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ANDREWS MAN V. i. %. a ( SWEETHEART II If they should tell me Love is blind, And so doth miss The faults which they are quick to find, I 'd answer this : Envy is blind ; not Love, whose eyes Are purged and clear Through gazing on the perfect skies Of thine, my dear. ■T I I lit li ii if 1 MUSIC FOR THE DYING FROM THE FRENCH OF SULLY PRUDHOMME Ye who will help me in my dying pain, Speak not a word : let all your voices cease. Let me but hear some soft harmonious strain, And I shall die at peace. Music entrances, soothes, and grants relief P'rom all below by which we are opprest ; I pray you, speak no word unto my grief, But lull it into rest. Tired am I of all words, and tired of aught That may some falsehood from the ear conceal, Desiring rather sounds which ask no thought, Which I need only feel : 12 MUSIC FOR THE DYING 13 A melody in whose delicious streams The soul may sink, and pass without a breath From fevered fancies into quiet dreams, From dreaming into death. i [ i I i. i! ■ FAREWELL TO A SINGER ON HER MARRIAGE As those who hear a sweet bird sing, And love each song it sings the best, Grieve when they see it taking wing And flying to another nest : We, who have heard your voice so oft. And loved it more than we can tell, Our hearts grow sad, our voices soft. Our eyes grow dim, to say farewell. It is not kind to leave us thus ; Yet we forgive you and combine. Although you now bring grief to us. To wish you joy, for auld lang syne. u THE CITY OF GOLF Would you like to see a city given over, Soul and body, to a tyrannising game ? If you would, there 's little need to be a rover, For St. Andrews is the abject city's name. It is surely quite superfluous to mention, To a person who has been here half an hour, That Golf is what engrosses the attention Of the people, with an all-absorbing power. Rich and poor alike are smitten with the fever ; Their business and religion is to play ; And a man is scarcely deemed a true believer, Unless he goes at least a round a day. 16 i6 THE CITY OF GOLF l!l'' The city boasts an old and learned college, Where you 'd think the leading industry was Greek; Even there the favoured instruments of knowledge Are a driver and a putter and a cleek. All the natives and the residents are patrons Of this royal, ancient, irritating sport ; All the old men, all the young men, maids and matrons — The universal populace, in short. In the morning, when the feeble light grows stronger. You may see the players going out in shoals ; And when night forbids their playing any longer. They tell you how they did the different holes Golf, golf, golf — is all the story ! In despair my overburdened spirit sinks. Till I wish that every golfer was in glory, And I pray the sea may overflow the links. THE CITY OF GOLF 17 One slender, struggling ray of consolation Susti. .IS me, very feeble though it be : There are two who still escape infatuation, My friend M 'Foozle 's one, the other 's me. As I write the words, M 'Foozle enters blushing. With a brassy and an iron in his hand ... This blow, so unexpected and so crushing, Is more than I am able to withstand. So now it but remains for me to die, sir. Stay ! There is another course I may pursue — And perhaps upon the whole it would be wiser— I will yield to fate and be a golfer too ! B !■ I * I THE SWALLOWS FROM JEAN PIERRE CLARIS FLORIAN I LOVE to see the swallows come At my window twittering. Bringing from their southern home News of the approaching spring. * Last year's nest,' they softly say, ' Last year's love again shall see ; Only faithful lovers may Tell you of the coming glee.' When the first fell touch of froFt Strips the wood of faded leaves. Calling all their wingbd host, The swallows meet above the eaves 18 ammmmammmm^smf^iSf. THE SWALLOWS 'Come away, away,' they cry, * Winter's snow is hastening ; True hearts winter comes not nigh, They are ever in the spring.' 19 If by some unhappy fate, Victim of a cruel mind, One is parted from her mate And within a cage confined, Swiftly will the swallow die, Pining for her lover's bower. And her lover watching nigh Dies beside her in an hour. AFTER MANY DAYS The mist hangs round the College tower, The ghostly street Is silent at this midnight hour, Save for my feet. With none to see, with none to hear. Downward I go To where, beside the rugged pier. The sea sings low. It sings a tune well loved and known In days gone by, When often here, and not alone, I watched the sky. 80 ■^■«^"^^!«i^''"lBHS!Wi AFTER MANY DAYS That was a barren time at best, Its fruits were few ; But fruits and flowers had keener zest And fresher hue. Life has not since been wholly vain, And now I bear Of wisdom plucked from joy and pain Some slender share. But, howsoever rich the store, I 'd lay it down, To feel upon my back once more The old red gown. 21 ■■ t > HORACE'S PHILOSOPHY What the end the gods have destined unto thee and unto me, Ask not : *tis forbidden knowledge. Be content, Leuconoe. Let alone the fortune-tellers. How much better to endure Whatsoever shall betide us — even though we be n^t sure Whether Jove grants other winters, whether this our last shall be That upon the rocks opposing dashes now the 1'uscan sea. Be thou wise, and strain thy wines, and mindful of life's brevity Stint thy hopes. The envious moments, even while we speak, have flown ; Trusting nothing to the future, seize the day that is our own. 22 ito thee and Be content, :h better to I we be Hv^t ler this our the 1 uscan mindful of even while day that is ADVENTURE OF A POET As I was walking down the street A week ago, Near Henderson's I chanced to meet A man I know. His name is Alexander Bell, His home, Dundee ; I do not know him quite so well As he knows me. He gave my hand a hearty shake, Discussed the weather, And then proposed that we should take A stroll together. 2$ T '' t . f, :i # i' i f: i 24 ADVENTURE OF A POET Down College Street we took our way, And there we met The beautiful Miss Mary Gray, That arch coquette. Who stole last spring my heart away And has it yet. That smile with which my bow she greets. Would it were fonder ! Or else less fond — since she its sweets On all must squander. Thus, when I meet her in the streets, I sadly ponder, And after her, as she retreats. My thoughts will wander. And so I listened with an air Of inattention, While Bell described a folding-chair Of his invention. ADVENTURE OF A POET And when we reached the Swilcan Burn, * It looks like rain,* Said I, * and we had better turn.' 'Twas all in vain, «5 For Bell was weather-wise, and knew The signs aerial ; He bade me note the strip of blue Above the Imperial, H Also another patch of sky, South-west by south. Which meant that we might journey dry To Eden's mouth. He was a man with information On many topics : He talked about the exploration Of Poles and Tropics, r 1 26 ADVENT'JRE OF A POET i i !i il ■i ] .ii iif The scene in Parliament last night, Sir William's letter ; * And do you like the electric light, Or gas-lamps better ? * The strike among the dust-heap pickers He said was over ; And had I read about the liquors Just seized at Dover ? Or the unhappy printer lad At Rothesay drowned ? Or the Italian ironclad That r^n aground ? He told me stories (lately come) Of good society, Some slightly tinged with truth, and some With impropriety. l;l ADVENTURE OF A POET He spoke of duelling in France, Then lightly glanced at Mrs. Mackenzie's monster dance, Which he had danced at. 27 So he ran on, till by-and-by A silence came. For which I greatly fear that I Was most to blame. Then neither of us spoke a word For quite a minute, When presently a thought occurred With promise in it. * How did you like the Shakespeare play The students read ? ' By this, the Eden like a bay Before us spread. 7 >t 'if If 28 ADVENTURE OF A POET Near Eden many softer plots Of sand there be ; Our feet, like Pharaoh's chariots, Drave heavily. And ere an answer I could frame, He said that Irving Of his extraordinary fame Was undeserving, And*for his part he thought more highly Of Ellen Terry; Although he knew a girl named Riley At Broughty Ferry, Who might be, if she only chose. As great a star. She had a part in the tableaux At the bazaar. ■s^i ADVENTURE OF A POET If I had said but little yet, I now said less, And smoked a home-made cigarette In mute distress. 29 The smoke into his face was blown By the wind's action, And this afforded me, I own. Some satisfaction ; But still his tongue received no check Till, coming home. We stood beside the ancient wreck And watched the foam Wash in among the timbers, now Sunk deep in sand, Though I can well remember how I used to stand ^■ i ! I 30 ADVENTURE OF A POET On vvindy days and hold my hat, And idly turn To read ' Lovise, Frederikstad ' Upon her stern. Her stern long since was buried quite, And soon no trace The absorbing sand will leave in sight To mark her place. This reverie was not permitted To last too long. Bell's mind had left the stage, and flitted To fields of song. And now he spoke of Marmion And Lew's Morris \ The former he at school had done, Along with Horace. ; ! 1 >• ADVENTURE OF A POET His maiden aunts, no longer young, But learned ladies, Had lately sent him Son^s Unsung, ^pic of Hades, Gycia, and Gwen, He thought them fine ; Not like that Browning, Of whom he would not read a line, He told me, frowning. Talking of Horace— very clever, Beyond a doubt. But what the Satires meant, he never Yet could make out. 31 I said I relished Satire Nine Of the First Book ; But he had skipped to the divine Kliz.! Jook. 32 ADVENTURE OF A POET He took occasion to declare, In tones devoted, How much he loved her old Arm-chair, Which now he quoted. And other poets he reviewed, Some two or three, Till, having touched on Thomas Hood, He turned to me. * Have you been stringing any rhymes Of late ?' he said. I could not lie, but several times I shook my head. I '• The last straw to the earth will bow The o'erloaded camel. And surely I resembled now That ill-used mammal. 1 ADVENTURE OF A POET See how a thankless world regards The gifted choir Of minstrels, singers, poets, bards, Who sweep the lyre. This is the recompense we meet In our vocation. V/e Dear the burden and the heat Of inspiration ; The beauties of the earth we sing In glowing numbers. And to the ' reading public ' bring Pst-|)randial slumbers; 33 fl m I We save from AUmmon's gross dominion These sordid times .... And all this, in the world's opinion, 's 'stringing rhymes.' c TT I -1 i 1 H f. ii li H i 34 ADVENTURE OF A POET It is as if a man should say, In accents mild, ' Have you been stringing beads to-day, My gentle child ? ' (Yet even children "md of singing Will pay oft res, And I to-day at least am stringing Not beads but bores.) And now the sands were left behind, The Club-house past. I wondered, Can I hope to find Escape at last. Or must I take him home to tea, And bear his chatter Until the last train to Dundee Shall solve the matter ? ( i l1 ADVENTURE OF A POET But while I shuddered at the thought And planned resistance, My conquering Alexander caught Sight in the distance Of two young ladies, one of whom Is his ambition ; And so, with somewhat heightened bloom. He asked permission To say good-bye to me and follow. I freely gave it, And wished him all success. Apollo Sic me servavil. 35 \ ^^ l» '^ ^•mm w

! ¥ ■aPBPi mm I iti I f f tl- (' '■ A COLLEGE CAREER When one is young and eager, A bejant and a boy, Though his moustache be meagre, That cannot mar his joy When at the Competition He takes a fair position, And feels he has a mission, A talent to employ. With pride he goes each morning Clad in a scarlet gown, A cap his head adorning (Both bought of Mr. Brown) ; 44 A COLLEGE CAREER 45 He hears the harsh bell jangle, And enters the quadrangle, The classic tongues to mangle And make the ancients frown. He goes not forth at even. He burns the midnight oil, He feels that all his heaven Depends on ceaseless toil ; Across his exercises A dream of many prizes Before his spirit rises, And makes his raw blood boil. ir Though he be green as grass is. And fresh as new-mown hay Before the first year passes His verdure fades away. 'i ■' :r ; » > ' ;■ i I 46 A COLLEGE CAREER His hopes now faintly glimmer, Grow dim and ever dimmer, And with a parting shimmer Melt into 'common day.' 1 He cares no more for Liddell Or Scott ; and Smith, and White, And Lewis, Short, and Riddle Are 'emptied of delight.' Todhunter and Colenso (Alas, that friendships end so ! ) He curses in extenso Through morning, noon, and night. No more with patient labour The midnight oil he burns, But unto some near neighbour His fair young face he turns, ii f i A COLLEGE CAREER To share the harmless tattle Which bejants love to prattle, As wise as infant's rattle Or talk of coots and herns. At midnight round the city He carols wild and free Some sweet unmeaning ditty In many a changing key ; And each succeeding verse is Commingled with the curses Of those whose sleep disperses Like sal volatile. 47 III -■f lis hi ■ i Mi He shaves and takes his toddy Like any fourth year man, And clothes his growing body After another plan id 48 A COLLEGE CAREER Than that which once delighted When, in the days benighted, Like some wild thing excited About the fields he ran. " I I ■^ , III A sweet life and an idle He lives from year to year. Unknowing bit or bridle (There are no proctors here), Free as the flying swallow Which Ida's Prince would follow If but his bones were hollow. Until the end draws near. |! I Then comes a Dies Irae, When full of misery And torments worse than fiery He crams for his degree ; A COLLEGE CAREER And hitherto unvexed books, Dry lectures, abstracts, text-books, Perplexing and perplexed books. Make life seem vanity. 49 IV Before admiring sister And mother, see, he stands. Made Artium Magister With laying on of hands. He gives his books to others (Perchance his younger brothers). And free from all such bothers Goes out into all lands. if ' |i ' THE WASTER'S PRESENTIMENT i ^i 1 I SHALL be spun. There is a voice within Which tells me plainly I am all undone ; For though I toil not, neither do I spin, I shall be spun. # I ,,.; April approaches. I have not begun Schwegler or Mackintosh, nor will begin Those lucid works till April 21. So my degree I do not hope to win, For not by ways like mine degrees are won ; And though, to please my uncle, I go in, I shall be spun. -0 THE CLOSE OF THE SESSION The Session 's over. We must say farewell To these east winds and to this eastern sea, For summer comes, with swallow and with bee, With many a flower and many a golfing swell. No more the horribly discordant bell Shall startle slumber ; and all men agree That whatsoever other things may be A cause of sorrow, this at least is well. The class-room siiall not open wide its doors, Or if it does, such opening will be vain ; The gown shall hang unused upon a nail ; South Street shall know us not; we'll wipe the Scores From our remembrance ; as for Mutto's Lane Yea, even the memory of this shall fail. 51 : J 1 ^ A BALLAD OF THE TOWN WATER I, i It is the Police Commissioners, All on a winter's day ; And they to prove the town water Have set themselves away. n They went to the north, they went to the south. And into the west went th( y, Till they found a civil, civil engineer, And unto him did say : ' Now tell to us, thou civil engineer. If this be fit to drink.' And they showed him a cup of the town water. Which was as black as ink. 52 A BALLAD OF THE TOWN WATER He took three sips of the town water, And black in the face was he ; And they turned them back and fled away, Amazed that this should be. 53 I And he has written a broad letter And sealed it with a ring. And the letter saith that the town water Is not a goodly thing. And they have met, and the Bailies all, And eke the Councillors, And they have ta'en the broad letter And read it within the doors. r . i if'l ■;ir And there has fallen a great quarrel. And a striving within the doors, And quarrelsome words have the Bailies said, And eke the Councillors. w^mm 54 A BALLAD OF THE TOWN WATER And one saith, ' We will have other water,' And another saith, * But nay ; ' And none may tell what the end shall be. Alack and well-a-day ! :m' BPEKEKEKE3 K0A5 KOAS I LOVE the inoffensive frog, 'A little child, a limber elf,' With health and spirits all agog, He does the long jump in a bog Or teaches men to swim and dive. If he should be cut up alive, Should I not be cut up myself ? So I intend to be straightway An Anti-Vivisectionist ; I '11 read Miss Cobbe five hours a day And watch the little frogs at play. With no desire to see their hearts At work, or other inward parts, If other inward parts exist. !! 1 n - . TO NUMBER 27X. Beloved Peeler ! friend and guide And guard of many a midnight reeler, None worthier, though the world is wide, Beloved Peeler. Thou from before the swift four-wheeler Didst pluck me, and didst thrust aside A strongly built provision-dealer Who menaced me with blows, and cried ' Come on ! Come on ! ' O Paian, Healer, Then but for thee I must have died. Beloved Peeler ! 66 4 A STREET CORNER Here, whei3 the thoroughfares meet at an angle Of ninety degrees (this angle is right), You may hear the loafers that jest and wrangle Thijugh the sun-lit day and the lamp-lit night; Though day be dreary and night be wet. You will find a ceaseless concourse met ; Their laughter resounds and their Fife tongues jangle. And now and again their Fife fists fight. Often here the voice of the crier Heralds a sale in the City Hall, And slowly but surely drawing nigher Is heard the baker's bugle call. The baker halts where the two ways meet, And the blast, though loud, is far from sweet That with breath of bellows and heart of fire He blows, till the echoes leap from the wall. 67 i 1 1 ' fl^ i 1! i!5 8;.* S8 A STREET CORNER And on Saturday night just after eleven. When the taverns have closed a moment ago, The vocal efforts of six or seven Make the corner a place of woe. For the time is fitful, the notes are queer. And it sounds to him who dwelleth near Like the w^ailing for cats in a feline heaven By orphan cats who are left below. Wherefore, O Bejant, Son of the Morning, Fresh as a daisy dipt in the dew, Hearken to me and receive my warning : Though rents be heavy, and bunks be few And most of them troubled with rat or mouse. Never take roon:s in a corner house ; Or sackcloth and ashes and sad self-scorning Shall be for a portion unto you. THE POET'S HAT The rain had fallen, the Poet arose, He passed through the doorway into the street, A strong wind lifted his hat from his head, And he uttered some words that were far from sweet. And then he started to follow the chase, And put on a spurt that was wild and fleet, It made the people pause in a crowd, And lay odds as to which would beat. The street cad scoffed as he hunted the hat, The errand-boy shouted hooray ! The scavenger stood with his broom in his hand. And smiled in a very rude way ; And the clergyman thought, *I have heard many words, But never, until to-day. Did I hear any words that were quite so bad As I heard that young man say.' 59 > MU A SONG OF GREEK PROSE Thrice happy are those Who ne'er heard of Greek Prose — Or Greek Poetry either, as far as that goes ; For Liddell and Scott Shall cumber them not, Nor Sargent nor Sidgwick shall break their repose. But I, late at night, By the very bad light Of very bad gas, must painfully write Some stuff that a Greek With his delicate cheek Would smile at as * barbarous ' — faith, he well might. 60 A SONG OF GREEK PROSE 6l ht. For when it is done, I doubt if, for one, I myself could explain how the meaning might run ; And as for the style — Well, it 's hardly worth while To talk about style, where style there is none. It was all very fine For a poet divine Like Byron, to rave of Greek women and wine ; But the Prose that I sing Is a different thing. And I frankly acknowledge it 's not in my line. So away with Greek Prose, The source of my woes ! (This metre's too tough, I must draw to a close.) May Sargent be drowned In the ocean profound. And Sidgwick be food for the carrion crows ! ,' * ? •rr'mwaiigq I ^ f i AN ORATOR'S COMPLAINT How many the troubles that wait On mortals ! — especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate. Did you ever attempt to speak When you hadn't a word to say ? Did you find that it wouldn't pay, And subside, feeling dreadfully weak ? Did you ever, when going ahead In a fervid defence of the Stage, Get checked in your noble rage By somehow losing your thread ? 62 Si AN orator's complaint 63 Did you ever rise to reply To a toast (say * The Volunteers '), And evoke loud laughter and cheers, When you didn't exa?. uy know why ? Did you ever wax witty, and when You had smashed an opponent quite small. Did he seem not to mind it at all, But get up and smash you again ? If any or all of these th'ngs Have happened to you (as to me), I think you '11 be found to agree With yours truly, when sadly he sings : * How many the troubles that wait On mortals ! — especially those Who endeavour in eloquent prose To expound their views, and orate.' 'I li i a^^M' ^ ^B M ■ I '] 1 1' i .J. ■I * m (7« MILTON WITH APOLOGIES TO LORD TENNYSON O SWALLOW-TAILED purvcyor of college sprees, O skilled to please the student fraternity, Most honoured publican of Scotland, Milton, a name to adorn the Cross Keys ; Whose chosen waiters, Samuel, Archibald, Helped by the boots and marker at billiards. Wait, as the smoke-filled, crowded, chamber Rings to the roar of a Gaelic chorus — Me rather all those temperance hostelries, The soda siphon fizzily murmuring. And lime fruit juice and seltzer water Charm, as a wanderer out in South Street, Where some recruiting, eager Blue-Ribbonites Spied me afar and caught by the Post Office, And crimson-nosed the latest convert Fastened the odious badge upon me. 64 MAGNI NOMINIS UMBRA St. Andrews ! not for ever thine shall be Merely the shadow of a mighty name, The remnant only of an ancient fame Which time has crumbled, as thy rocks the sea. For thou, to whom was given the earliest key Of knowledge in this land (and all men came To learn of thee), shalt once more rise and claim The glory that of right belongs to thee. |i i! Grey in thine age, there yet in thee abides The force of youth, to make thyself anew A name of honour and a place of power. Arise, then ! shake the dust from off thy sides ; Thou shalt have many where thou now hast few ; Again thou shalt be great. Quick come the hour ! E 65 ,j SONG FROM 'THE PRINCESS* As through the street at eve we went (It might be half-past ten), We fell out, my friend and I, About the cube of x-\-y, And made it up again. And blessings on the falling out Between two learned men. Who fight on points which neither knows, And make it up again ! For when we came where stands an inn We visit now and then. There above a pint of beer, Oh there above a pint of beer. We made it up again. J] I ANDREW M'CRIE FROM THE UNPUBLISHED REMAINS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE It was many and many a year ago, In a city by the sea, That a man there lived whom I happened to know By the name of Andrew M'Crie ; And this man he slept in another room, But ground and had meals with me. I was an ass and he was an ass. In this city by the sea ; But we ground in a way which was more than a grind, I and Andrew M'Crie ; In a way that the idle semis next door Declared was shameful to see. 67 \.% I 68 ANDREW M'CRIE I I And this was the reason that, one dark night, In this city by the sea, A stone flew in at the window, hitting The milk-jug and Andrew M'Crie. And once some low-bred tertians came, And bore him away from me. And shoved him into a private house Where the people were having tea. Professors, not half so well up in their work, Went envying him and me — Yes ! — that was the reason, I always thought (And Andrew agreed with me), Why they ploughed us both at the end of the year, Chilling and killing poor Andrew M'Crie. But his ghost is more terrible far than the ghosts Of many more famous than he — Of many more gory than he — And neither visits to foreign coasts. ANDREW M'CRIE Nor tonics, can ever set free Two well-known iVofs frr^rr. i-u l 1 rots from the haunting wraith Of the injured Andrew M'Crie. For at night, as they drea., they frequently scream, ' Have mercy, Mr. M'Crie ! ' And at morn they will rise with bloodshot eyes. And the very first thing they will see, When they dare to descend to their coffee and rolls. Smrng down by the scuttle, the scuttle of coals, With a volume of notes on its knee, Is the spectre of Andrew M'Crie. «9 i AN INTERVIEW I MET him down upon the pier ; His eyes were wild and sad, And something in them made me fear That he was going mad. So, being of a prudent sort, I stood some distance off, And before speaking gave a short Conciliatory cough. I then observed, * What makes you look So singularly glum?' No notice of my words he took. I said, * Pray, are you dumb ? ' 70 AN INTERVIEW 71 *Ohno!' he said, ' I do not think My power of speech is lost, But when one's hopes are black as ink, Why, talking is a frost. ' You see, I 'm in for Math, again. And certain to be ploughed. Please tell me where I could obtain An inexpensive shroud.' I told him where such things are had, Well made, and not too dear; And, feeling really very sad I left him on the pier. 1 i-i :i 111 lu' ll ! j 1 i< 11 1 il 1 1 THE M.A. DEGREE AFTER WORDSWORTH It was a phantom of delight When first it gleamed upon my sight, A scholarly distinction, sent Tc be a student's ornament. The hood was rich beyond compare, The gown was a unique affair. By this, by that my mind was drawn Then, in my academic dav;n ; A dancing shape, an image gay Before me then was my M.A. I saw it upon nearer view, A glory, yet a bother too ! 72 THE M.A. DEGREE 73 For I perceived that I should be Involved .n much Philosophy (A brancn in which I could but meet Works that were neither light nor sw^ct) ; In Mathematics, not too good For human nature's daily food ; And Classics, rendered in the styles Of Kelly, Bohn, and Dr. Giles. And now I own, with some small spleen, A most confounded ass I Ve been ; The glory seems an empty breath, And I am nearly bore.I to death With Reason, Consciousness, and Will, And other things beyond my skill, Discussed in books all darkly planned And more in number than the sand. Yet that M.A. still haunts my sight. With something of its former light. |.'..i 1 H\ w <■': TRIOLET After the melting of the snow Divines depart and April comes ; Examinations nearer grow After the melting of the snow ; The grinder wears a face of woe, The waster smokes and twirls his thumbs ; After the melting of the s'low Divines depart and April comes. H VIVIEN'S SONG AT THIi: L.L.A. EXAMINATION In Algebra, if Algebra be ours, X and x^ can ne'er be equal powers, CTnIess^=i, or none at all. It is the little error in the sum. That by and by will make the answer come To something queer, or else not come at all. The little error in the easy sum. The little slit across the kettle-drum, That makes the instrument not play at all. It is not worth correcting : let it go : But shall I? Answer, Prudence, answer, no. And bid me do it right or not at all. 7S l\ i 1. I u i i \U I I- I) , THE WASTER SINGING AT MIDNIGHT AFTER LONGFELLOW Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon For his personal diversion, Sang the chorus U-pi-dee, Sang about the Barley Bree. In that hour when all is quiet Sang he songs of noise and riot. In a voice so loud and queer That I wakened up to hear. Songs that distantly resembled Those one hears from men assembled In the old Cross Keys Hotel, Only sung not half so well. 76 THE WASTER SINGING AT MIDNIGHT i'or the time of this ecstatic Amateur was most erratic, And he only hit the kt Once in every melody. If * he wot prigs wot isn't his'n Ven he 's cotched is sent to prison,' He who murders sleep might well Adorn a solitary cell. But, if no obliging peeler Will arrest this midnight squealer, My own peculiar arm c^ might Must undertake the job to-night. 77 THIRTY YEARS AFTER Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences j and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr, Swinburne's Poems and Ballads ^ speaks as follows : If you were now a bejant, And I a first year man, We 'd grind and grub together In every kind of weather, When Winter's snows were regent. Or when the Spring began ; If you were now a bejant, And I a first year man. If you were what you once were. And I the same man still, You 'd be the gainer by it, For you — yo\^ c^n't deny it — T8 rly thirty srchange admirer follows : THIRTY YEARS AFTER A most uncommon dunce were • My profit would be nil, If you were what you once were, And I the same man still. If you were last in Latin, And I were first in Greek, I 'd write your Latin proses. While you indulged in dozes. Or carved the bench you sat in, So innocent and meek ; If you were last in Latin, And I were first in Greek. ■! f 79 it ■SaJ 4 I ^ a I* i I If I had got a prize, Jim, And your certif. was bad, And you were filled with sorrow And brooding on the morrow, i 1 1 ■ ^ jl^KI 1 ' 1 1^9''' l I, ^HS^ i ' JCTJI , 8o THIRTY YEARS AFTER I 'd gently sympathise, Jim, And bid you not be sad, If I had got a prize, Jim, And your certif. was bad. If I were through in Moral, And you were spun in Math., I 'd break it to your parent, When you confessed you daren't. And so avert a quarrel And smooth away his wrath ; If I were through in Moral, And you were spun in Math. My prospects rather shone, Jim, And yours were rather dark, And those who knew us both then Would often take their oath then. THIRTY YEARS AFTER That you would not get on, Jim, While I should make my mark ; My prospects rather shone, Jim, And yours were rather dark. 8i ' I Yet somehow you 've made money, And I am still obscure ; Your face is round and red, Jim, While I look underfed, Jim ; The thing's extremely funny, And beats me, I am sure. Yet somehow you 've made money. And I am still obscure. '« ^i j. (■ " h i 1 11 1 J / J I I i THE GOLF-BALL AND THE LOAN AFTER LONGFELLOW I DROVE a golf-ball into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not where ; For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I lent five shillings to some men. They spent it all, I know not when. For who is quick enough to know The time in which a crown may go ? Long, long afterward, in a whin I found the golf-ball, black as sin ; But the five shillings are missing still ! They haven't turned up, and I doubt if they will. 82 TO THE READER OF 'UNIVERSITY NOTES' Ah yes, we know what you 're saying, As your eye glances over these Notes : ' What asses are these that are braying With flat and unmusical throats ? Who writes such unspeakable patter ? Is it lunatics, idiots — or who ? ' And you think there is ' something the matter/ Well, we think so too. We have sat, full of sickness and sorrow, As the hours dragged heavily on. Till the midnight has merged into morrow. And the darkness is going or gone. We are Editors. Give us the credit Of meaning to do what we could ; 8a ii ii ^■, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 :?■■ I.I 1.25 21 11115 e KL2 |||)I2.2 i^" li£ IIIIIM U ill 1.6 V] V) C? ^> ••>> ',> / y^ Photographic Sdences Corporation <^ ?^-i\ ,i^v ^ V 0^ ^/V^" 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 P ^ ~» '9 A *<^ -^' ^<£ M ^ .^ fe fA J 84 TO THE READER OF ' UNIVERSITY NOTES ' But, since th?re is nothing to edit, It isn't much good. Once we shared the delightful delusion That to edit was racy and rare, But we suffered a sad disillusion, And we found that our castles were air ; We had decked them with carvings and gildings, We had filled them with laughter and fun, But all of a sudden the buildings Came down with a run. Not a trace was there left of the carving. And the gilding had vanished from sight ; But the ' column ' for matter was starving. And we had not to edit — but write. So we set to and wrote. Can you wonder, If the writing was feeble or dead ? We had started as editors — Thunder ! We were authors instead. TO THE READER OF 'UNIVERSITY NOTES ' 85 We 'd mistaken our calling, election, Vocation, department, and use ; We had thought that our task was selection, And we found that we had to produce. So we sigh for release from our labours, We pray for a happy despatch, We will take our last leave of our neighbours, And then — Colney Hatch. We are singing this dolorous ditty As we part at the foot of the stairs : We cannot but think it 's a pity. But what matter ? there 's nobody cares. Our candle burns low in its socket, There is nothing left but the wick ; And these Notes, that went up like a rocket. Come down like the stick. !' ■I AIEN APISTETEIN Ever to be the best. To lead In whatsoever things are true ; Not stand among the halting crew, The faint of heart, the feeble-kneed, Who tarry for a certain sign To make them follow with the rest- Oh, let not their reproach be thine ! But ever be the best. For want of this aspiring soul, Great deeds on earth remain undone, But, sharpened by the sight of one. Many shall press toward the goal. AIEN API2TEYEIN Thou running foremost of the throng, The fire of striving in thy breast, Shalt win, although the race be long, And ever be the best. And wilt thou question of the prize ? 'Tis not of silver or of gold. Nor in applauses manifold, But hidden in the heart it lies : To know that but for thee not one Had run the race or sought the quest. To know that thou hast ever done And ever been the best. 87 1 ;- CATULLUS AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE Through many lands and over many seas I come, my Brother, to thine obsequies, To pay thee the last honours that remain, And call upon thy voiceless dust, in vain. Since cruel fate has robbed me even of thee. Unhappy Brother, snatched away from me. Now none the less the gifts our fathers gave. The melancholy honours of the grave, Wet with my tears I bring to thee, and say Farewell ! farewell ! for ever and a day. LOST AT SEA Lost at sea, with all on board ! No one saw their sinking sail, No one heard their dying wail, Heard them calling on the Lord- Lost at sea, with all on board. Till the sea gives up its dead, There they lie in quiet sleep, And the voices of the deep Sound unheeded overhead, Till the sea gives up its dead. PLEASANT PROPHECIES A DAY of gladness yet will dawn, Though when I cannot say ; Perhaps it may be Thursday week, Perhaps some other day, — When man, freed from the bond of clothes, And needing no more food. Shall never pull his neighbour's nose. But be extremely good. When Love and Nobleness shall live Next door to Truth and Right, While Reverence shall rent a room. Upon the second flight. 90 PLEASANT PROPHECIES And wishes shall be horses then, And l)eggars shall be kings ; And all the people shall admire This pleasant state ot ihings. But if it seems a mystery, And you 're inclined to doubt it, Just ask your local poet. He Will tell you all about it. 91 (;1 i THE DELIGHTS OF MATHEMATICS It seems a hundred years or more Since I, with note-book, ink and pen, In cap and gown, first trod the floor Which I have often trod since then ; Yet well do I remember when. With fifty other fond fanatics, I sought delights beyond my ken. The deep delights of Mathematics. I knew that two and two made four, I felt that five times two were ten, But, as for all profounder lore. The robin redbreast or the wren, tf2 THE DELIGHTS OF MATHEMATICS The sparrow, whether cock or hen, Knew quite as much about Quadratics, Was less confused by x and w, The deep delights of Mathematics. The Asses' Bridge 1 passed not o'er, I floundered in the noisome fen Which hes behmd it and before ; I wandered in the gloomy glen Where Surds and Factors have their den. But when I saw the pit of Statics, I said Good-bye, Farewell, Amen ! The deep delights of Mathematics. 93 O Bejants ! blessed, beardless men. Who strive with Euclid in your attics, For worlds I would not taste again The deep delights of Mathematics. I STANZAS FOR MUSIC I LOVED a little maiden In the golden years gone by ; She lived in a mill, as they all do (There is doubtless a reason why). But she faded in the autumn When the leaves began to fade. And the night before she faded, These words to me she said • ' Do not forget me, Henry, Be noble and brave and true ; But I must not bide, for the world is wide, And the sky above is blue.' So I sP'd farewell to my darling, And sailed away and came back ; 94 STANZAS FOR MUSIC 95 And the good ship /am was in port again, Andf I found that they all loved Jack. But Polly and I were sweethearts, As all the neighbours know, Before I met with the mill-girl Twenty years ago. So I thought I would go and see her, But alas, she had faded too ! She could not bide, for the world was wide, And the sky above was blue. And now I can only remember The maid — the maid of the mill, And Polly, and one or two others In the churchyard over the hill. And I sadly ask the question. As I weep in the yew-tree's shade With my elbow on one of their tombstones, * Ah, why did they all of them fade ? ' i r i 96 STANZAS FOR MUSIC And the answer I half expected Comes from the solemn yew, * They could none of them bide, for the world was wide, And the sky above was blue.' t^ ! i tie world ji 1 THE END OF APRIL This is the time when larks are singing loud And higher still ascending and more high. This is the time when many a fleecy cloud Runs lamb-like on the pastures of the sky, This is the time when most I love to lie Stretched on the links, now listening to the sea. Now looking at the train that dawdles by ; But James is going in for his degree. James is my brother. He has twice been ploughed. Yet he intends to have another shy. Hoping to pass (as he says) in a crowd. Sanguine is James, but not so sanguine I. 'if '! . o !>7 <)8 THE END OF APRIL If you demand my reason, I reply : Because he reads no Greek without a key And spells Thucydides c-i-d-y ; Yet James is going in for his degree. No doubt, if the authorities allowed The taking in of Bohns, he might defy The stiffest paper that has ever cowed A timid candidate and made him fly. Without such aids, he all as well may try To cultivate the people of Dundee, Or lead the camel through the needle's eye ; Yet James is going in for his degree. Vain are the efforts hapless mortals ply To climb of knowledge the forbidden tree ; Yet still about its roots they strive and cry. And James is going in for his degree. cey ee; THE SCIENCE CLUB Hurrah for the Science Club ! Join it, ye fourth year men ; Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub, Whoi:e years scarce number ten Join it, divines most grave ; Science, as all men know. As a friend the Church may save, But may damage her us a foe. (And in any case it is well, If attacking insidious doubt, Or devoting H to H , To know what you 're talking about.) on 100 THE SCIENCE CLUB Hurrah for the lang-nebbit word ! Hurrah for the erudite phrase, That in Dura Den shall he heard, That shall echo on Kinkell Braes ! Hurrah for the spoils of the links (The golf-ball as well as the daisy) ! Hurrah for explosions and stinks To set half the landladies crazy ! Hurrah for the fragments of boulders, Surpassing in size and in weight, To be carried home on the shoulders And laid on the table in state ! Hurrah for the flying-machine Long buried from sight in a cupboard. With bones that would never have been Desired of old Mother Hubbard ! thp: science club Hurrah for the hazardous boat, For the crabs (of all kinds) to be caught, For the eggs on the surface that float, And the lump-sucker curiously wrought ! Hurrah for the filhng of tanks In the shanty down by the shore, For the Royal Society's thanks. With Fellowships flying galore ! Hurrah for discourses on worms. Where one listens and comes away With a stock of bewildering terms, And nothing whatever to pay ! Hurrah for gadding about Of a Saturday afternoon. In the light of research setting out. Coming home in the light of the moon ! lOI I02 THE SCIENCE CLU» Hurrah for Guardbridge, and the mill Where one learns how paper is made ! Hurrah for the samples that fill One's drawer with the finest cream-laid ! Hurrah for the Brewery visit And beer in liberal doses ! In the cause of Science, what is it But inspecting a technical process ? Hurrah for a trip to Dundee To study the spinning of jute ! Hurrah for a restaurant tea, And a sight of the Tay Bridge to boot ! Hurrah, after every excursion, To feel one 's improving one's mind, With the smallest amount of exertion, And that of the pleasantest kind ! IMITATED FROM WORDSWORTH He brought a team from Inversnaid To play our Third Fifteen, A man whom none of us had played And very few had seen. He weighed not less than eighteen stone, And to a practised eye He seemed as little fit to run As he was fit to fly. He looked so clumsy and so slow, And made so litde fuss ; But he got in behind— and oh, The difference to us ! I'l loa REFLECTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND ON RETURNING TO ST.' ANDREWS In the hard familiar horse-box I am sitting once again ; Creeping back to old St. Andrews comes the slow North British train, Bearing bejants with their luggage (boxes full of heavy books, Which the porter, hot and tipless, eyes with unfor- giving looks). Bearing third year men rnd second, bearing them and bearing me. Who am now a fourth year magnate with two parts of my degree. 104 REFLFXTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND '05 ^^•e have started off from Leuchars, and my thoughts have started too Back to times when this sensation was entirely fresh and new. 11 When T marvelled at the towers beyond the Eden's wide expanse, Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves h-s father's manse With some money in his pocket, with some down upon his cheek, With the elements of Latin, with the rudiments of C/reek. And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, Underneath the towers he looks at, in among the throngs of men, Lm io6 REFLECTIONS OF A MAOISTRAND Men from Fife and men from Forfar, from the High School of Dundee, Ten or twelve from other counties, and from England two or three. Oh, the Bursary Competition ! oh, the wonder and the rage. When I saw my name omitted from the schedule in the cage ! (irief is strong but youth elastic, and I rallied from the blow, For I felt that there were few things in the world I did not know. Then my ready-made opinions upon all things under heaven I declaimed with sound and fury, to an audience of eleven REFLECTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND 107 Gathered in the Logic class-room, sworn to settle the debate, Does the Stage upon the ivhoie demoralise or elnnitc ? \ 1 This and other joys I tasted. I became a Volunteer, Murmuring D nice et decorum in the Battery-Sergeant's ear Joined the Golf Club, and with others of an after- noon was seen Vainly searching in the whins, or foozling on the putting-green ; I I voice Took a minor part in Readings ; lifted up my voi( and sang At the Musical rehearsals, till the class-room rafters rang ; io8 REFLECTIONS OK A MAOISTRAN!) Wrote long poems for the Column ; entered for the o. K.. (^., And, if I remember rightly, was thrown out by twenty-three ; Ground a little for my classes, till the hour of nine or ten, When I read a decent novel or went out to see some men. So I reaped the large experience which has made me what 1 am, Far removed from bejanthood as is St. Andrews from Siam. But with age and with experience disenchantment comes to all, Even pleasure on the keenest appetite at last will pall. KEFLIXTIONS OF A MAOISTRAND 109 pounds Had I now a hundred pou„ds, a hundred would I bestow To enjoy the loud solatium as I did three years ago, ^''^'" "'^ '°"S' «-«^<= ■'^^^ fan.liar, less familiar too the pies, And I did not mind receiving orango-pccl between I -■ eyes. in spite of find- Vet, in spite of disenchantment, and ing out There are some things in the world that I am hardly sure about, Still sufficient of illusion and inexplicable ,«race Hangs about the grey old town to make it a delight- ful place. I ■^H IIO REFLECTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND Though solatiums charm no longer, though a gaudeamus fails With its atmosphere unwholesome to expand my spirit's sails, ? Though rectorial elections are if anything a bore, And I do not care to carry dripping torches any more. Though my soul for Moral lectures does not vehemently yearn, Though the north-east winds are bitter — I am willing to return. At this point in my reflections, on the left the Links expand, Many a whin bush full of prickles, many a bunker full of sand. REFLECTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND I I i tiough a 3and my And I see distinguifVed club-men, whom I only know by sight, Old, obese, and scarlet-coated, playing golf with all their might ; 'i •ore, has any )es not willing As they were three years ago, when first I travelled by this train. As they will be three years hence, if I should come this way again. What to them is train or traveller? what to them the flight of time ? But we draw too near the station to indulge in the sublime. Links bunker In a minute at the furthest on the piatform I shall stand. Waiting till they take my trunk out, with my hat-box in my hand. ri2 REFLECTIONS OF A MAGISTRAND ^ As the railway train approaches and the train of thought recedes, I behold Professor in a brand new suit of tweeds. f ; TO C. C C. Oh for the nights when we used to sit In the firelight's glow or flicker, With the gas turned low and our pipes all lit, And the air fast growing thicker ; When you, enthroned in the big arm-chair, Would spin for us yarns unending, Your voice and accent and pensive air With the narrative subtly blending ! Oh for the bleak and wintry days When we set our blood in motion, Leaping the rocks below the braes And wetting our feet in the ocean, H i ; : I 114 TO C. C. C. Or shying at marks for moderate sums (A penny a hit, you remember), With aching fingers and purple thumbs, In the merry month of December ! There is little doubt we were vt:;ry daft, And our sports, like the stakes, were trifling ; While the air of the room where we talked and laughed Was often unpleasantly stifling. Now we are grave and sensible men. And wrinkles our brows embellish. And I fear we shall never relish again The pleasures we used to relish. And I fear we never again shall go. The cold and weariness scorning. For a ten mile walk through the frozen snow At one o'clock in the morning : ghed TO c. c, c. Out by Cameron, in by the Grange, And to bed as the moon descended .... To you and to me there has come a change, And the days of our youth are ended. "5 \ ON AN EDINBURGH ADVOCATE *■ In youth with diligence he toiled A Roman nose to gain, But though a decent pug was spoiled, A pug it did remain. lie THE BANISHED BEJANT FROM THE UNPUBLISHED REMAINS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE In the oldest of our alleys, By good bejants tenanted, Once a man whose name was Wallace- William Wallace— reared his head. Rowdy Bejant in the college He was styled ; Never had these halls of knowledge Welcomed waster half so wild ! Tassel blue and long and silken From his cap did float and flow (This was cast into the Swilcan Two months ago) ; 117 t ii8 THE BANISHED BEJANT And every gentle air that sported With his red gown, Displayed a suit of clothes, reported The most alarming in the town. Wanderers in that ancient alley Through his luminous window saw Spirits come continually From a case well packed with straw, Just behind the chair where, sitting With air serene, And in a blazer loosely fitting, The owner of the bunk was seen. And all with cards and counters straying Was the place littered o'er, With which sat playing, playing, playing. And wrangling evermore, THE BANISHED BEJANT A group of fellows, whose chief function Was to proclaim, In voices of surpassing unction, Their luck and losses in the game. But stately things, in robes of learning. Discussed one day the bejant's fate : Ah, let us mourn him unreturning, For they resolved to rusticate ! And now the glory he inherits. Thus dished and doomed, Is largely founded on the merits Of the Old Tom consumed. 119 And wanderers, now, within that alley Through the half-open shutters see. Old crones, that talk continually In a discordant minor key : I20 THE BANISHED BEJANT While, with a kind of nervous shiver, Past the front door, His former set go by for ever, But knock — or ring — no more. NOTES For the information of those who have not the happiness to be members of the University of St. Andrews, it may be well to explain a few terms. A bejant is an undergraduate student of the first year. In his second year he becomes a semi, in his third a tertian, and in his fourth a magistrand. The last would seem to be a gerundive form, implying that a man at the end of his fourth year ought to be made a Master of Arts ; but unfortunately this does not always happen. A divine \^ a student in Divinity. A waster is a man of idle and (it may be) profligate habits. A grinder, on the contrary, is one who 'grinds' or reads with an unusual degree of application. A bunk is the lodging or abode in St. Andrews of any student. A spree is not necessarily an entertainment of rowdy character ; the most decorous Professorial dinner-party would be called a spree. A solatium is a Debating Society spree, held in December or January ; a gaiideamus is a festival of the same kind, only rather more ambitious, celebrated towards the close of the session. Session would be rendered in England by I 122 NOTES * term.' The Competition (for Bnrsaries)^ or the *Comp.,' is the examination for entrance scholarships. The cage is a curious structure of glass, iron, and wood, in which notices and ex- amination lists are posted. The letters S.R.C. denote the Students' Representative Council. An L.L.A, is a Lady Literate in Arts. Math, (as the discerning reader will not be slow to perceive) is an abbreviation, endearing:; or otherwise, of the word Mathematics. Moral stands for Moral Philosophy. Prof, is a shortened form of Professor, and ccrtif. of certificate. Plough, pinch, and spin are used indifferently, to signify the action of an examiner in rejecting a candidate for the M.A. or any other degree. It should be mentioned that the degree of B. A. is not now conferred by the Universities of Scotland. Page 4. lOuripides : Nippolytns, 70-87. Page 22. Odes, L 11. Page 52. The Town Water. The state of things descriiied in this ballad, so far as the quality of St. Andrews water is concerned, has long since been remedied. As i>. the demeanour of the Bailies and Councillors, I cannot speak with the r.ame certainty. I'age 64. Milton, a name to adorn the Cross Keys. Mr. Milton's name is no longer associated with this time-honoured tavern, but with a new hotel. NOTKS 123 Pajie 86. AIKN AI'IZTETEIN. The motto m the Upper Library Hall, where the ceremony; „f Cirnduation takes place. Page 88. Catiilhis, ci. Page loi. The shanty d(Kvu hy the shore. The St. Andrews Marine IJiolojrical Laboratory. Page 117. This was cast into tlu Swilcan. The Swilcan Burn is a small stream which flows across the j^olf- ng links, and forms one of the hazards of the course. I EDINBURGH T.