The Oxford Year and other Oxford Poems ,i, WILLIAMS THE OXFORD YEAR A thousand things, dear Oxford, oive I thee, Take this instalment of my debt from me; A little gift it is, but still his best From one alike thy debtor and thy guest. THE OXFORD YEAR AND OTHER OXFORD POEMS BY JAMES WILLIAMS LINCOLN COLLEGE > ) • ■ » > i > OXFORD B. H. BLACKWELL, 50 & 51 BROAD STREET LONDON SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, HAMILTON, KENT & CO. 1901 • • « I I • • • •■ • » • » • « • • » • » • • « • • • I i. * * • • •• < ... ' • • ••■••«««., OXFORD: HORACE HART PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY PREFATORY NOTE About half the compositions in this volume have appeared in various periodicals, chiefly the Oxford Magazine and the old Oxford Review in the days when it was a weekly and not a daily paper. Certain allusions may perhaps be a little obsolete to the present generation, such as that, for instance, to the f blue testamur/ But in all these cases it has been thought better to leave the verses as they were originally written. CONTENTS PAGE The Oxford Year 1 Oxford 13 Christ Church 15 Cotswold . 16 Minster Lovell 17 Sandfoed 18 Iffley 19 Cherwell Stream . .20 Blenheim Park 21 Lodgings for Next Teem 22 A Nursery of Empire 24 Mater Ave ! 26 The Oxford Horace 28 Lauriger Horatius 47 The Story of a Babylonian Brick .... 48 Bejaunus 50 The Mediaeval Student 52 St. Scholastica's Day 55 How Henricus de Bracton Rode the Eyre . . 57 The Freshman's Deeam 60 The Pious Founder 61 The Smug 62 The Survival of the Fittest .... 63 Reminiscences of the British Association, 1891 . 65 Justinian at Windermere 67 Boston in Oxford 71 Ballade of the Summer Term 74 Ballade of the Long Vacation 76 Ballade of Speed the Plough 78 Rondeau of an Oxfoed Bookstall .... 80 Vlll CONTENTS Chaucer .... The Phenomena op Aratus Back Again Ode to a Shirt Cuff Somewhere After Shenstone A B.C.L.'s Dance . We Dons . The Don as Lover The Don as Bohemian The Don as J. P. . How I was Ploughed in Smalls Dreams in College II Combattimento Ruggiero An Extract from an Unpublished Canto My First Torpid Eights Week . Respice Finem . Coaching from the Bank Taedet Horum Torpidorum The Lecture List, 1950 The Eights Races, 2001 Any Father to any Son of Dante PAGE 81 83 84 86 87 89 91 94 96 98 100 102 103 105 107 109 112 113 115 117 120 122 125 THE OXFORD YEAR JANUARY Silence and solitude right well become Cold January ploughlands brown and bare, The birds are housed where best they may, nor dare Break into song where Nature sitteth numb. Monotonously murmureth a hum Of voices homeward from a village fair, And save that sound upon the sensitive air It is as though the very earth were dumb. Slow dips the sun behind the hill, grotesque The shadows lay their trembling length upon Spring-thirsty woods, and dead is day's delight. Their boughs frame many a leafless arabesque Enamelled on the crimson sky, anon The cottage hearths burn clear and it is night. THE OXFORD YEAR FEBRUARY Pale February silvers Magdalen tower, Whiles Christ Church roofs rise dim against sky-sheen, That one may not adjudge or blue or green, So subtle are its changes in an hour. Far to the northward slanting raindrifts scour Forlorn Otmoor, and launch them cold and keen On Charlton belfry, where the jackdaws preen Brave wings no more as from the storm they cower. But Oxford is all sun, and many a heart Beats faster for the pity of that sun Refreshing jaded eye and weary brain. High hopes wax higher, feeling not the smart Of eager striving for a goal that none Approach except they toil, and few may gain. THE OXFORD YEAR MARCH The Thames is full ; the ridge of Bagley Hill Smiles at the gentle touch of infant spring. 'Tis genial Nature's first awakening ; Awake she seems to sleep, she is so still. Deep brown the water whirls beneath the mill, The startled thrush, too terrified to sing, As comes a racing boat along, takes wing And ends far off his interrupted trill. Anon the purple twilight with its veil Makes mellow distance of St. Mary's spire, And casts its shade on one belated saiL The wild March clouds are orled with sunset fire, Night mists creep slowly up the river dale And hide the bridge that joineth shire to shire. B 2 THE OXFORD YEAR APRIL Down to the meadow from the bridge she came, And stood for sunshine to the sunless day ; The clouds that hid the heaven lost half their gray, The pollards purged them of their look of shame. Ah me, that I may never know her name, Or whence she was or whither went her way, Or whether she were grave of soul or gay, Or whether she were damosel or dame ! This only do I know, I wished that I Were Petrarch or were he of Hawthornden To frame soft verse and make her pulses stir. Ah me, that she is gone and night draws nigh ! But hope springs ever young in hearts of men, And life is richer for the sight of her. THE OXFORD YEAR MAY What city boasts herself the peer of thee, Dear Oxford, when the mist of morning clings Round Magdalen elms, or when the even flings Her rosy robe on river, hill, and lea ? The spirit of the summer rises free From winter sleep and spreads her silver wings, The sunny sky holds dreams of nobler things, Dreams drifting helmless on a fairy sea ! In the green distance smites through cloister doors The swift and rhythmic throb of racing oars, The shout of victory and of defeat. Oxford is Oxford most when May is May, And Cherwell oarsmen pluck them hawthorn spray From trees unpruned that shelter stripling wheat. THE OXFORD YEAR JUNE A little gabled inn, a withy bower, A ferry bell, a punt beclogged with weed, Strong heat of noon that quivers in the mead, Disjointed talk that drags from hour to hour ; Faint thither drifts the chime of Magdalen tower, The cuckoo tells his name to all that heed, Anon a wary vole disturbs a reed Or shakes the pollen from an iris flower. Unchanged all save ourselves ! Once student-gowned We gazed upon a brighter world, when truth Was what we sought and dreamed sometimes we found. Oh for the days when thought perchance uncouth Was honest in its search, with all around Transfigured by the eager hope of youth THE OXFORD YEAR JULY July the first ; I lay me at mine ease Where in a cornfield scarlet poppies glow Turned to the sun, and wheat stands row by row Rained on by pollen dropped from osier trees. A weathercock creaks harshly to the breeze, Crown of a lithe white spire ; then deep and slow The hour of noontide strikes, and long and low The echoes linger in the hillside leas. Such pleasure well suffices me to-day, The eye hath rest in green, and for the ear — It hath the caw of rook and scream of jay, And feathered reeds that rustle in the mere, While laugh of merry children in the hay Is earnest of the riches of the year. THE OXFORD YEAR AUGUST Delicate city, bearing on thy brow The wreath of ancient learning and the sheen Of beauty ever young, immortal queen, No heart but must thy goodliness allow. Once more would I hear rippling round my prow The placid streams o^er which thy willows lean, Or part the reeds that fringe the meadows green Where crowned with towers majestic sittest thou. In thee I learned to love the toil that brings Forth from the treasured wisdom of the wise The truth that must be truth for evermore. In thee my soul first dared on golden wings Afar in empyrean realms to soar, And from the child first felt the man arise. THE OXFORD YEAR SEPTEMBER I offer thee a picture wrought in rime By autumn painted on a Berkshire down When Nature circles with her golden crown Majestic heads of rowan and of lime. Faint fall the sheep-bells with their mournful chime Half silenced by the curfew of the town That seems to ring the knell of old renown Cheated of immortality by time. Rooks whirl between the spires of Abingdon And clumps of Wittenham toward stubbles crossed By paths that swerve through haspless gates ajar. The day is past, the twilight is begun, With it the souls that we have loved and lost Look from the bastions of the evening star. 9 THE OXFORD YEAR OCTOBER Long weeks of Arctic and unfriendly seas Round the black steeps of Iceland, till to-day Familiar Oxford bids bestow away Icelandic scenes among our memories. Still throng they almost as realities Upon the soul, so vividly do they Recall the plain untilled, the beachless bay, The geyser's column bending to the breeze. Imagination sits with mindful brow And hears the wraiths of summers bygone speak Of unf orgotten things still dear to her ; Creating her from Thames a Bruara, From Cumnor Hill a white volcanic peak, While lava reefs congeal on Shotover. 10 THE OXFORD YEAR NOVEMBER Here will I halt and mark low clouds drift by, And let the north wind beat against my face, While leafless boughs of trembling birches trace Strange arabesques across the evening sky. Swift to their roost the rooks and starlings fly, The hinds urge on their homeward herds apace, A star now veiled in cloud, now seen a space Heralds the night, and all alone am I. For colour seek I, finding what I sought, Vermilion berries stricken by the breath Of first November frosts until they fall. Behold their teaching understood of all, The footprints of inevitable death, The burden of inevitable thought ! 11 THE OXFORD YEAR DECEMBER The pallid sun of winter sinks behind The leafless hill of Wytham ; homeward fare Shepherds with dragging steps, relieved of care, To supper and to blazing hearth inclined. Spring sleeps awhile, from this malicious wind Untimely birds at noon so debonair Shrink shivering under branches bleak and bare That would protect but needs must be unkind. Shorn pollards ranged in column sentinel Brown floods that surge and bubble like the sea With jeopardy in their delusive deeps. All seems like death, still soon will primrose dell And meadow leap with life, and love will be No more like one who sits apart and weeps. 12 OXFORD Fair queen of cities with thy crown of towers, Here sit I dreaming through the summer hours Beneath an oak where Cherwelr's stream is deep, Where at my feet white water-lilies sleep, What time the Wytham woods and Cumnor dells Echo the moaning of cathedral bells ; What time June sunset hath incarnadined Grey walls by Tudor mason-craft designed. Adown the river striplings blithe and glad As in the olden days drift flannel-clad, Beribboned with the Christ Church white and blue, The Magdalen scarlet, or the brown of New. Dear Oxford, sweet and sad thy memories are ! Here found I Homer, Plato like a star Guided my steps, and friends I won in thee, And oh, that friends as true as books might be ! In thee the meaning of the world began, I put off boyhood and became a man. Wherefore I count thee, while my tongue can speak, Unrivalled, unapproachable, unique. 13 OXFORD ii Here Wolsey smote his foes in thought, and here Locke wove the web of his philosophy, And Arnolds brow was kissed by poesy, And Newman's heart was sick with doubt and fear. All dead ! The wreaths upon their graves are sere, In dreams of them come other dreams to me Of things that are as though they could not be, Of things that could not be as though they were. Ah me ! when youth had hope and years were few, I saw myself a Wolsey or a Locke, I would not stoop to be — what I have been. Then came Experience with her sword and slew The fancied self, and violet and stock Lose hue and scent with that dead face between. 14 CHRIST CHURCH The great cathedral bells had ceased to chime, Upon the mighty masses of the trees There fell once more the tremor of the breeze With gentle speech for oak and elm and lime. The sun in noontide splendour seemed to climb The ladder of the heavens, by twos and threes Blithe children raced along the gravelled leas Shadowed by turrets marvellous with time. Faint as the shamefast promise of a bride Swam through the wood the voice of summertide, And overhead the swift and swallow swirled. At last there came in musical accord The chant of men abased before their Lord, 6 O God the Son, Redeemer of the world ! 3 15 COTSWOLD Half England at my feet ; long slopes whose blue Fades in the blue of heaven ; the curve and gleam Of coy Sabrina hasting seaward through Broad river meads where resting mowers dream. With courteous whisper Western breezes woo Smooth-shafted beeches, forest queens supreme, Deep in their midst there winds an avenue Wherein a carter sings beside his team. Hard by this spot beneath a summer sun Perchance the fallow greyhound was outrun, And Slender over Shallow vaunted him 1 . Perchance 'twas not ; enough that on these hills For me the cunning hand of Nature fills Her silver cup of beauty to the brim. i Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. sc. i. 16 MINSTER LOVELL Here where the mid-swirl rushes bend and sway On either bank a the water-marigold Puts forth rank leaves, forget-me-nots less bold Smile shy mid alder roots where sedge-birds play. Here let thy selfish miseries make way For hopes of happier things, and here behold The current of an English stream unfold Beauty unchanged yet changing day by day. Mark where yon plover screams her dire mistrust, Follow till Windrush leads thy venturous feet To crumbling relics of a civil strife. When spring is young then Nature is most just, She pays her winter debt, then all complete Creates the strength that gives the world its life. 17 SANDFORD Distinctly with the calm of eventide Comes plashing of the water in the weir, The tolling of the Christ Church bell rings clear, For life is silent in the country side. Between the locks two shallops homeward glide, A glimpse and they are past, then straight and sheer The image of the moon's ascending sphere Sleeps on the pool where two rash swimmers died. Bowed are the heads of late fritillaries, The fields are void of cattle, from afar Floats scent of hidden meadowsweet and bine. No more on lilac bushes hang the bees Where blackbirds build, then smiles the evening star On river meadows fringed with celandine. 18 IFFLEY All shattered lies the glory of the elms, Their crown of autumn gold, whose falling fills Long fallows rising on the lonely hills Toward drifting clouds that mask celestial realms. The crisp leaves ere they die glow dull like helms Of marching men in mist, the woodland rills Stand choked, to keep the wheels of watermills Clear of their load is work that overwhelms. Nature seems dead to-day ; a little space And she will bring her forces to the fore To drive the hosts of winter from their place. Then shall she see again the river shore Gay with new grass what time the sun^s fair face Assumes in heaven the summer smile of yore. 19 c i CHERWELL STREAM One morn emparadised in greenery Of fern and flag in glowing June I lay ; Their damp scythes piled against an alder tree The mowers rested in the fragrant hay. Then rose the river-spirit unto me, Where fell still shadows from the sedges gray, All was he rough and wrinkled like the sea That moans along the rocks of Norroway. ' As my dark river winds among the meads, So winds the stream of sorrow in the years, And by its brink the summer flowers are few.' So spake he ; at my feet last season's reeds Familiar things still murmured in my ears, Antique philosophy disguised as new. 20 BLENHEIM PARK At times there is a day that valiant deeds Repeat themselves and one can mark the cry Of ancient battle in the fields, the sigh Of vanquished cohorts low amid the reeds. Then wakes the solitary thought that feeds On visions of the past, ere men put by All pomp of war, and when they strove anigh With streaming standards and with charging steeds. Such day of memories it is to-day, Meseems the roll of guns at Malplaquet Smites indistinctly on expectant ears. Meseems the mighty masses of the trees Are tremulous with sound of victories And tramp of flying France and English cheers. 21 LODGINGS FOR NEXT TERM My landlady has put it up at last, The e Lodgings for Next Term * ; Three years with all their joy and grief are past ; I were but pachyderm Did I, dear Oxford, think it shame to tell The love I bear to thee, The glory and the glamour and the spell That thou hast wrought in me. Thou gavest me the hearts of honest friends, — Alas ! some beat no more ; Though earth with earth in many a graveyard blends, I have in me a store Of memories whose taste is bitter-sweet, God gives and takes away ; Perchance it is such thoughts that tired my feet Unwontedly to-day. I passed the green God's-acre where he lies, My hero and my king ; No cause hath he to fear, so calm and wise, The great awakening. 22 LODGINGS FOR NEXT TERM Wan autumn leaves are rustling from the trees To bring him in his sleep Sounds like the music of his own loved seas, The call of deep to deep. Dear Oxford ! thankless have I been to thee : My heart is very sore ; I cannot speak the love I have in me, But I can love thee more ; There will be times when in the war of life The trumpet call will cease And I shall mark beyond the smoke of strife Thy beauty and thy peace. With some choice friend of all the friends I made- When seemed the world among The Sandford meadows or the Cherwell shade Unalterably young — I will recount the deeds that once we wrought, (We were distinguished then,) And sigh to think that all is but a thought, We must to work again. 23 A NURSERY OF EMPIRE There is a city where the waters meet, Cherwell and Thames, and very dear is she To all her myriad sons who at her feet Have learned her mystery. Remembrance of her crown of spires they bear Deep in their heart of hearts through half the world, Where peace hath won her victories, or where The war-flag is unfurled. Her sons salute her from Canadian falls, From fanes of Nile and palms of Borneo, From Himalayan dales with glacier walls Clad in white weeds of snow. They love her none the less, but all the more, When sea and land have added mile to mile To part them from the city where they bore Life lightly once a while. And there are days perchance, when smites the sun Sheer on a Libyan veldt or Indian plain, That they would wish their manhood's years begun By her gray towers again. 24 A NURSERY OF EMPIRE Sent forth as rulers from the banks of Thames, They long for but one sight of midland trees ; Amid the sheen of Orient gold and gems Their swift souls pass the seas ; In thought they watch the racing oars flash by, Propelled by strenuous strength, or mark the cheer As toward the goal-posts soars the ball on high, And victory is near ; Once more they saunter over Cumnor Hurst, Or join at Bablock Hythe the ferried team, Until the glass of life appears reversed, To-day to be the dream. 25 MATER AVE! Mater ave atque vale ! Now that it is all too late Reverence increaseth daily, Reverence inadequate. Three short years ago the starting, Race for good or evil won Three short years, and now the parting ; Hath the race been lost or won ? Ah, that I have never known thee, Alma Mater, till the end ! Wiser now I wax and own thee Mother, teacher, lover, friend. Deeper evermore and deeper Sinks remembrance of thy halls, Where the red Virginia creeper Fades in flame along the walls ; Where the curfew music, spreading Mist-like over stream and town, Tells the hour to shepherds treading Homeward on the folded down. 26 MATER AVE! We thy children, Alma Mater, Fail in words of love and fire, Histoiy may tell thee later What a mother can inspire. 27 THE OXFORD HORACE Od. i.,i O^Flaherty, seed of Irish kings, How various men love various things ! Some take delight in tee and put, And some in racing through the Gut, Another whirls his Dunlop tyre Through clouds of dust and seas of mire, Perchance a wiser ne than th ese Finds happiness in Cherwell trees, And anchored in his punt applies His mind to darting dragon-flies, To meadows carpeted with May, To West winds rustling in the hay. For others be the martial tramp, The bugle of parade in camp, For others in another place The fever of the fervent chase ; Enough for me to sing my song Unnoticed by the busy throng, Until some day with laurelled brow I strike the stars, I know not how. 28 THE OXFORD HORACE 1.4 'Tis Summer Term, and now the germ Of sun and warmth is springing, And Salterns men to light again The last year's punts are bringing. The frost is gone, straw hats are on A month before the races, 'Tis time to quote what Horace wrote Anent the Nymphs and Graces. Had we in Rome but found our home We should be crowned with roses, Or offer ram or kid or lamb Where Pan or Dryad dozes. Pale death comes fast, when we at last In Pluto's halls lie hidden Our lips will kiss no cup like this, And wine will be forbidden. 29 THE OXFORD HORACE i. 8 Lydia, come and tell me why Thou art tempting Jones of Merton ? Football field he passes by, Scorning shorts with honest dirt on. Never now an I. C. S. Trots he insecure through W heatley, Never dons his cricket dress, He that fielded point so neatly. Never coaches eight or four, Never has a moment's leisure, Never plunges any more Headlong into Parson's Pleasure. Like Achilles he forgets All his golf and all his riding ; He entwined in Cupid's nets Like Achilles needs — a hiding. 30 THE OXFORD HORACE 1.9 The snow is deep on Shotover, In Cumnor Hurst the oak and fir With icicles are gleaming ; Pile high the coals right lavishly And let the generous Burgundy Upon the board be beaming. Once more the ship obeys her helm, Nor feel the cypress and the elm The storms that were their sorrow : Take thou what Fortune sends, nor ask If thou wilt have a harder task Appointed thee to-morrow. Scorn not delicious love, the day Will come when scanty locks of gray Will be all left to thatch thee ; Bring her in due time to the Eights, Tell her thou hatest celibates And hast a mind to match thee. 31 THE OXFORD HORACE 1. ii Why awkward questions, why, Leuconoe ? Why seek to learn thy fate by palmistry ? Bear thou what Heaven hath sent and with thy mates Thy hockey play and eat thy chocolates. E'en as we write the envious Schools draw near, Enjoy the present, they are not yet here. 32 THE OXFORD HORACE i. 14 Good ship, the heart-congealing boom Of Tims' s gun hath sealed thy doom. In vain the pleading of thy coach Makes Iffley echo with reproach. Canst thou not see the swift pursuit Approach thy rudder foot by foot, The while thy cox hath lost his head And thy pale stroke is like one dead ? What boots the boast that thou dost shine Honduras cedar, Norway pine, Thy oars with College colours bright, Thy bow with College emblem dight ? The prudent College captain cares For none of these aesthetic snares. Alas ! the hours I spent on thee, And this is thy return to me ! What at the Willows seemed afar Will spurt and bump thee at the Cher. 33 THE OXFORD HORACE i. 16 Fair child of mother scarce less fair, Go, cast these verses to the air, Or let the doggrel be The sport of flame or sea. Thine anger overwhelms thee sore, No irate God or priest of yore, Not even Jupiter, Could make so great a stir. 'Twas anger dug Thyestes* tomb And caused full many a city's doom, And in the Schools ere now Oft drave the hostile plough, To-day Pll get me down and fill The weary hours with golf until Cool tea again I get At Lady Margaret. 34 THE OXFORD HORACE I. 20 Thou shalt have a foaming glass Brewed by estimable Bass In the year when happy fate Won for thee the Newdigate, When thy comrades knew no pause Ceaseless in their wild applause, Till the sound could wellnigh stir Rowan boughs on Shotover. I have nought more choice than it, Modest purses shun Lafitte, Nor can scholars* battels go All the length of Veuve Clicquot. 35 D2 THE OXFORD HORACE 1.32 They call me. Banjo, come, prepare To give them a plantation air ! Get ready to accompany My famous song of Tennessee, The song that was encored the most Along the Carolina coast, Composed by me to celebrate The blackest nigger in the State. If but my banjo fail me not In this more academic spot, A prouder triumph will be mine, The plaudits of an Oxford wine. 36 THE OXFORD HORACE n -3 Remember well that thou abide Untroubled whatsoe'er betide, Or sorrow or the glass Of cup mid shade and grass. Bring hither all that makes life fair, Cool wine and roses debonair, The while the Sisters three Allow such things to be. 'Tis certain that thou soon must cede Thy rooms that look on Christ Church mead, And thy scout bow the knee To one more rich than thee. We travel all the selfsame way, June laughs at lecture notes of May, So all alike we bow Our necks before the plough. 37 THE OXFORD HORACE ii. 6 We have travelled oftentimes, Septimus, in other climes, Paced the patios of Cadiz, Viewed the veiled Algerian ladies, Minarets of Tripoli, Isles of the Ionian sea ; Still wherever I may roam Hither turn I for my home. When my life has reached its crisis Let me meet it by the Isis, Let me mark the sheep-bell shrill Up the slope of Wytham hill, Or the rooks in April caw Circling over Marston shaw. Here the meadows mile on mile Greet me with familiar smile, Here the cottager will set us Honey worthy of Hymettus, While if home-made wine be bad Wholesome cider may be had. Here ambitionless would I Simply live and calmly die, 38 THE OXFORD HORACE Wrestling down the thought that craves Music of the cliffs and waves. When thou standest by my bier, Brother poet, spare a tear. 39 THE OXFORD HORACE II. 10 Attend pass lectures, trouble not thyself With laboured law or false philosophy Or bloodless wars of Ghibelline and Guelf, Go, take a pass degree ! Be thou true lover of the golden mean, Be not an outlaw thrust from learnings gates, Nor yet aspire to that blue air serene That wreathes a First in Greats. For 'tis the highest things the Fates abase, The gale lays low the monarchs of the hurst, It is the hilltops that the fiery mace Of lightning smites the first. As passman thou hast nought to fear in sooth, Why shouldst thou always wear thy coat of mail ? When fortune smiles be strong, when all is smooth Prepare to shorten sail. 40 THE OXFORD HORACE ii. 15 Scarce south of Summertown are sowed The furrows of the fields of wheat, The elms that once were all complete Stand stumps along the Woodstock road. Beside that road once grew there up The primrose and the violet, And eglantine with dew was wet And foxgloves drooped with pendant cup. Another and a tramless town Foresaw not then St. Philip's apse Or men that sported bounder caps Above the academic gown. Then fellows lived for common room, North Oxford heard the low of kine, And Univ. had no fell design Of aggravating Shelley's doom. 41 THE OXFORD HORACE in. 7 In Somerville, Asterie, Why weepest thou ? Soon wilt thou see Thy faithful Gyges ; in his hand Gold from deep levels on the Rand And diamonds from Kimberley. Along Madeira coasteth he From thy fair Capetown rival free, For he hath other fish to land In Somerville. Stand firm as Gyges, faithful flee Enipeus serenading thee. Make clear that serenades are banned, For all that ye are undermanned And only dons may come to tea In Somerville. 42 THE OXFORD HORACE iv. 3 He whom thou, Melpomene, Lookest on with glance of favour Rugger captain will not see Cambridge forwards break and waver, Steeplechaser will not lead Over stiffest timber flying, Patriotic will not bleed Often in the Kriegspiel dying. His is quite another fate, Singer he by wood and water, Framing rimes that celebrate Charms of some one else's daughter. Such am I ; the critics say I am rightly called a poet, Now in Oxford not a day Passes but I let them know it. London-bound with Gladstone bag Once I heard on Reading Station, 6 There 'a the poet of the Mag. ! ' Muse, 'tis all of thy creation. 43 THE OXFORD HORACE EPOD. 2 6 Thrice happy he who far from bursar's desk Begins to cultivate the picturesque. Abandons thoughts of India three per cents And ceases pressing for arrears of rents, Forgets all gas bills and all district rates And battels due from undergraduates. For him the country life has matchless charms, The low of oxen and the peace of farms, The coo of pigeons and the hum of bees, The summer silence hidden in the trees. There in the happy noon he rears his ricks And trains his scarlet-runners round their sticks. Or in the autumn by the woodland shorn He joins the huntsman brisk with hound and horn, He sees the pheasant or the partridge rise For one brief space ere stricken down it dies. There love and matrimony are tabooed, Your hind is nothing if he is not rude. For him sufficient is the simple creed That life beneath a thatch is life indeed. Whitebait, asparagus, and early lamb Are nought compared with eggs and home-cured ham, 44 THE OXFORD HORACE Desire of vintages of France must fail Before a pint of home-brewed village ale.' So sighed the bursar of St. Boniface With dreams of solitude for dwelling-place, Then sat and wrote about arrears of tithe A dunning note that made a tenant writhe. 45 THE OXFORD HORACE Epod. 4 When we were in the Lower Fourth at school I was head boy and thou wast but a fool, And every day the fourth form master's cane Was cause to thee of justly suffered pain. Now all is changed, thou art a millionaire, But strip thyself and find the stripes still there. Thou drivest in the Park thy equipage Till honest men exclaim with noble rage : ' An ass at school, an ass at Oxford he, The veriest ass who ever took degree ! The Secretary of the Faculties Was quite ashamed to take his frequent fees. And now the King has dubbed this creature knight In recompense of wrong and not of right. What boots our empire over land and sea With him a Colonel in the Yeomanry ? ' 46 LAURIGER HORATIUS T anslated from the German Commersbuch. Horace, Love's own laureate, Truly doth assure us, Time devouring small and great Flieth swift as Eurus. Where, ye goblets, are ye gone, Wine and honey laden ? Peace from strife and kisses won Of a blushing maiden ? Grow the clusters of the vine, And the maiden groweth, Poet's hair is grey, and wine — Lack of it he knoweth. What avails immortal worth If there be denied him Love of daughters of the earth And a glass beside him ? 47 THE STORY OF A BABYLONIAN BRICK Three parts I played within my time Before I lay forgotten, Embedded in Euphrates slime, And just a trifle rotten. At first I was a tavern score ; E*en now my spirit hardens, Remembering the things I bore Beside the hanging gardens. The " Shalmaneser Arms " one day Began to use papyrus, So I was pitched in scorn away Before the time of Cyrus. Then came an undergraduate And graved at Tigris College My sides with Nabonassar^s date And other scraps of knowledge. His lecture notes were never long, For bricks take room at lecture ; His Median verse was mostly wrong, His quantities conjecture. 48 THE STORY OF A BABYLONIAN BRICK The Babylon B.A., one knows, Was meant for those more clever : They ploughed him in his Hittite prose, And he went down for ever. But ere he went he scraped me clean, And carved his will and wishes, And they two thousand years have been A puzzle for the fishes. e To Tigris College I devise My big Assyrian pewter : It is to be a challenge prize For Canaan Union footer. e And eveiy one who gets a goal Upon the ground at Babel Shall have his name upon the bowl, And drink from it at table/ The brick is here, the cup a dream ; Men may not find out whether There ever was a Dead Sea team, And how they played together ; And whether dromedary fare Was claimed in desert matches ; And how they reckoned half-time there, With sundials for watches. 49 e BEJAUNUS The bejaunus (bee jaune) was the freshman of the mediaeval university, and Aberdeen still knows him as the bejan. At Aix he was liable to tres ictus with a sartago (frying-pan) unless the Rector yielded to the prayer of ladies nobilium sive honestarum si ibidem reperiantur. (See Rashdall, vol. ii. p. 635.) BEJAUNUS. I am but a base bejaunus, Freshman from the founts of Taunus ; Hearken to me, Lady Bella ; Terrae flos et caeli stella. Thou art great and I am lowly, Hark with ears divine and holy. 6 Thou of pain shalt have thy skinful, 5 Say these students fierce and sinful. Lady, if thou wilt not hear me, Much and very much I fear me, Poenae mihi stat imago, Pendet super me sartago, Ignobiliter devictus Must I fall by those tres ictus. Save me, lady beauty-wreathen, Succour me from heartless heathen. 50 BEJAUNUS Mercy dwells with thee, thou donnest Robes of noble dame and honest — Lady, what if one above me High as thou could even love me ? DOMINA. Nay, bejaunus, thou dost weary, Thou art infinitely dreary, Unde, puer, disce quare Semper nollem te amare ; I am clad in silk and ermine, Thou art most presuming vermin. BEJAUNUS. Eheu ! vapulo ut Hector, Miserere met, Rector ; I shall not be long a-dying When the pan has ceased from frying. DOMINA. Fare thee well, obeisance make we, Let him have it, men of Aquae ; Let him be for ever dictus Protomartyr of the ictus. 51 e 2 THE MEDIAEVAL STUDENT Scotus and a Latin Plato — Nought our student knew of Greek- No tobacco, no potato, Disputations twice a week. He was quite a rank outsider, Never had his people up, Was not cricketer or rider, Never heard of claret-cup. Now and then a blood-stained battle Surging through the frightened town Drowned the ineffective rattle Sprung for aid against the gown. Combat was his recreation, Combat, and the real thing ; Football is an imitation Far and feebly following. When his fight was over, bleeding Crept he to his fireless hall, Patient for his chance of reading Manuscripts misused by all. 52 THE MEDIAEVAL STUDENT When at nine the curfew thundered, Shivering rose he from his form, Stamped his feet in vain and wondered If he ever would be warm. Beaumont Palace and Bocardo Northward marked he day by day, Names that live, for pede tar do Names in Oxford pass away. Did his tutor and his lecture Muddle as they muddle now ? We to-day can but conjecture If he called a plough a plough. Bacon of the Opus Majus VivaM him an hour perchance Till his spirit once courageous Wavered in a troubled trance. Ockham may have said demurely, ( Never mind Franciscan tips ! * Howlers of the period surely Flowed in plenty from his lips. Life was costly, for the student Kept examiners in view, Were he moderately prudent, If he wanted to be through. 53 THE MEDIAEVAL STUDENT So his Ockham or his Bacon Primed he well with stoups of ale That his viva might be taken Ere the smack of it should fail. 54 ST. SCHOLASTICS DAY FEBRUARY 10, 135| Into the Mermaid Tavern, Nigh unto Carfax, reeled Walter de Springheuse of Merton And Roger de Chesterfield. John de Croydon he served them Stoups of Canaris sack ; When he asked for his pennies, Pennies they both did lack. 6 Naughty, John, was thy liquor ; Never for such we pay ' — So quoth Walter de Springheuse On St. Scholastica^s day. Then the clerks and the burghers Bows and arrows they took, Towers of Martinis and Mary's Straight with alarm-bells shook. ' Rescous, Scholars of Oxford ! ' ' Burghers of Oxford, to arms ! ' e Have at them, yeomen of Hinksey, Hinds of Headington farms ! ' 55 ST. SCHOLASTICA'S DAY All the High Street was flowing Red with blood of the slain, Never such slaughter in Oxford Since the days of the Dane. Chancellor, he is to Woodstock, Woodstock, to see the King ; Mayor, he is safe in the chantry Hearing the White Friars sing. Citizens, ye must pay for All the blood that was shed ! Mary's bell, thou must toll for Souls of the scholars dead ! Sheriff, get thee from office ! Mayor, to the Marshalsea ! Sinning City of Oxford, An interdict for thee ! ' Mark what comes of Canaris Corked and badly sealed ! ' So quoth Walter de Springheuse And Roger de Chesterfield. 56 HOW HENRICUS DE BRACTON RODE THE EYRE ' Oh bring me here my robe and coif, for I must ride the eyre, And bring me eke the safest steed that ever thou canst hire. For I must ride to Oxenforde to judge the lieges there, And much I fear lest on my steed some student pranks should dare. Willelmus de Salopia with me the eyre will ride, And he hath wholesome dread like me of what he may bestride, And he hath dire mistrust like me of clerkes young and bold With no respect for royalty or reverence for the old — Untaught, untonsured Irishry, or villeins from the fens, Who lie in wait by Carfax tower for peaceful citizens. Would Heaven that I Henricus had such folk before my Court ! The rope that hanged them should be long, their shrift it should be short ; Of malefactors thus should be bepurged the merry land, So lord should claim his land's escheat and King his deodand/ 57 HOW DE BRACTON RODE THE EYRE Then rode they down from Headington and over Cher- well bridge, The gallows-tree loomed black and sheer upon the Castle ridge. Escorted by the burgesses and by the mayor they came, By sheriff of our Lord the King, by coroner from Thame, And never such a pageant was since once in years of yore The Great Justiciar came himself and hanged above a score. Then sat Henricus in his Court, full sore was he of hide, Much used was he to vellum scripts but little used to ride. Then Giles de Woodstocke called they up, with may- hem charged they him, For putting John de Garsington in jeopardy of limb. e Now benefit of clergy 1/ quoth Giles de Woodstocke, c claim, Then hand me here the neck-verse down and I will read the same. What matters that I smote John sore that day in Cum- nor Hurst When I can read a verse or two of Psalm the fifty- first? 5 'The Court doth hold/ Henricus said, 'it cannot say him nay, Then heat the brand and burn him deep, he goes with- out a day/ 58 HOW DE BRACTON RODE THE EYRE Darrein presentment next he tried, for all were in the dark Who had the right in Banbury to institute a clerk. Disseisins novel one or two he tried, and barratry, And half a score he left for fruit upon the gallows-tree. Then at the last towards Gloucester town the justices forth rode To find that floods had carried off the bridge of Even- lode. In vain Henricus moved himself to issue out a writ Directed to the Evenlode of quare impedit ; And they for whom the sheriff raised the gallows in the town Had laughed to see a hanging judge himself so near to drown. 59 THE FRESHMAN'S DREAM I dreamed of days of learned peace What time I joined St. Patrick's College, My object being to increase Knowledge. With prose I mortified my soul, Full dreary was the room I sat in, Each hour more distant seemed my goal, Latin. At last for other goals I fought, I gave up prose and took to Soccer, And read the shilling bookstall-bought Shocker. Still something stays ; Pll lay a sov., Though unbelieving be my tutor, That I still know the aorist of Utor. My dreams are proved untrue, afar I get me humble and degreeless, My future will be at the Bar Feeless. 60 THE PIOUS FOUNDER The pious founder once said he, 6 1 may not found a family, Non uxor est episcopo, Then failing her my crowns shall go To build a Hall endowed by me/ 'Twas built, and it was fair to see, Till came the nineteenth century And wiser men than he cried, c Blow The pious founder ! 5 He only took a pass degree, He lived before biology, He was a mere barbarian — so They quashed his statutes — now they know The reason of his rarity, The pious founder. 61 THE SMUG He dwelt amid untrodden ways, Beside the stream of Cher, A smug whom there were few to praise, But many more to bar. ' A violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye, 5 Was scarcely the description one Would recognize him by. He lived unknown, and few could know If he would sink or swim ; But he is ploughed in Smalls, and oh, The difference to him ! 62 THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST Alas that milk is seldom pure ! Alas that there are flies in ointment ! Alas that what we think most sure Is only sure of disappointment ! I worked at the Museum strong In hope of being demonstrator, *Twas certain soon or late, but long Is hope, and late has grown to later. Alas, the poor morphologist Is starving in the midst of plenty ! For that small berth that I just missed The candidates were five-and-twenty. No wonder that they say to me, ( Why, Peter, you have grown much thinner ! * Pate de germes gras is my tea, And protoplasm fried my dinner. High aims, low place, and poverty Compose necessitas trinoda, I scarce afford one day in three My glass of vitriol and soda. 63 THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST Dour poverty ! 'tis little sport When her pinched face draws nigh to trouble you, And you must drink Museum port Composed of H 4 2 W. The wings of hospitality Are clipped amid these days of sorrow, Still come and take pot-luck with me From one to half -past one to-morrow. There 's only rotifer — cold roast — And galantine of protozoa, And stewed tarantulas on toast, And haricot white ants from Goa. Then comforted with our repast, With conscience still and spirit placid, We'll fill our pipes with fibrous bast, Nor spare the pyrogallic acid. 64 REMINISCENCES OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION, 1894 BY A CLASSICAL LECTURER A week of science ! Now I know Why scientists call tuum meum, And why the fines of Proctors go For lecture-rooms at the Museum. I started on biology, A sage in spectacles was trying To prove that death and life agree, And life is but a mode of dying. Biology became a bore Until I took to mathematics, And heard for half an hour or more Hypotheses in hydrostatics. Among the anthropologists I saw stone footballs from Buncrana, And prehistoric scoring lists Of cavemen's cricket in Guiana. 65 f THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION, 1894 Yes, science is a high pursuit, And these ascidians in a bottle Will make the reason more acute Than all the works of Aristotle. And now my lot in life it seems (If life be not a mere misnomer) To find the subject of my dreams Homology in place of Homer. I even dream that Sophocles Combined with tartrate of Tibullus Makes sulphide of Simonides, Or carbohydrate of Catullus. What if my mind, convinced at last, Rejects exploded hermeneutics For hydrogen and hypoblast And theories of therapeutics ? 66 JUSTINIAN AT WINDERMERE We took a hundredweight of books To Windermere between us, Our dons had blessed our studious looks Had they but chanced to see us. Maine, Blackstone, Sandars, all were there, And Hallam's Middle Ages, And Austin with his style so rare, And Poste's enticing pages. We started well ; the little inn Was deadly dull and quiet, As dull as Mrs. Wood's East Lynne Or as the verse of Wyatt. Without distraction thus we read From nine until eleven, Then rowed and sailed until we fed On potted char at seven. Two hours of work ! We could devote Next day to recreation, Much illness springs, so doctors say, From lack of relaxation. 67 f 2 JUSTINIAN AT WINDERMERE At noon we went upon the lake, We could not stand the slowness Of our lone inn, so dined on steak (They called it steak) at Bowness. We wrestled with the steak, when lo ! Rose Jack in such a hurry, He saw a girl he used to know In Suffolk or in Surrey. What matter which ? To think that she Should lure him from his duty ! For Jack, I knew, would always be A very slave to beauty. And so it proved, alas ! for Jack Grew taciturn and thinner, Was out all day alone, and back Too often late for dinner. What could I do ? His walks and rows All led to one conclusion ; I could not read ; our work, Heaven knows, Was nothing but confusion. Like Jack I went about alone, Saw Wordsworth's writing-table, And made the higher by a stone The c man 9 upon Great Gable. 68 JUSTINIAN AT WINDERMERE At last there came a sudden pause To all his wandering solus, He learned what writers on the laws Of Rome had meant by dolus. The Suffolk (was it Surrey ?) flirt Without a pang threw over Poor Jack and all his works like dirt Before a richer lover. We read one morning just to say We had not been quite idle, And then to end the arduous day Enjoyed a swim in Rydal. Next day the hundredweight of books Was packed once more in cases, We left the lakes and hills and brooks And southward turned our faces. Three months, and then the Oxford Schools ; Our unbelieving College Saw better than ourselves what fools Pretend sometimes to knowledge. Curst questions ! Jack did only one, He gave as his opinion That of the Roman jurists none Had lived before Justinian. 69 JUSTINIAN AT WINDERMERE I answered two, but all I did Was lacking in discretion, I reckoned guardianship amid The vitia of possession. My second shot was wilder still, I held that commodata Could not attest a praetor's will Because of culpa lata. We waited fruitlessly that night, There came no blue testamur, Nor was Jack's heavy heart made light By that sweet word Amamur. 70 BOSTON IN OXFORD ' Terribly have we been tossed on Tall Atlantic waves since Boston ; Will you, for our time is scant, Show us all that's elegant ? ' So the letter said — and I — What could I do but comply? One was called Selina Sampson, The other Henrietta Hampson. Meeting them at Oxford Station First I gave them a collation, Ox-tail soup and pie of rooks, Work of heavy-handed cooks, Deprecating like a bumpkin Lack of pork and beans and pumpkin. Then I showed them all I knew, Here a chapel, there a blue, Here a garden, there a gate, Here a window, there an eight, Till at last we finished feeble, Brain and body tired, at Keble, Where upon a narrow flat form We discussed the silver platform. 71 BOSTON IN OXFORD Then Selina said, ( I guess We can see the students mess ; Is it where they do their eating That they also go to meeting ? ' I replied I guessed they couldn't, If I chose the College wouldn't. ( But/ said I, f may I conjecture You would like to hear a lecture ? Would you like to go and dance on Legal tight-ropes twined by A n ? Dream of Pembrokeshire and peace 'Neath the Celtic tones of R s ? Peradventure try and dredge worth Out of economic E h ? ' ( No/ cried they, ' but if 'tis handy Find a store well stocked with candy.' With the candy sucked they knowledge,, Questioned me of every College, Specially when I had said There was one where students read. 6 Which was that ? And was it true That the oldest one was New ? ' Points not easy of solution Save by mental evolution. So I turned the conversation, Asking what a sister nation Found of Oxford things most striking. c Oh ! ' said both, e it is the biking, 72 BOSTON IN OXFORD Feet are yielding to their rivals,, Bound to be disused survivals, Happen unipeds will then Be evolved like tailless men/ So they said ; in Massachusetts Both of them belonged to blue sets Where they shot upon the wing Science, art, and everything. Then devotions to the teapot, Then I took them to the depot ; They remarked they'd be dodgasted But 'twas lovely while it lasted, They would lay me half a dime They had had a real time. Now I'm jealous as Othello, Jealous of some Boston fellow, Who he is I cannot tell, But he is my Dr. Fell, He will marry Henrietta, If we meet, why then — vendetta ! 73 BALLADE OF THE SUMMER TERM The captain of the College eight Had made a galley-slave of me Because I was about the weight To make a most indifferent three. Bumped first of all by Trinity, Six places in as many nights In that accursed craft lost we ; Yes, Summer Term has keen delights. From sliding seats in woful state I hailed good news right merrily, To Oxford at an early date Would come my c unexpressive she ' Commem. and all its sights to see. Alas ! alone I saw the sights, For ladies' plans ( gang oft agley ' ; Yes, Summer Term has keen delights. The crowning mercy of my fate Approached, to modern history My reading had been consecrate. Then came the day that I must dree My weird within' the Schools, and be 74 BALLADE OF THE SUMMER TERM With other most unhappy wights From burden of testamurs free ; Yes, Summer Term has keen delights. L'Envoy. Dean, if you send me down, with glee FU act you to the life in tights In some Athenian comedy ; Yes, Summer Term has keen delights. 75 BALLADE OF THE LONG VACATION The Long Vacation ! Temptingly Stand books to skip and books to read ; It may be modern history, It may be science that doth plead i Now, now ! ' or law so prone to lead The student by a stony way, Until he cries, e In very deed, Vacation is a time of play/ It may be Greats philosophy, With more or less exclusive creed — But whatsoever it may be The brain a-weary runs to seed And seeks its honourable meed, Reward of many a toilsome day, And bids the library God-speed ; Vacation is a time of play. Farewell, good University ! Farewell, and leave the thought to feed, Beside the forest or the sea, Not on Justinian or on Bede Or structure of the centipede, 76 BALLADE OF THE LONG VACATION But on the beach of some calm bay, On highland heath or woodland weed ; Vacation is a time of play. L* Envoy. Vice-Chancellor, right sore my need Of rushing brook and ripening hay ; All ready is my cycling steed ; Vacation is a time of play. 77 BALLADE OF SPEED THE PLOUGH Stern Stagirites who rule Group A, Mute local Adam Smiths of B, Look kindly on the curt essay Of one who hopeth hopelessly ! Political Economy, Let mercy smooth thy wrinkled brow ! The martyrs of the Schools are we — Cut viva short and speed the plough ! There was a day, a happier day, When all our life was passed in glee, When Schools were something far away, And thought, if limited, was free, When over cigarettes and tea Agnostic minds refused to bow Before outworn philosophy — Cut viva short and speed the plough. Alas ! the little victims play Regardless of the high degree, The woman-coveted B.A., With Summer Term their only plea. So sport the herrings in the sea 78 BALLADE OF SPEED THE PLOUGH Through summer hours, and mark not how The trawlers sail from Yarmouth quay — Cut viva short and speed the plough. L* Envoy. Examiners, 'tis half-past three ; In my blank book, if you'll allow, Fll write but just one big, big D — Cut viva short and speed the plough. 79 RONDEAU OF AN OXFORD BOOKSTALL A bloomin' poet ! Here's a go ! Why, Petrarch was a horse, you know, And now you come and gammon me About some bloke in Italy Who made his oof by poetry. You bet that what's-her-name said, e Blow Them sonnets, they're uncommon slow. 5 I should have done if Fd been she; A bloomin' poet ! Snakes ! what a life, so mean and low, No Sandown Park, not e'en the Row, No ring, no Epsom, no Roodee ; He didn't know which end, maybe, Of horses tails of horses grow, A bloomin' poet ! 80 CHAUCER In one sense Chaucer is the poet of the Schools.' (Courthope's History of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 296.) Fetch me forth a cup and saucer, Pour the coffee ere it cools, Let me drink the health of Chaucer, Poet of the Oxford Schools. Mr. Courthope with his far sight Revolutionizes us, Gives us Palamon and Arcite, Obsolete is JEschylus. Sophocles and Jebb are owls, Dug by Skeat their humble grave is, While the Parliament of Fowls Vengefully repeals the Aves. B ut of all the change the best is That we lose Euripides, Hecuba and with Alcestis Her stout champion Heracles. 81 G CHAUCER Gleefully through Moderations Passmen tread the primrose path, Scoring in examinations Triumph with the Wife of Bath. Hand upon an English tiller All the stormy seas are past, Now the sumpnour and the miller Steer one safe to port at last. 82 THE PHENOMENA OF ARATUS A tongue that cleaveth to the mouth, A throat that is a thing of drouth, An answer framed to seem as though 'Twere but a tithe of what I know ; These are the Phenomena of Aratus. A foolish pen that spareth not To write down rot and rot and rot, A furtive look around me where Each hand bodes fate, each eye despair ; These are the Phenomena of Aratus. A viva of a word or two, Then, e Thanks, we need not trouble you/ And over all the fallacy, They don^t plough all, so why plough me ? These are the Phenomena of Aratus. 83 G 2 BACK AGAIN The academic New Year's Day Is here again in all its rigour, Once more we come to floor Group A With valiant heart and hopeful vigour. Alas for me ! I cannot hide My apprehensions for December ; For Schools have marred my Christmastide More times than I can quite remember. We come to hear the Magdalen chimes, To see the pinnacles of Merton, To sconce, as in the sunnier times, In gallons of the College Burton. The phalanx of our faithful friends Has grown appreciably thinner, Strange aspect of the Freshmen lends A look of table d'hote to dinner. Yes, Jones — the least bit of an ass — Has settled down for life in Mona, And Robinson is in Madras, And Brown Vice-Consul at Ancona. 84 BACK AGAIN Anon in hall and quad are heard Condolence and congratulations ; The First who thought himself a Third No more distrusts examinations : But what of him, the marvellous, Who rhymed like Pope and sang like Linus, Who thought himself an a + And found himself ay — ? In truth a class is little worth, The system at its core is rotten, For I could get an easy Fourth In all the things I have forgotten. 85 ODE TO A SHIRT CUFF Comrade, why this shabby trick ? Thou wast trained to make suggestions, Orthodox or heretic, Should a storm of hopeless questions Gather threatening and thick. On thy polished surface lurk History and other topics, Facts about the Slav and Turk, Dates connected with the tropics, All to save the writer work. Comrade, not a single one Could be used in any paper, Though thou hadst thy figures done Infinitely thin and taper. Honesty is better fun. Now I burn thee, caution saith Servants' eyes are sometimes prying, Tell me with thy latest breath Is it plough or colours flying ? Is it life or is it death ? 86 SOMEWHERE Somewhere in Cocaigne must be Sight that some may live to see, Perfect University. Somewhere proctors never rove, Safe as is the beach at Hove Is the academic grove. Somewhere passmen never rue What examiners can do, Every candidate is through. Somewhere classes are not four, What the need when each doth score Alpha pluses five or more ? Somewhere when the rag is high Tutors wink the other eye Till the storm has thundered by. Somewhere banquets wait in hall, Wines of costly brand withal, 'Tis the Bursar pays for all. 87 SOMEWHERE Somewhere battels disappear, Save a charge for wine and beer, Half a guinea once a year. Somewhere no one has to keep Roll or Chapel half-asleep When December snow is deep. Somewhere Eights and Torpids too Have no duffers in the crew, Everybody is a Blue. Somewhere football teams fulfil All that their supporters will, Always fifteen goals to nil. Somewhere all these marvels may Be a commonplace to-day, In Corea or Cathay. 88 AFTER SHENSTONE BY A MEMBER OF CONGREGATION I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found it this Valentine's day : I will vote to allow her to wear The so long denied gown of B.A. That will win her if nothing else will, For her way is a wonderful way, And she knows that with grace she can fill A good tailor-made gown of B.A. Her complexion is not very good, And she cannot wear anything gay, But the plain black and white of the hood Would become her right well as B.A. V 'Tis a matter of moment to me, — We have fixed to be married in May, If she is but allowed her degree ; But she will not be bride till B.A. 89 AFTER SHENSTONE She was ploughed for the London Matric, And the Euclid examiners say That her beautiful head is too thick To be crammed for the London B.A. She must needs come to Oxford, and now There may be the (bad language) to pay, If she holds to her obstinate vow Not to wed me until she *s B.A. 90 A B.C.L/s DANCE ' Enough of you, good Institutes ! ' Quoth I, and then, refreshed and hearty, I donned my patent leather boots And drove to Lady Jones 5 party. At once I saw a damsel fair, And wished that she were in my manus, But all I did was just to stare Like rude Latinus Iunianus. I asked if she would valse with me, She answered she was held in bonis By Captain Smith for No. 3, But there was spes successionis. Civilis obligatio Then called me forth to do my duty, Ius gentium forbade me go Without obsequium to beauty. I made a iuris vinculum Of my bent arm with clasp emphatic, But caused her dire incommodum By ignorance and steps erratic. 91 A B.C.L/s DANCE The pace was anything but slow, We charged the chairs and fouled the fender, I thought of obsignatio At supper when the tongue was c tender/ jiliafamilias ! You were a most accomplished dancer, And as to your hereditas Most reassuring was the answer. *Tis over ; wishing Lady Jones Politest formulae in factum 1 hail a cab, and sulky tones Accept my eighteenpenny pactum. And as I drive there come to me Strange dreams of dos and causa data, And coming iustae nuptiae, And possible immense legata. I should be quit of all regrets If I could only wed Selina, If she would make of all my debts Adoption even minus plena. Then on the leges of our life Old Time would never put a veto, Nor husband dare to such a wife Say, Tuas tibi res habeto. 92 A B.C.L.'s DANCE Dreams, dreams ! I come to Lincoln's Inn, To fire burned out and chambers cheerless, And sigh to think I may not win The hand of that pupilla peerless. I can't afford to be hard hit, Alas ! it would be culpa lata, When on my table lies a writ — Pecunia non numerata. 93 WE DONS Grave dons are we and stately : Like you, we once were men, — Perchance not very lately ; I dare not tell you when. The barrister and doctor Lived much like you his day, Like you loved not a proctor, And shrank before Group A. M.P. and judge and vicar Made howlers in the Schools ; Your skulls are no whit thicker, For most of us were fools. And men now Heads of Houses — With bated breath I speak — Fired off at bump carouses Impromptu puns in Greek. We did not walk as stiffly As now we have to do, We brought an eight from Ifflej^ About as fast as you. 94 WE DONS This minister now stickit A double blue was he, And no one now keeps wicket As well as that M.P. The fire of sport still smoulders In bursars and in deans ; Just look at those broad shoulders ! They made six bumps for Queen's. Those legs seem thin and feeble ; Two goals — or was it three ? — They kicked that day when Keble Played University. We trained and raced and spurted Just as you do to-day^ And just like you we flirted Upon the Cher in May. For all that the Canader Was then a thing unknown, We took a punt and made her An Eden of our own. Oft now amid the clamour Of mellow Magdalen chimes We feel the golden glamour Of those brave olden times. 95 THE DON AS LOVER Eheu ! Musa with genitive Musae, I am in an indicative mood, I will tell all the world about Susy Whom so far to my grief I have wooed. I will publish it forth in good Attic That my girl is the pride of her sex, And will solve with a soul mathematic The equation where Susy is a?. May a cube be of twenty dimensions If I give up my suit in despair ; May an adverb have moods and declensions If I doubt that she 's true as she 5 s fair ! She has cut an immense conic section Of elliptical form in my heart : Eheu ! what is the Greek for ' affection/ And the Latin for * love ' and for ' dart * ? Come, Smith minor, Pll hear your SlSco/il, The imperative mood is SiSov ; ^Tis an omen : sweet Susy, bestow me The reward of my faith, it is thou. 96 THE DON AS LOVER But her heart *s like the seed of a lupine, It is hard, so the botanists say ; And her ears were both passive and supine To the Sapphics I sent her to-day. Though I tell her the death-rate of Ennis, The dimensions of Westminster Hall, Nought she cares, but is off to lawn-tennis With a man who knows nothing at all. For my rival, that prince of barbarians, Let her love such a cub if she can ; He has not even heard of the Aryans, He *s unsound in the uses of &v. Ah ! I feel like the Emperor Nero Must have felt about something a.d., But my dates they are blank, they are zero, When my Susy won*t listen to me. I am teaching that kcll is enclitic, My philology seems to have gone, I have just said the Scotch are Semitic — And all this from a Boniface don ! 97 h THE DON AS BOHEMIAN Oh for the valiant young times, Times of the work so unsteady ! Then the deep Westminster chimes Found me all eager and ready To pound out a sonnet to Rachel or Rhoda, To write a review near a brandy and soda. Then at the Gaiety bar Strange were the creatures one wined with, He who'd been paid for a e par/ Certainly had to be dined with, All friends of the Strand were by nation Bohemian, And ranging from Anarchist downward to Fenian. Oxford, I love thee, thou art Such a respectable city, But if one trip at the start Little he winneth of pity ; Ah me ! in old Fleet Street they looked not so sadly, It was the best fellows who acted most madly. 98 THE DON AS BOHEMIAN Oxford, I love thee, there are Boys in thy streets who still clamour 6 Latest edition of Star 1 9 Bringing me back to the glamour Of days when a pressman, and eager and shoppy, I thought that the world held its breath at my copy. 99 H2 THE DON AS J. P. I haste to shores of Northern seas To act the role of unpaid proctor, I heal disputes in families Without a doctor. Here none may send a man to quod For treating lectures with derision, But there we wield the legal rod With more precision. There cutting lectures is a crime For which we make the parent suffer ; He pays the fine or does the time, He, not the duffer. Rebuilders of the things that are, Behold your chance of architecture ! Let sires be pent by bolt and bar When sons cut lecture. At county sessions we commit The slackers with their rates and taxes, And for a season they must quit Their ploughs and axes. 100 THE DON AS J. P. I would that every bursar had Such power with slackers over battels, To confiscate book, shorts, and pad And other chattels. Hard on the undergraduate, But better for the patient bursar, Though many a room be desolate, Though language terser. Oh for those Northern shores again, Where break the billows bubbling, rippling, A land that never reads Hall Caine, And knows not Kipling ! 101 HOW I WAS PLOUGHED IN SMALLS We were ranged in long rows in those horrible halls, And i the funk it was great though the papers were Smalls, And we wrote down a patois we called Latin Prose, Such as e solus jam rosa, e The sun now arose/ Oh my stars ! meae stellae ! my thoughts are from home, I am gushing with Greece, I am rampant with Rome, Though I never quite see how the choruses scan, And Horace is A 1 for ploughing a man. Absent-minded for Massic I ask when I dine, I conjugate ' Rugger ' and f Togger ' decline, And I carry my shorts with a classical grace, And allude to the Eight in the optative case. They thought I was through, but I knew I was not, For the Ablative Absolute clean was forgot, And the quippe qui never came off as it should, And the quominus governed a genitive mood. Though I air my pet phrases, Pm ploughed once again; Ah ! for hopes that are high and for views that are vain. Ah ! visus qui vanos altissimum spe ! For the mist of futurity hides my degree ! 102 DREAMS IN COLLEGE A brain inured to scheming. Cloud castles in the air, The gift divine of dreaming Of things that never were ; Such Nature gave me, only I never lose my head Except when I am lonely And half awake in bed. Then I upbuild me wonders Of stern and stately rime. And launch my lyric thunders At evils of the time. Imagination scanty Inflames my venturous quill, Creates of me a Dante Or something higher still ; Writes verse to verse with Homer (And mine are quite as good), Or with that wild young roamer Who poached in Charlecote Wood. 103 DREAMS IN COLLEGE *Tis always in the morning Before at stroke of eight The chapel bell gives warning, 4 Too late, too late, too late Although men do not know it The world has never seen A more distinguished poet— In theory I mean. 104 IL COMBATTIMENTO RUGGIERO A FOOTBALL MATCH IN DANTE's InfemO Then came we to another circle where Some thirty struggled, all their visages Dark with Tamigi slime, and oftentimes As sparrows from the tower of Pisa rush With wings aspread and fall upon the crumbs Cast them by charitable cooks, as Guelfs Rushed upon Ghibellines at Campaldino, So rushed the rivals on Tamigi meads. There came to watch them such as shrank with cold, Wrapped in long cowled cloaks like minor friars, From San Giovanni, Nuovo, Trinita, Chiesa di Cristo, and the lesser halls Of Reina's and Vadama and Gesu, But none from Tutte Anime, for there Dwell dons not men, and advocates of Londra Therein find whist and drink of ancient strength, Deep-hued and marvellous. The thirty then Got them to toilsome strife, and much I heard Of goalo and offsido and scrimmagio, And mezzo tempo and esperimento, Then blew a whistle and the conflict ceased. 'Lo ! these are they,' said Virgil, and my guide 105 IL COMBATTIMENTO RUGGIERO Smiled his rare smile, e who in Osfordia's schools Attempted conquest and received defeat. The prose of Tullio had for them no charms, Erodoto was as a book close-sealed, Wherefore each day beneath the towers of Dis On Stygian meads they sport the selfsame sport That once by fair Tamigi turned their hearts From beauty of the Greek and Latin tongues. 'Tis called Ruggiero ; rivalry held he With one Soccero, and all Inghilterra Was parcelled out betwixt them ; even was The strife of giants and the battle drawn/ c Master/ said I, c full awful is their doom ; Less awful if they be allowed the birra Wherefore I pine ; say, may they quaff from pewter The foaming goblet brewed on Trenta's bank ? ' 6 It is denied/ quoth he. I wept salt tears ; Like them for birra and for scian di gaffa I sought in vain through all that darkling land. c To fight and always have the battle drawn, To thirst and never be allowed to drink, To be begrimed with mud and have no bath, O cruel fate ! ' said I, and sighed, and passed On to the stream of Styx where evermore Eight spirit oarsmen urged a spirit boat To touch a spirit rudder ever flying A length in front, and Charon as they pass Shouts c You are gaining ! * thrice in every hour. 106 AN EXTRACT FROM AN UNPUBLISHED CANTO OF DANTE Then passed I to another circle where Beside the stream that laves the walls of Dis Lay many forms of men in strange attire. Some wore the cross of Godfrey *, some again The fleur-de-lis of Florence *, some again The eagle of the Empire 3 , cardinals 4 And bishops 5 others seemed ; but all alike Swung like the galley-slaves by Tripoli Sent forth in pirate barks to spoil the main. Their hands still curved as though they held an oar, And there were sounds as *twere of ghostly slides Unoiled, slow-running, miseries to use. f Why look not these upon the blessed sun ? ' So to my guide spake I, e and wherefore lights The torment of the slides upon their sin ? ' c My son/ spake gentle Virgil, e in their life These were the tainted wethers of the flock, By some called corkers, passengers by some. 1 University and Merton. 2 Magdalen. 3 Queen's. 4 Christ Church. 5 Lincoln. 107 UNPUBLISHED CANTO OF DANTE In no Algerian corsairs did they toil Or Indian proas or great galleons Laden with spice from Ternate or Tydore ; Nay, none of these, my son, but rather theirs It was to row pirogues to hapless doom Beneath Oxonia's towers : his College put A trust in each of them, a trust misplaced. Wherefore by day and night must each row bow To Charon's stroke, and much the old man gibes In phrases of his art of hang and slide And hands and stretcher work and bucketing. Such words the Arno knows not, nor can I Or thou explain them, 'tis enough to know They now enjoy the hell whereto of old Instructors on the bank committed them. Hark ! Charon summons him another bow ; Six spirit-cargoes did the last row o'er Till at the end he fainted ; Charon called For Magdalen last and now he calls for Queen's/ 108 MY FIRST TORPID Tea, steaks and chops, chops, steaks and tea, A morning tub at seven, Two courses rowed at thirty-three, Bed ten, asleep eleven. Our strength was strength as of an ox On Easter Day in Seville, And all the eight from bow to cox Wished lectures at the devil. We were not high, in fact our place (To tell it with precision) Was thirteenth in the coming race, The second our division. Our place was low, our hearts beat high With lofty aspiration, Among those upper boats, thought I, We cause some consternation. And more, the eyes of one sweet maid — My wife now, gratias reddo — Would see the pride of Pembroke laid In dust by Christ Church meadow. 109 MY FIRST TORPID The fateful day had come at last — Ten, five, three, two, one minute, Those awful last ten seconds passed, And we were fairly in it. I felt as though my heart had burst, My throat was dry as Paley, No crabs as yet, ^tis past the worst, And we are going gaily. Oh, confidence misplaced ! untaught Our coxswain was and feeble, And that explains why we were caught At Saunders 5 Bridge by Keble. With fate on our destruction bent We had not fully reckoned, Next day we — quite by accident — Were bumped by Balliol second. At dinner each in wrath down tossed An extra glass of Burton, And that is partly why we lost Another place to Merton. Next day the issue was the same, We could not keep her steady — Of course the coxswain was to blame — And we were bumped by Teddy. 110 MY FIRST TORPID There was no boat below the Hall, So we took off, and surely That coxswain was the cause of all, Who sat there so demurely. He never would admit that this Had caused our dire disaster, He leaned to the hypothesis That other boats were faster. In vain my lady's eyes were bent Each day down stream towards Iffley, For months to come in punishment She greeted me but stiffly. Nor did she deign to change her mind Till, strong with Nature's physic, These hands had helped to leave behind The light blue blades at Chiswick ; Till on the bridge of Barnes she stood, And with her kerchief beckoned, When passed two boats upon the flood, And Cambridge was the second. Ill EIGHTS WEEK WITH APOLOGIES TO LOVIBOND Hang my lyre upon the willows Just where Wadham bumped our Eight, Cast from my canoe the pillows, Life is drear and desolate. Oh detestable Canader ! 1 Thou art now no more to me Than some tramping Cardiff trader Rolling in the China sea. Yesterday in thee my Lily Said in confidential tones, c Did I think her very silly, But — she was engaged to Jones/ Jones ! a smug of purest water, Bounderum boundissimus ; She ! a banker's only daughter ; Scandalous, yes, scandalous ! Back, Canader, back to Salter ! There — I start thee with a kick ; Now to go and buy a halter, Even though it be on tick. 1 Undergraduate slang for a Canadian canoe. 112 RESPICE FINEM We are cheery with chop, we are stalwart with steak, And a thousand fresh eggs have been poached for our sake, And the squish we've consumed is the coxswain's own weight : They'll have swift oars who bump us, good Boniface Eight ! As we lift her together the Queen's men look queer, While a crab stays the tenor of Keble's career, And the Lincoln long five in wild wonder rows late : They'll have swift oars who bump us, good Boniface Eight! We mean to do something, or we will know why ; What that something will be you will know by-and-by : Cease, Jesus, to jeer us ; cease, Hertford, to hate : They'll have swift oars who bump us, good Boniface Eight ! Let Corpus be cautious, let Balliol beware, And for pain and disaster let Pembroke prepare ; For the hope that is high comes to grief that is great : They'll have swift oars who bump us, good Boniface Eight ! 113 i RESPICE FINEM We have all bought new blazers, for that is but right For a boat which is bound to go upward each night ; And the boats all above us, they feel it is fate : They'll have swift oars who bump us, good Boniface Eight ! • •••••• There are woes in the world that one cannot explain, Some say stroke had no strength, some that two would not train ; When we fell to the Toshers we felt it was fate : They had swift oars who bumped us, good Boniface Eight ! 114 COACHING FROM THE BANK Cito pulsa remis Secat cymba flumen, Omnes in extremis Exsecrantur lumen. Nam in ripa tutor Ululat ut parduSj ' Vanis verbis utor, Quatuor est tardus. ' Non initiumque Signat septem remo, Tempus qualecumque Nemo notatj nemo. ' Fortiter agatur Prora,, tres, et ictus, Opus simulatur 9 Cessat hie devictus. In tutoris rota Magna est punctura, Machina devota Mala ad futura ! 115 i 2 COACHING FROM THE BANK ( Faciles 3 turn £ cuncti * Incipit clamare, Opere defuncti Cessant remigare. Ridet tamen laetus Parvus gubernator, Tutor est quietus Silensque iurator. 116 TAEDET HORUM TORPIDORUM Carmen in modum Archidiaconi Gualteri de Map. Mihi est propositum octo gubernare, Id est cymbae Torpidae dux et princeps stare, Inimicis colaphos quinque saltern dare, Frustra — quodque sequitur demonstrabit quare. Magnum in ientaculo carnis damnum bovis, Etiamque maius est torrefacti ovis, Panis et consumptio nominati e Hovis/ Unde omnes viribus exultabant novis. Tandem dies cursuum, ante nos carinae Primo loco Trinitas, supra quam Reginae, Post Vigorniensium dirae spirant minae, Et formosae lintribus spectant inquilinae. Turn bombardam Timsius liberat fragore, Corda remigantium trepidant dolore, Passim strepunt maximo litora clamore, Solvitur memoria, sudor fluit ore. 117 TAEDET HORUM TORPIDORUM Sentio Civili ut quidam candidatus Indiae Servitio turpiter locatus, Vel Responsionibus praeter spem aratus, Cui examinator est improbe ingratus. En, propinquiores mox insequentes remi ! Quid iuvant anhelitus pectorum supremi ? Inque fine cursuum stamus nos extremi, Nullo modo dedecus nigrum potest demi. Non Ascripti iubilant, ridet Christi Aedes, Explanationes sunt gyrus, cancer, pedes, Quibus rationibus, ictus, nunquam credes, Et ffubernatoris est vix rosarum sedes. Causam loci perditi saepe memoravi. Cancrum ? Non. Vel gyrum ? Non. Rectius amavi Veritatem simplicem. Rationi favi Esse tardiores nos insequente navi. Eheu, versor pessime, miser gubernator ! Qualis in Latina est prosa ululator, Vel in coetu sobrio sitiens potator, Classis vel in Gallia tertiae viator. Importunum abdico posthac regnum lori ; Potius molestiae pulpiti vel fori ! Novus gubernator nunc valde optat mori, Caelum sit propitium huic gubernatori ! For real scholars, i. e. those whom examiners disapprove because their Latin composition is based on the style of Walter de Map and 118 TAEDET HORUM TORPIDORUM the Select Charters and the vocabulary of the Dictionarium Mediae et Injimae Latinitatis,no explanation of the above will be necessary. For the benefit of those who, fresh from the narrow pedantry of Cicero and Livy, triumph in the Schools, the writer would suggest that colaphus is a bump, linter a barge,, gyrus swing, pedes leg-work, ictus the stroke, lorum a rudder-string. Cancer is a crustacean not generally found in fresh water in most parts of England, but fairly common on the Thames at certain periods of the year. Its capture is generally regarded as an impediment to speed. Ululator is that in Latin prose which distinguishes the real scholar from the mere pedant. Third-class carriages in France are not models of comfort. 119 THE LECTURE LIST, 1950 PRIVATE TOMKINS OF CORPUS loquitur The Dean of Christ Church on the bayonet. Our President upon the army vet., Professor Jones on khaki. I have been To many such, and never yet have seen Good come from them. Then Smith of Trinity, Frontal attacks on Fridays. Seems to me The subject is a little obsolete. Kruger of Keble lectures on defeat — H'm, h'm ! — and Colonel Brown reluctant tells He must postpone his course on lyddite shells Until next Term. By then, if all goes straight, I shall be rowing in our armoured eight ; For Admiral Maclachlan, G.C.B., First Lord of what was once O.U.B.C., Has promised I may row if I can score Ten bull's-eyes at 5,000 yards or more. And what of Mods. ? I know Vegetius well, My red book too ; my scouting who can tell ? Uncertain in my Russian prose I am, The idioms of an Afghan telegram 120 THE LECTURE LIST, 1950 Run harshly in iambics. Still our Dean Thinks that, if no ill fortune intervene, My shooting and my scholarship are ripe Enough to get a third, that means my stripe ; Lance-corporal I hope to be at worst, But, oh, to be a sergeant and a first ! 121 THE EIGHTS RACES, 2001 'Twas midnight : Tims the tenth beside his gun Stood ready ; from the masts of every barge Electric search-lights flashed. The riveters Had ceased their labours, and the funnels blew Their wild steam- whistles loud ; in every boat Sat heroes girt for battle, one who steered And one who made the ponderous engines move, And seven who sat on thwarts and looked at them, On sliding thwarts, survivals of an age — A barbarous age — wherein men used to row. With beating hearts we launched our iron -clad craft, Plated with wondrous steel that brawny smiths In Sheffield forged, and our torpedo lay In savage silence on our armoured ram. Torpedo-net- protected, keen of gaze, Our helmsman sat, and then the starting gun Reverberated in the Bagley hills. Our stroke was engineer, our engines were The latest patent from the banks of Clyde ; Stroke pressed the valve and our propeller moved. And lo ! the Thames was churned with racing prows And swift propellers, and as boat to boat — 122 THE EIGHTS RACES, 2001 From Teddy Hall the head to New the foot — Drave nearer, hands of watchful helmsmen deft For dark destruction launched torpedoes forth, The messengers of fate. Then Trinity — Vain trust was hers in Tyneside armour-plates ! — Torpedoed to the death by Skimmery, With one loud roar exploded ; all her crew Were mangled into naught. Then All Souls came, The mighty College of a thousand men, And aimed her full torpedo sheer at Queen's ; Thereat the engineer of Queen's coaled up, And past the Cherwell hasted they to doom ; A surge of flame, the funnels of the boat Passed fleeter than the swallow's flight. Too late, For by the barge of B.N.C. she sank Down by the head, and water-tight no more Were her compartments. Next passed Somerville, By lady B.A.s steered. The Jesuits Pressed by the Hindu College sped apace ; Salvation Army struck the Japanese And left no soul alive. The red-cross launch That Lincoln kept to succour drowning men Hung on our flank and rescued five of us When Somerville torpedo blew us up. Meanwhile from all the shore hoarse cries arose Of counsellors who counselled wrong, and rode On autocycles and electric cars. ' Stoke up, St. John's ! ' ' Torpedo, Unattached ! ' 123 THE EIGHTS RACES, 2001 * Hard, Worcester, hard a-port ! ' Three minutes passed, The space of time wherein a course is steamed, And all the boats were sunk save Exeter, Whom Magdalen failed to strike, and also New, For she was last and but a paddle-boat. Skilled surgeons busied them at Salter's raft, Quick to dispose the wounded and the dead In ambulances for the hospital, And glad were we, our dead were only four. 124 ANY FATHER TO ANY SON 1 Deputation, O my soil, Is a noun connoting many, But it signifies not one Penny. Insignificant was I Till I heard the lively mockings, Sonny, hurled by you at my Stockings. Not my most ambitious pup Ever dreamed of me in that form, Breeched and buckled on the up Platform. Some of us — and not a few — Wore the clothes of other doctors ; What of that ? So did the two Proctors. 1 Written on the occasion of the deputation from the University to present an address to His Majesty on his accession. 125 ANY FATHER TO ANY SON Insignificant no more, I triumphantly march bedward, Knowing I have helped to bore Edward. What will come is what has been ; When your middle age is dawning, You may leave a king or queen Yawning. 126 OXFORD: HORACE HART PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY Williams . The Cyfi ojcxt year & other Oxford poems. W724 ox M114513 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY