye Gods and Goddesses who rule o'er lake and river, + O wipe away the trembling tear which in mine eye doth quiver! + O wipe away the dire defeats that now we often suffer; + Let not the name of Cambridge blue be + breathed with that of "duffer!" + O melt the hearts of governors; for who can hope to thrive, + If, when we're just "together," they despoil us + of our "Five?" + And lastly, when 'mid shouts and cheers and + screams and deafening dins, + The two boats start upon their course-- + + AFTER THE RACE. + + Dei mihi, Oxford wins! + + (1864). + + + + + LINES BY A CAMBRIDGE ANCIENT MARINER + + ADDRESSED TO HIS UNIVERSITY. + + Wish ye, sons of Alma Mater, + Long lost laurels to replace? + Listen to a stout old Pater, + Once renowned in many a race. + Now, alas! I'm fat and forty, + And my form grows round to view; + And my nose is rather "porty;" + But my heart is still light-blue. + + 'Tis as bad as an emetic, + E'en my 'baccy I refuse, + When I hear that sports athletic + Interfere with Cambridge crews. + Once a Grecian runner famous + Scorned to fight his country's foes; + And to Greece, as some to Camus, + Caused innumerable woes. + + When I hear the voice parental + Cry, "my youngster shall not row!" + Then my wrath is transcendental, + Then my words with vigour flow. + Sires, with hearts of alabaster, + Your stern "vetos" yet you'll rue, + When ye see a sixth disaster, + Overwhelm your loved light-blue. + + But whatever to Cambridge happen, + Sons of Cam behave like men! + Rally round your royal Cap'en, + _King_ of _Lake_, and King of Fen! + Fortune helps the brave who court her, + Only to yourselves be true; + And perhaps, on Putney's water, + Victory will crown light-blue. + + When your Cox'en cries "all ready," + Be alert, dismiss all napping, + Get well forward, all sit steady, + Grasp the oar, avoid all "capping:" + Shoulders square, back straight, eyes ever + Fixed upon the back before; + Then all eight, with one endeavour, + Dip at once the bladed oar. + + Catch your stroke at the beginning, + Then let legs with vigour work: + Little hope has he of winning, + Who his "stretcher" loves to shirk. + Let your rigid arms extended + Be as straight as pokers two; + And until the stroke is ended, + Pull it, without jerking, through! + + Thus all disputations spurning, + Ye, ere many a year has past, + While old Fortune's wheel is turning, + Victory shall taste at last. + Only wait and work together; + Trust in discipline and pluck-- + Soon bad luck will run his tether, + And good rowing bring good luck. + + (1866). + + + + + THE SORROWS OF FATHER CAM. + + 1. WATNEY Lady Margaret. 5. STEAVENSON Trinity Hall + 2. BEEBEE Lady Margaret. 6. BORTHWICK 1st Trinity. + 3. PIGOTT Corpus 7. GRIFFITHS 3rd Trinity. + 4. KINGLAKE 3rd Trinity. 8. LAWES 3rd Trinity. + Steerer, ARCHER, Corpus. + + + One night, as I silently wandered + By Cam's slow meandering stream, + And many things mentally pondered, + I saw, as it were in a dream, + A black head emerge from the billows, + A broad body swim through the flood, + Till, beneath the o'ershadowing willows, + It sank gently down in the mud. + + All alone--as a Scholar of Tyrwhitt + When examined in Hebrew he sits-- + On a log that mysterious spirit + Smokes in silence, and silently spits. + And yet not alone sat the vision; + There came, as he sat on his log, + A wag of delight and submission + From the tail of each demi-drowned dog. + + Black eels from his temples were hanging, + His teeth were like teeth of a jack; + His lips were inaudibly "slanging"; + His eyes were all muddy and black; + And water-snakes, round his neck twining, + Were hissing; and water-rats swam + At his feet; so without much divining + I recognised Old Father Cam. + + "All hail to thee, Camus the reedy!" + I cried, in alarm and surprise; + "Say, why are thy garments so weedy? + And why are these tears in thine eyes?" + Then the River-god answered me sadly, + "My glory aquatic is gone! + My prospects, alas! look but badly; + Not a race for four years have I won. + + "I have oarsmen as strong---even stronger-- + Than when my first honours I bore; + Their arms are as long--perhaps longer; + Their shoulders as broad as of yore, + Yet the prospects of light-blue look bluer; + I am losing my swing, form and time; + For who can row well in a sewer; + Or pull through miasma and slime?" + + Thus murmured the River-god moaning; + But I bade him to dry his old eye-- + "In vain is this weeping and groaning; + Let your motto be, 'Never say die!' + Though your waves be more foul than Cocytus, + Though your prospects, no doubt, are most blue; + Since Oxford is ready to fight us, + We will try to select a good crew. + + My friend Lady Margaret tells me + She can lend me a Bow and a Two; + The Lady, I own, sometimes sells me, + But this time I am sure she'll be true. + For WATNEY is wiry and plucky, + And that BEEBEE'S A 1 all allow; + And our boat cannot fail to be lucky + With a double 1st Class in the bow. + + "Then Corpus its PIGOTT shall lend us, + Young, healthy, and active, and strong; + And Etona her KINGLAKE shall send us, + To row our good vessel along; + And Five from the head of the river, + Like Pallas from Jove's head appearing, + Shall add to the weight of the quiver + Of the feather-weight Argonaut steering. + + "Then BORTHWICK, the mighty and massive, + Shall row like a Briton at Six; + And GRIFFITHS, not prone to be passive, + Shall pull us to glory like bricks. + Our 'Stroke,' people say, on the feather + Is a trifle too fond of a pause; + But while some say, 'there's nothing like leather,' + I maintain there is nothing like LAWES. + + "Washerwomen, not over aquatic, + Says he rows 'like a mangle'--what trash! + That his swing and his time are erratic; + That he puts in his oar with a splash. + But these wonderful judges of rowing, + If we win will be loud in applause; + And declare 'the result was all owing + To that excellent stroke, MR. LAWES.' + + "Our Coach, on the bank briskly riding, + Will keep his strong team well together, + His Bucephalus gamely bestriding, + In spite of the wind and the weather. + For the laws of the land you may send me + To Counsel from chambers in Town; + For the laws of the river commend me + To the CHAMBERS of Cambridge renown. + + "Then cheer up, beloved Father Camus! + Blow your nose! dry those tears that are falling; + You will live once again to be famous, + In spite of the prospects appalling. + Though dead dogs down your fair stream are floating, + Father Cam will their odours defy; + Though Oxford may beat us in boating, + Yet Cambridge will 'never say die!'" + + (1865). + + + + + THE COMING BOAT RACE. + + OXFORD. CAMBRIDGE. + + 1. R. T. RAIKES. 1. J. STILL. + 2. F. CROWDER. 2. J. R. SELWYN. + 3. W. FREEMAN. 3. J. A. BOURKE. + 4. F. WILLAN. 4. J. FORTESCUE. + 5. E. F. HENLEY. 5. D. F. STEVENSON. + 6. W. W. WOOD. 6. R. A. KINGLAKE. + 7. H. P. SENHOUSE. 7. H. WATNEY. + 8. M. BROWN. 8. W. R. GRIFFITHS. + Steerer--C. R. W. TOTTENHAM. Steerer--A. FORBES. + + + Attend, all ye who wish to see the names + of each stout crew, + Who've come to town from cap and gown to + fight for their favourite blue. + + + OXFORD. + + First TOTTENHAM comes, a well-known name, that + cattle driving Cox'en. + Who oft to victory has steer'd his gallant team of Oxon. + + O'er Putney's course so well can he that team in safety goad, + That we ought to call old Father Thames the + Oxford-Tottenham Road. + Then comes the Stroke, a mariner of merit and renown; + Since dark blue are his colours, he can never be dun-brown. + Ye who would at your leisure his heroic deeds peruse, + Go, read _Tom Brown at Oxford_ by the other Tom--TOM HUGHES. + Next SENHOUSE, short for Senate-house, but long + enough for seven, + Shall to the _eight-oar'd_ ship impart a _sen-at-orial_ leaven. + Then Number Six (no truer word was ever said in joke) + In keeping with his name of WOOD, has heart and limbs of oak. + The voice of all aquatic men the praise of "Five" proclaims; + No finer sight can eye delight than "HENLEY-upon-Thames." + Then Number Four who is heaver far than a number of Macmillan, + Though WILLAN'S his name may well exclaim, + "Here I am, but I hain't a willan." [1] + Then FREEMAN rows at Number Three, in a freer and manly style; + No finer oar was e'er produced by the Tiber, Thames, or Nile. + Let politicians, if they please, rob freemen of their vote, + Provided they leave Oxford men a FREEMAN for their boat. + Among the crowd of oarsmen proud no name + will fame shout louder + Than his who sits at Number Two, the straight + and upright CROWDER. + Then RAIKES rows bow, and we must allow that + with all the weight that's aft + The bow-oar gives a rakish air to the bows o' + the dark-blue craft. + This is the crew, who've donned dark blue, and + no stouter team of Oxon + Has ploughed the waves of old Father Thames, + or owned a better Cox'en. + + + CAMBRIDGE. + + Now, don't refuse, aquatic Muse, the glories to rehearse + Of the rival crew, who've donned light blue, to + row for better for worse. + They've lost their luck, but retain their pluck, + and whate'er their fate may be, + Light blue may meet one more defeat, but disgrace + they ne'er will see. + We've seen them row thro' sleet and snow till + they sank--"_merses profundo_" + (HORACE, forgive me!) "_pulchrior Cami evenit arundo_." + First little FORBES our praise absorbs, he comes + from a learned College, + So Cambridge hopes he will pull his ropes with + scientific knowledge. + May he shun the charge of swinging barge + more straight than an archer's arrow, + May he steer his eight, as he sits sedate in the + stern of his vessel narrow! + Then comes the Stroke, with a heart of oak, who + has stood to his flag like twenty, + While some stood aloof, and were not proof + against _dolce far niente_. + So let us pray that GRIFFITHS may to the banks of Cam recall + The swing and style, lost for a while, since the + days of JONES and HALL. + Then WATNEY comes, and a pluckier seven ne'er + rowed in a Cambridge crew; + His long straight swing is just the thing which + an oarsman loves to view. + Then comes KINGLAKE, of a massive make, who + in spite of failures past, + Like a sailor true, has nailed light-blue as his + colours to the mast. + The Consul bold in days of old was thanked by + the Patres hoary, + When, in spite of luck, he displayed his pluck on + the field of Cannae gory; + So whate'er the fate of the Cambridge eight, let + Cambridge men agree, + Their voice to raise in their Captain's praise + with thrice and three times three. + Then Number Five is all alive, and for hard work always ready, + As to and fro his broad back doth go, like a + pendulum strong and steady. + Then FORTESCUE doth pull it through without delay or dawdlin'; + Right proud I trow as they see him row are the + merry men of Magdalen. + Then comes a name well known to fame, the + great and gallant BOURKE; + Who ne'er was known fatigue to own, or neglect + his share of work. + _New zeal and_ life to each new stroke stout SELWYN doth impart, + And ever with fresh vigour, like Antaeus, forward start. + Then last, but not the least of all, to row the boat along, + They've got a bow whom all allow to be both STILL and strong. + No crew can quail, or ever fail to labour with a will, + When so much strength and spirits are supplied + them by their STILL. + We've done our task--to you who ask the probable result + We more will speak, if you next week our Prophet will consult. + + (1866) + +[1] Cf. _Pickwick_. "Here I am, but I hain't a willan."--FAT BOY. + + + + + A BALLAD. + + I. + + I cannot rest o' the night, Mother, + For my heart is cold and wan: + I fear the return o' light, Mother, + Since my own true love is gone. + O winsome aye was his face, Mother, + And tender his bright blue eye; + But his beauty and manly grace, Mother, + Beneath the dark earth do lie. + + + II. + + They tell me that I am young, Mother, + That joy will return once more; + But sorrow my heart has wrung, Mother, + And I feel the wound full sore. + The tree at the root frost-bitten + Will flourish never again, + And the woe that my life hath smitten + Hath frozen each inmost vein. + + + III. + + Whene'er the moon's shining clear, Mother, + I think o' my lover that's gone; + Heaven seem'd to draw very near, Mother, + As above us in glory it shone. + Ah! whither hath fled all my gladness? + Ah! would from life I could fly! + That laying me down in my sadness + I might kiss thee, my Mother, and die! + + + + + AN APRIL SQUALL. + + Breathless is the deep blue sky; + Breathless doth the blue sea lie; + And scarcely can my heart believe, + 'Neath such a sky, on such a wave, + That Heaven can frown and billows rave, + Or Beauty so divine deceive. + + Softly sail we with the tide; + Silently our bark doth glide; + Above our heads no clouds appear: + Only in the West afar + A dark spot, like a baneful star, + Doth herald tempests dark and drear. + + And now the wind is heard to sigh; + The waters heave unquietly; + The Heaven above is darkly scowling; + Down with the sail! They come, they come! + Loos'd from the depths of their wintry home, + The wild fiends of the storm are howling. + + Hold tight, and tug at the straining oar, + For the wind is rising more and more: + Row like a man through the dashing brine! + Row on!--already the squall is past: + No more the sky is overcast; + Again the sun doth brightly shine. + + Oh! higher far is the well-earn'd bliss + Of quiet after a storm like this + Than all the joys of selfish ease: + 'Tis thus I would row o'er the sea of Life, + Thus force my way through the roar and strife, + And win repose by toils like these. + + + + + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--I. + + THE TWO MAIDENS. + + + [The following Verses were written for a country Penny Reading]. + + Two Bedfordshire maidens in one village dwelt; + Side by side in their Church every Sunday they knelt; + They were not very pretty and not very plain; + And their names were Eliza and Emily Jane. + + Now Carpenter Smith was young, steady and still, + And wherever he went, worked and played with a will: + To bed he went early, and early did rise; + So, of course, he was healthy, and wealthy, and wise. + + But John he grew tired of a bachelor's life, + So he looked all around him in search of a wife; + And his eyes, as they wandered, again and again + Returned to Eliza and Emily Jane. + + And whenever those maidens encountered his eye, + Their pulses beat quickly (perhaps you know _why_); + They each of them thought him a wonderful Don, + And wished to be married to Carpenter John. + + But John, as you've heard, was a prudent young man; + And determined their faults and their merits to scan; + Says he, "If I marry, I'm tied for my life; + "So it's well to be cautious in choosing a wife." + + Now I'm sorry to say that young Emily Jane + Was disposed to be rather conceited and vain; + In fact, for the truth I'm obliged to confess, + Was decidedly fond of extravagant dress. + + So she thought the best way to the Carpenter's heart + Was to purchase gay dresses and finery smart; + In the carrier's van off to Bedford she went, + And many weeks' wages in finery spent. + + Her dress it was blue, and her ribbons were green, + And her chignon the highest that ever was seen, + And perched on the top, heavy-laden with flowers, + Was a bonnet, embosomed in beautiful bowers. + + So red, as she walked to the Church, was her shawl + That the bull in the farm-yard did bellow and bawl; + And so high were her heels that on entering the door + She slipped, and she stumbled, and fell on the floor. + + Says Carpenter Smith, "It's decidedly plain + "That I'd better keep clear of that Emily Jane:" + So from Emily Jane he averted his eye, + And just at that moment Eliza passed by. + + Now Eliza had thought, "If his heart I subdue, + "It shall not be by dresses and finery new: + "For a lover who's taken by ornaments gay + "Will love some one else ere a week pass away." + + So her ribbons were lilac; white straw was her bonnet; + Her dress was light grey, with dark braiding upon it; + Her jacket was black; and her boots of stout leather + Were fitted for walking in all sorts of weather. + + She was not very pretty, and yet in her smile + There was something that charmed by its freedom from guile: + And tho' lowly her lot, yet her natural grace + Made her look like a lady in figure and face. + + A rose from the garden she wore on her breast, + And John, as her fingers he tenderly press'd, + Seemed to feel a sharp arrow ('twas Cupid's first dart) + Come straight from the rosebud and enter his heart. + + Now John and Eliza are husband and wife; + Their quarrels are few, and contented their life; + They eat and they drink and they dress in good taste, + For their money they spend on their wants, not in waste. + + But I'm sorry to say that Miss Emily Jane + Has still an aversion to dress that is plain; + And the consequence is that she always has stayed, + And is likely to stay, a disconsolate maid. + + + MORAL. + + Young ladies, I hope you'll attend to my moral, + When you hear it, I'm sure you and I shall not quarrel: + If you're pretty, fine dress is not needed to show it; + If you're ugly, fine dress will make all the world know it. + + Young men, if you wish, as I trust you all do, + A partner for worse or for better to woo, + Don't marry a _peacock_ dressed out in gay feathers, + But a _wife_ guaranteed to wear well in all weathers. + + + + + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--II. + + "ONE GLASS OF BEER." + + Ne quid nimis. + + + Tom Smith was the son of a Bedfordshire man; + (The Smiths, we all know, are a numerous clan) + He was happy and healthy and handsome and strong, + And could sing on occasion a capital song. + + His father had once been a labourer poor, + But had always contrived to keep want from the door; + And by work and by thrift had enough in his pocket + To rent a small farm from his landlord, and stock it. + + He died: Tom succeeded: the ladies all said + It was high time he went to the Church to be wed; + And Sarah and Clara, and Fanny and Bess, + Confessed if he "offer'd" perhaps they'd say "Yes." + + But Tom fixed his eyes on the Miller's young daughter, + And was only awaiting the right time to court her; + So one day as he saw her walk out from the mill, + He set off in pursuit with a very good will. + + Now Tom, I must tell you, had one little fault, + He was rather too fond of a mixture of malt; + In fact, if my meaning is not very clear, + I'm afraid he was rather too "partial to Beer." + + Says Tom to himself as he followed the maid, + "I should like just a glass, for I'm rather afraid"-- + No doubt at such times men are nervous and queer, + So he stopped at the Public for _one glass of Beer_. + + He had his one glass, and then two or three more, + And when he set out from the Public-house door + He saw a sad sight, and he saw it with groans-- + Mary Anne on the arm of Theophilus Jones. + + Yes, Theophilus Jones was a steady young man, + Who enjoyed but was never too fond of his can; + And while Smith in the public was stopping to swill, + Jones had woo'd and had won the fair maid of the mill. + + Tom homeward returned like a runaway pup, + When the lash of the whipper-in touches him up; + And he sighed to himself, "It's most painfully clear + That I've lost a _good wife_ for a _bad glass of Beer_." + + * * * * * + + At length he was married to Emily Brown-- + A tidier girl there was none in the town-- + The church bells were ringing, the village was gay, + As Tom met his bride in her bridal array. + + For a twelvemonth or more things went on pretty straight; + Tom went early to work, and was never home late; + But after that time a sad change, it would seem, + Came over the spirit of Emily's dream. + + The Rector missed Tom from his place in the choir; + In the evening his wife sat alone by the fire; + When her husband came home he was never too early, + And his manner was dull, and at times even surly. + + He was late in the autumn in sowing his wheat; + His bullocks and sheep had disease of the feet; + His sows had small litters; his taters went bad; + And he took _just a glass_ when he felt rather sad. + + The Rector's "good lady" was passing one day, + And looked in, her usual visit to pay-- + "How dy'e do, Mrs. Smith? Is the baby quite well? + Have you got any eggs, or young chickens to sell?" + + But Emily Smith couldn't answer a word; + At length her reply indistinctly was heard; + "I'm all of a mullock [1], it's no use denying--" + And with that the poor woman she burst out a crying. + + Then after a time with her apron she dried + The tears from her eyes, and more calmly replied, + "I don't mind confessing the truth, ma'am, to you, + For I've found in you always a comforter true. + + Things are going to ruin; the land's full o' twitch; + There's no one to clean out a drain or a ditch; + The gates are all broken, the fences all down; + And the state of our farm is the talk of the town. + + We've lost a young horse, and another's gone lame; + Our hay's not worth carting; the wheat's much the same; + Our pigs and our cattle are always astray; + Our milk's good-for-nothing; our hens never lay. + + Tom ain't a bad husband, as husbands do go; + (That ain't saying much, as I daresay you know) + But there's one thing that puts him and me out o' gear-- + He's always a craving for _one glass of Beer_. + + He never gets drunk, but he's always half-fuddled; + He wastes all his time, and his wits are all muddled; + "We've notice to quit for next Michaelmas year-- + All owing to Tom and his _one glass of Beer_!" + + + MORAL. + + My friends, I believe we shall none of us quarrel + If I try from this story to draw out a moral; + Tom Smith, I am told, has now taken the pledge; + Let us hope he will keep the right side of the hedge. + + But because men like Tom find it hard to _refrain_, + It's hard that we temperate folk should _abstain_; + Tea and coffee no doubt are most excellent cheer + But a hard-working man likes his _one glass of Beer_. + + What with 'chining [2] and hoeing and ploughing and drill, + A glass of good beer will not make a man ill; + But one glass, like poison, you never must touch-- + It's the glass which is commonly called _one too much_! + + +[1] Muddle. + +[2] Machining, _i.e._ threshing by machinery. + + + + + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--III. + + FRED AND BILL. + + + Two twins were once born in a Bedfordshire home; + Such events in the best managed households may come; + Tho', as Tomkins remarked in a voice rather gruff, + "One child at a time for poor folks is enough." + + But it couldn't be helped, so his wife did her best; + The children were always respectably drest; + Went early to school; were put early to bed; + And had plenty of taters and bacon and bread. + + Now we all should suppose that the two, being twins, + Resembled each other as much as two pins: + But no--they as little resembled each other + As the man in the moon is "a man and a brother." + + Fred's eyes were dark brown, and his hair was jet black; + He was supple in body, and straight in the back, + Learnt his lessons without any trouble at all; + And was lively, intelligent, comely, and tall. + + But Willy was thick-set; and freckled and fair; + Had eyes of light blue, and short curly red hair; + And, as I should like you the whole truth to know, + The schoolmaster thought him "decidedly slow." + + But the Parson, who often came into the school, + Had discovered that Willy was far from a fool, + And that tho' he was not very quick in his pace, + In the end "slow and steady" would win in the race. + + Years passed--Fred grew idle and peevish and queer; + Took to skittles, bad language, tobacco, and beer: + Grew tired of his work, when it scarce was begun; + Was Jack of all trades and the master of none. + + He began as a labourer, then was a clerk; + Drove a hansom in London by way of a "lark;" + Enlisted, deserted, and finally fled + Abroad, and was thought by his friends to be dead. + + But Willy meanwhile was content with his lot; + He was slow, but he always was found on the spot; + He wasted no money on skittles and ale, + But put by his pence, when he could, without fail. + + To the Penny Bank weekly his savings he took, + And soon had a pretty round sum in his book: + No miser was he, but he thought it sound sense + In the days of his youth to put by a few pence. + + And so he got on; he was no millionaire, + But he always had money enough and to spare; + Could help a poor friend; pay his rent and his rate; + And always put silver at church in the plate. + + His brother, meantime, who was thought to be dead, + Had across the Atlantic to Canada fled; + Then had gone to New York; then New Zealand had tried; + But always had failed thro' perverseness and pride. + + He might have done well, but wherever he went, + As soon as his money came in, it was spent; + As of old he tried all trades, and prospered in none, + For he thought that hard work was "a poor sort of fun." + + Then he heard of "the diggings," and there tried his luck; + He was never deficient in smartness and pluck; + And by means of some work, and more luck, in a year + He managed to make fifteen hundred pounds clear. + + Then he thought of old England and Bedfordshire chums, + So back to his parish in triumph he comes; + And need I remark he found many a friend + Right willing to help him his nuggets to spend? + + He turned up his nose at his poor brother Bill, + Who was always content to be plodding up hill; + Hard work he disliked, he despised peace and quiet, + So he spent all his time and his money in riot. + + There was never a horse-race but Fred he was there; + He went to each meet, meeting, marker and fair; + In a few words, his candle he burnt to the socket, + Till he found one fine day not a rap in His pocket. + + Then his poor brother Bill came and lent him a hand; + Gave him work and a share of his own bit of land; + If he means to keep steady I cannot surmise-- + Let us hope that at length Fred has learnt to be wise. + + But one thing is plain, if you mean to get on, + You will find that success must by patience be won; + In the battle of life do not trust to your luck, + But to honest hard work, perseverance, and pluck. + + Don't turn up your nose at a hard-working chap, + For pride soon or later must meet with mishap; + And wherever your lot in the world may be cast, + "Slow and steady" goes safer than "foolish and fast." + + Take warning by Fred, and avoid for a friend + The man who would tempt you your savings to spend; + Don't waste your spare money in riotous pranks, + But put it in Penny, or Post-office Banks. + + + + + BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--IV. + + HOME, SWEET HOME. + + + I'm a Bedfordshire Chap, and Bill Stumps is my name, + And to tell it don't give me no manner of shame; + For a man as works honest and hard for his livin', + When he tells you his name, needn't feel no misgivin'. + + And works's what I live by. At dawn o' the day, + While some folks is snorin', I'm up and away; + When I stops for my Bavor [1], 'twould dew your heart good, + To see how I relish the taste o' my food. + + I'm fond o' my hoein', and ploughin', and drill, + And my hosses all knows me and works with a will; + I'm fond o' my 'chinin', and thackin' and drainin', + For when work's to be done, 'taint no use a complainin.' + + I whistles a tune if the mornins be dark; + When I goes home o' nights, I sings sweet as a lark; + And you'll travel some distance afore you can find + A chap more contented and happy in mind. + + And I'll tell ye the reason, I've got a good wife, + The joy o' my heart, and the pride o' my life. + She ain't made o' gold, nor ain't much of a beauty, + But she's allers a tryin' to dew of her duty. + + And a tidier home there ain't none in the town + Than mine and my Polly's--I'll lay you a crown! + If it ain't quite a palace, I'm sure 'tis as clean: + And I'm King o' my cottage, and Polly's the Queen. + + But things wasn't allers as lively as now-- + There's thirty good years since I fust went to plough; + I wor then but a lad, and a bad'un, I fear, + Just a trifle tew partial to baccy and beer. + + So my maister he very soon gone me the sack, + And my faither he gone me the stick to my back; + But I cared for his bangins and blows not a rap; + I wor sich a queer onaccountable chap! + + To make a long story as short as I can; + When I'd done as a boy, I became a young man; + And, as happens to most men at that time o' life, + I axed a young 'ooman if she'd be my wife. + + And Poll she consented. O, how my heart beat, + When she gone me her hand, smilin' wonderful sweet! + I could hear my heart beatin', just like a Church bell, + Till I thought as my weskit 'ud bust pretty well. + + But worn't I main happy, and well nigh a crazy, + When I heard her her say "Yes," blushin' sweet as a daisy! + We was axed in the church--no one dared to say nay; + So The Rector he spliced us, one fine soommer day. + + My Poll wor a steady young gal, and a good 'un + For washin' and scrubbin', and makin' a pudden; + Not one o them gossiping gals, wot I hate, + But a quoietish 'ooman, wi' brains in her pate. + + But soom how or other things didn't go right; + There wasn't atwixt us no manner o' spite; + But I stayed out o' Saturdays nights, and I fear + Spent more nor I'd ought on my baccy and beer. + + And Poll she look'd sadly, but didn't say nought; + She was one as 'ud allers say less than she thought; + But I know'd what she thought--so a cloud kind o' come, + And darkened the sun as once shone in our home, + + But it come to a pass--'twas the fifth o' November, + The day and the year I shall allers remember: + Twas midnight and past when I come to my door, + Scarce able to stan'--well, I won't say no more? + + Next mornin' my head it wor well nigh a splitten, + And I stagger'd and stagger'd, as weak as a kitten; + But the wust of it all wor the dressin' I got + From Polly--oh, worn't it main spicy and hot? + + What she said I won't tell you; but you married men, + As knows wot it is to be pecked by a hen, + Wot I means yer to guess pretty plainish 'ull find, + When I tells you she gone me "a bit of her mind." + + And now I'm as sober as sober can be, + And me and my Poll, as we sits down to tea, + Don't care very far of an evenin' to roam-- + We're allers so jolly contented at home. + + I wears no blue ribbon outside o' my coat, + For a pint o' good ale seems to freshen my throat; + But offer me more and I'm bound to refuse it-- + For my Poll's got a tongue, and her knows how to use it. + + So I takes just a pint, when there's coppers to spare-- + A pint wi' your dinner ain't no great affair-- + But the time' o' the day as suits Polly and me, + Is when we sits down of an evenin' to tea. + + For the young 'uns sits round us all smilin' and clean; + And Sally knits stockings wot's fit for the Queen; + Little Bill reads a book, and Jemima she sews, + And how happy our home is the parish all knows. + + * * * * * * + + Now young men and maids, if ye'll listen to me, + I'll give you some counsel all gratis and free-- + Young men if you want to be happy in life, + Remember Bill Stumps, and look out for a wife. + + Not one o' them husseys as gossips and chatters, + And is allers o' mindin' of other folk's matters, + But one as 'ull work, and be gentle and kind, + And as knows when to gi'e you "a bit of her mind." + + Young maids who are willing young wives to become, + Remember, the sweetest of places is home; + But remember, no husband 'ull find his home sweet, + If it ain't bright and cheerful, and tidy and neat. + + If all's of a mullock and dirty and dusty, + When he pops home to dinner, he'll turn rayther crusty; + But be tidy, and careful in cookin' his grub, + And, I'll bet what you like, he wont go to the Pub. + + So send off the young'uns to school afore nine; + And when they and faither come home for to dine, + Don't gi'e 'em cold taters and bacon half-fried, + But a meal as 'ull cheer 'em and warm their inside. + + And don't let the children go roamin' o' night, + But keep 'em at home for their faither's delight; + And I hope you may all be as happy and jolly, + In your Bedfordshire homes, as Bill Stumps and his Polly! + + +[1] Bedfordshire for Luncheon. + + + + +FINIS. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Sagittulae, Random Verses, by E. 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