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 FOUR -LEAVED CLOVER
 
 FOUR -LEAVED CLOVER 
 
 BEING 
 
 STANFORD RHYMES 
 
 BY 
 
 CAROLUS AGER 
 (CHARLES KELLOGG FIELD, 95) 
 
 REPRINTED FROM THE STUDENT PUBLICATIONS, WITH SUNDRY 
 
 TRUTHFUL PICTURINGS, BY DONALD HUME FRY, 95, 
 
 AND AN APOLOGY, BY DAVID STARR JORDAN 
 
 Srconfi EUition 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 \VlLLIAM DOXEY 
 
 1896
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1896 
 WILLIAM DOXEY 
 
 Of the two hundred and fifty copies 
 
 making the second edition of this book, this 
 
 i *> / 
 is Number I ifrV 
 
 Press of C. A. Murdock & Co.
 
 This little book may perhaps be dear 
 
 To some who tenderly recall 
 The Stanford grapes, and the Mayfteld beer, 
 
 And the girls of Roble Hall.
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 My four-leaved clover groweth not 
 
 Upon Parnassus steep, 
 But on the Palo Alto hills 
 
 Where Stanford poppies sleep; 
 
 And though these song-weeds cluster not 
 
 Beside the Muses well, 
 The Spring-filled Lagunita Lake 
 
 Perchance may do as well; 
 
 No brilliant bloom, but rooted deep 
 
 In /Stanford loyalty, 
 Their still small voice may speak to those 
 
 Who share that love with me, 
 
 Who once within a cloistered place 
 
 Were college mates of mine, 
 In clover there for four sweet years 
 
 That bore the stamp divine; 
 
 Then, though this lyre have but two strings, 
 
 One Love, the other Beer, 
 I calmly dedicate them both 
 
 To every Pioneer.
 
 A FELLOW can be young but once. So it is with 
 a university. It is a royal experience when 
 one s own youth and that of his university come 
 together. All the more glorious is it when, with 
 all this, one has the gift of song, if he does not 
 take it too seriously, and when the university has 
 the charm of beauty and the glow of hope. The 
 highest value of tradition lies in the making of it, 
 and the rhymes of Carolus Ager are part of the 
 traditions of Leland Stanford Junior University. 
 To those of us who were part of the four precious 
 pioneer years of the university, these rhymes have 
 a value beyond that given by any literary clever- 
 9
 
 APOLOGY. 
 
 ness they may possess. They are "original docu 
 ments" in our academic history. Each one recalls 
 a day which the now sober and decorous Uni 
 versity will never see again. And it may be in 
 place to remind the still more sober and decorous 
 public, to whom these rhymes are not addressed, 
 that they are not to be taken too literally. Love 
 and wine in youth are metaphors only. "The color 
 of life is red," cardinal red, according to our theory, 
 and the Zinfandel has the same color. The red 
 wine of these rhymes is not Zinfandel; it contains 
 no alcohol, nor has it ever crossed "the Mayfield 
 bar." It is the flow of young life. So, too, with 
 Love. It is not the serious, fateful thing it seems, 
 "once you have come to forty years." It is a 
 symbol only, the emblem of "the great thing 
 always to come, who knows?" But those who 
 have been once young understand all this, and the 
 others, let us hope, will never hear of Carolus 
 Ager. 
 
 10
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 He who ivas here with us is now no more; 
 
 Across the river he has wandered far; 
 I wonder if upon the other shore 
 
 We ll meet again as at the May field bar. 
 From the Sequoia.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The sea gives her shells to the shingle, 
 
 The earth gives her streams to the sea ; 
 They are many, but my gift is single, 
 
 My verses, the first-fruits of me : 
 Some sang to me dreaming in class-time, 
 
 And truant in hand as in tongue ; 
 For the youngest were born of boy s pastime, 
 
 The eldest are young. 
 
 SWINBTJKNE. 
 
 Page 
 
 IN His OWN COUNTRY ... ... 18 
 
 (Dedicated to S. E. Simmons.) 
 
 FIRST LEAF THE FRESHMAN: 
 
 THE DAYS OF 91 20 
 
 (Dedicated to the Pioneer Class.) 
 
 COMING THRO THE QUAD . . 22 
 
 (Dedicated to Henrietta L. Stadtmuller.) 
 
 OH, LET Us WEEP FOR ROBLE ! .23 
 
 (Dedicated to Roble Hall.) 
 
 A LAMENT FOR THE DEAR DEPARTED . . 24 
 
 (Dedicated to John Van Denburgh.) 
 
 HONOR AMONG THIEVES 26 
 
 (Dedicated to the Pioneer Faculty.) 
 
 DANGER ! 28 
 
 (Dedicated to Maud B.Jones.) 
 13
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 EVENING ON THE CAMPUS . . 30 
 
 (Dedicated to Pember S. Castleman.) 
 
 FATE 32 
 
 (Dedicated to Samuel J. Brun.) 
 
 THE HEAVENS ABE TELLING .... 33 
 
 (Dedicated to Carl L. Clemans.) 
 
 GUTER ALTER WEIN 34 
 
 (Dedicated to James O. Griffin.) 
 
 METAMORPHOSIS 36 
 
 (Dedicated to Grace A. Luce.) 
 
 BARBARA S LULLABY 37 
 
 (Dedicated to Barbara Jordan.) 
 
 THE PIONEERS 3S 
 
 (Dedicated to Abraham Lewis.) 
 
 SECOND LEAP THE SOPHOMORE: 
 
 IN MEMORY OF RICHARD ALBRECHT . . 42 
 Two WINDOWS 43 
 
 (Dedicated to Dorothy Steffens.) 
 
 A HERO 44 
 
 (Dedicated to Chester A. Thomas.) 
 
 A SONG IN SEASON 46 
 
 (Dedicated to Ellen F. Thompson.) 
 
 THE SECRET OF Two 47 
 
 (Dedicated to John S. Lincoln.) 
 14
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 MEMORIES 48 
 
 (Dedicated to Mrs. Samuel Baker.) 
 
 RELAPSE 50 
 
 (Dedicated to W. W. Thoburn.) 
 
 WARNING 51 
 
 (Dedicated to Wynn S. Coman.) 
 
 APOSTROPHE 52 
 
 (Dedicated to Richard T. Buchanan.) 
 
 STRATEGY 54 
 
 (Dedicated to Kate D. Herrick.) 
 
 A SONG FOR HILDA 55 
 
 (Dedicated to Hilda Moss.) 
 
 A QUESTION OF COLOR . . ... 56 
 
 (Dedicated to Frances Widney Workman.) 
 
 THIRD LEAF THE JUNIOR : 
 
 THE RIVALS 5S 
 
 (Dedicated to M. H. Kennedy.) 
 
 AT STUDY-TIME 61 
 
 (Dedicated to Edwin C. Ewell.) 
 
 LELAND STANFORD 62 
 
 THE IDEAL CO-ED . . .... 64 
 
 (Dedicated to Edith P. Coxhead.) 
 
 A DRINKING SONG . . .... 66 
 
 (Dedicated to John F. Sheehan, Jr.) 
 15
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 FALSE LIGHTS 69 
 
 (Dedicated to Melville B. Anderson.) 
 
 MY LITTLE MAYPIELD GIRL .... 70 
 
 (Dedicated to Christopher B. Diehl.) 
 
 IN MEMORY OP Louis DONALD MCLAINE . 72 
 A TOAST 74 
 
 (Dedicated to Walter M. Rose.) 
 
 FOURTH LEAF THE SENIOR: 
 
 REUNION 76 
 
 (Dedicated to the Memory of Paul S. Ellis.) 
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED 78 
 
 (Dedicated to Frank R. Dray.) 
 
 THE PROF S LITTLE GIRL 82 
 
 (Dedicated to Dorothy Stillman.) 
 
 MIZPAH 84 
 
 (Dedicated to William C. Hazzard.) 
 
 FOUR VALENTINES 86 
 
 (Dedicated to Alfred Barstow.) 
 
 GOD S ACRE 88 
 
 (Dedicated to Mrs. M. B. Anderson.) 
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD . . 90 
 
 (Dedicated to William A. Knowles, Jr.) 
 
 To WALTER CAMP 98 
 
 16
 
 CONTEXTS. 
 
 A THANKSGIVING TOAST 99 
 
 (Dedicated to Paul Downing.) 
 
 IN THE SPIDER S WEB 100 
 
 (Dedicated to Jane P. Herrick.) 
 
 "HONI SOIT Qui MAL Y PENSE" . . 102 
 
 (Dedicated to J. T. McGrew.) 
 
 LORELEI 104 
 
 (Dedicated to Lu M. Brim.) 
 
 THE LAST GOOD-BY 106 
 
 (Dedicated to Shirley Baker.) 
 
 THE STEM THE ALUMNUS: 
 
 AFTERWARD 110 
 
 (Dedicated to Robert W. Campbell.) 
 
 IN THE COLD, COLD WORLD .... 112 
 
 (Dedicated to C. K. Field.) 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE 114 
 
 (Dedicated to His Majesty.) 
 
 WHEN WE COME BACK No MORE . . 115 
 
 (Dedicated to David Starr Jordan.) 
 
 17
 
 I made myself a poet in the place, 
 
 And blithely sang of college life and ivays, 
 The pleasure of the undergraduate pace, 
 
 And all the joy between the holidays; 
 No care spoke ever in my careless song, 
 
 From graver strains I kept my pipe apart, 
 And played the upper notes; ah, was it wrong 
 
 To dream my music reached the student heart? 
 
 Upon a day one said, with kind intent: 
 
 " Why sing forever of these trivial things 
 For better music was your piping meant; 
 
 Will you confess such earth-restricted wings? 
 Strike some Byronic chord, sublime and deep, 
 
 Find in ethereal flight the upper air, 
 And speak to us some word that we may keep 
 
 Within our hearts and ever treasure there!" 
 
 Then, with one pang for wasted hours, 1 gave 
 
 Another meaning to my faltering lay, 
 And sang of Life and Pain, an early grave, 
 
 Hope and Despair, and Love that lives alway ; 
 But when I listened for an echoing heart, 
 
 I saw all other lips with laughter curl, 
 And heard them whisper jestingly apart, 
 
 "He s got it bad, poor fool ; we knoiv (he g!rl! 
 
 18
 
 19
 
 THE DATS OF 91. 
 
 EAR chum of mine, do you recall, 
 When college had begun, 
 
 The gladness of that glorious fall, 
 And how we spent the "mon " ? 
 
 The days of cheer, the days of beer, 
 The days of 91. 
 
 Dear maid of mine, do you recall, 
 When first my heart you won, 
 
 There were no lights in Roble Hall, 
 But, oh, such loads of fun? 
 
 The days of dark, the days of spark, 
 The days of 91. 
 
 Dear major prof, do you i^jall 
 
 The night, at set of sun, 
 We met, when each had made his haul 
 
 Where vineyard pathways run? 
 
 20
 
 THE DAYS OF 91. 
 
 The days of scrapes, the days of grapes, 
 The days of 91. 
 
 Dear Class of 95, when all 
 
 The four years thread is spun, 
 
 The Freshman follies we recall 
 We would not have undone; 
 
 Those days when youth came seeking truth, 
 The days of 91. 
 
 21
 
 COMING THRO THE QUAD. 
 
 (THE PIONEER VERSE.) 
 
 F a body meet a body 
 
 Coming thro the Quad, 
 If a body see a body, 
 Can t a body nod? 
 Ev ry lassie has her laddie, 
 E en tho seeking knowledge; 
 Stanford girls are much like those 
 In any other college. 
 
 If a body meet a body 
 
 On the cement walk, 
 If a body greet a body, 
 
 Can t she stop and talk? 
 Sweeter far is conversation 
 
 In the open air 
 Than on Fridays, in the parlor, 
 
 When the matron s there ! 
 
 22
 
 OH, LET US WEEP FOE ROBLE! 
 
 H, let us weep for Roble ! He is dead. 
 With cruel wheels the locomotive 
 / sped, 
 
 And both the burnished rails were 
 
 blotched with red. 
 Poor dog! 
 
 Full many tears celestial eyes have shed, 
 And many maiden hearts bereaved have bled; 
 He will no more with angel-food be fed, 
 Poor dog ! 
 
 Then let us weep for Roble; he is dead. 
 The earth is heaped upon his final bed, 
 The green of spring-time sprouts above his head. 
 Poor dog ! 
 
 23
 
 A LAMENT FOE THE DEAR DEPARTED. 
 
 is step is gentle, his voice is low, 
 
 His manner meek as Moses; 
 I watch him softly come and go, 
 At work about the room, and know 
 His murmured words obeisance show, 
 Each move his awe discloses. 
 
 My rugs need shaking much, but he 
 Perhaps has not been taught it, 
 
 And so, one morning, pleasantly 
 
 I say this must no longer be, 
 
 And find, alas ! his awe of me 
 Is not the thing I thought it. 
 
 Though this has failed, I bring to mind 
 
 The good that coin can do one; 
 And so a hoarded " half " I find, 
 And hand him it, with aspect kind, 
 
 24
 
 A LAMENT FOR THE DEAR DEPARTED. 
 
 And, by his dazzling smile made blind. 
 Fancy my way the true one. 
 
 Another Jap this morning came 
 
 To fix my room up neatly; 
 And I presume it were a shame 
 To think the vanished one to blame, 
 Because a curse upon his name! 
 He shook the room completely. 
 
 25
 
 HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 
 
 HORSEMAN rides through the autumn 
 
 night, 
 (The grapes are heavy upon the 
 
 vine,) 
 He searches the left, and he scans 
 
 the right, 
 
 And his eyes are keen in the cold moonlight, 
 (For grapes devoured shall never make wine). 
 
 There crouches a student among the leaves, 
 (The grapes are purple iipon the vine,) 
 But many a shadow the eye deceives, 
 And the guard rides on in his quest for thieves, 
 (And grapes devoured shall never make wine). 
 
 Somebody crawls through the yielding fence, 
 
 (The grapes are trembling upon the vine,) 
 His Faculty whiskers give evidence 
 
 26
 
 HONOR AMONG THIEVES. 
 
 Of unimpeachable eminence, 
 
 (But grapes devoured shall never make wine). 
 
 There in the shadow the two have met, 
 (The grapes are fewer upon the vine,) 
 
 The sudden start that one does n t forget, 
 
 The recognition that s sadder yet, 
 
 (And grapes devoured shall never make wine). 
 
 A clasp of hands in the hush of night, 
 
 (The grapes are missing upon the vine,) 
 And somebody s lips are pledged so tight 
 That to somebody else they need never recite, 
 (And grapes devoured shall never make wine.)
 
 DANGER ! 
 
 HEY were strolling slow together 
 
 Where the oak-leaves scattered lay; 
 In the sky, with sunset burning, 
 Floated many a flaming feather 
 
 Fallen from the wings of day; 
 And the eastern hills stood yearning 
 
 For the daylight fled away, 
 Yearning for the vanished bright-time, 
 Shivering, naked, in the night-time, 
 Till the mist rose from the bay. 
 
 In the quiet of the gloaming 
 
 Slowly up the path they strayed, 
 
 Sophomore and Roble maiden; 
 
 Love, on vagrant pinions roaming 
 
 Where the last long sunbeams played, 
 
 Winged an arrow mischief-laden, 
 Wounded deeply man and maid; 
 
 28
 
 DANGEB ! 
 
 And they wandered ever slower, 
 While the sun sank low and lower, 
 And the hills grew dim with shade. 
 
 Ah, for them the days are over 
 
 Which in earnest work were spent; 
 
 Study must give place to dreaming, 
 
 Student has been changed to lover, 
 Cupid is omnipotent! 
 
 Single-hearted ones, esteeming 
 Logic more than sentiment, 
 
 Oh, beware of woodland rambles! 
 
 Flowering paths have hidden brambles, 
 Safer far is plain cement. 
 
 29
 
 EVENING ON THE CAMPUS. 
 
 BEHIND a screen of western liills 
 
 The sunset color fades to night; 
 Along the arching corridors 
 
 Long shadows steal with footsteps 
 
 light. 
 The banners of the day are furled; 
 
 Thro darkening space the twilight creeps 
 And smooths the forehead of the world 
 Until he sleeps. 
 
 The oak-trees closer draw their hoods; 
 
 A bird, belated, wings his dim, 
 Uncertain flight, and far above 
 
 A star looks down and laughs at him; 
 The sky and mountains melt in one; 
 
 Tall gum-trees range their ranks around; 
 The white walk marks its length upon 
 The velvet ground. 
 
 30
 
 EVENING ON THE CAMPUS. 
 
 From out the dusk the chimney points, 
 Like guiding finger to the skies; 
 
 Down drops the curtain of the night, 
 And all the plain in darkness lies, 
 
 When, as the college buildings seem 
 To lose their form in shapeless mass, 
 
 The lights shine out as poppies gleam 
 Amid the grass. 
 
 31
 
 FATE. 
 
 TOOK my books the other day, 
 
 And studied in the Quad, alone; 
 But no professor passed that way, 
 I was n t called on the next day, 
 That work was never known. 
 
 Up on the road beside the brook, 
 One little hour we two beguiled; 
 
 I never looked inside a book, 
 
 But I met each prof whose work I took, 
 And when I flunked, he smiled. 
 
 32
 
 "THE HEAVENS ABE TELLING." 
 
 I came over from Berkeley town, 
 ft The sun in the west went slowly 
 
 down, 
 And all around, when the day 
 
 was old, 
 The waves were gaudy with blue and gold. 
 
 The sun sank into the west away, 
 The colors faded from off the bay; 
 The waves grew dark, but overhead 
 The whole sky gloried in Stanford red! 
 
 33
 
 GUTER ALTER WEIN." 
 
 il^ 
 
 HEN, as a Freshman, I began 
 To try the German speech, 
 
 I studied with a learned man 
 Who knew the way to teach, 
 
 And, being an American, 
 
 Was not beyond my reach. 
 
 He used continually the phrase, 
 
 "Guter alter Wein," 
 In showing me the devious ways 
 
 That adjectives decline; 
 I wondered, in those guileless days, 
 
 Why he so liked the line. 
 
 Ah, days of pastimes innocent! 
 
 The other sports that are ! 
 When my allowance never went 
 
 Over the Mayfield bar, 
 
 34
 
 "OUTER ALTER WEIN. 
 
 Nor in my months accounts I sent 
 Such wash-bills home to Pa; 
 
 Ere our vocabularies grew 
 
 Until I could divine 
 The meaning hid to earlier view 
 
 In "guter alter "VVein"; 
 Until "studieren," "schlaffen," too, 
 
 Were words not found in mine. 
 
 Unlearned the lesson of the lights, 
 To go out at half-past ten, 
 
 And never know the time o nights 
 That I got in again; 
 
 I never failed to count the flights 
 Of stairs correctly, then. 
 
 A Soph to-day, and wiser grown 
 
 Along another line 
 Than German, my first year has shown 
 
 The teacher s method fine; 
 There is no tongue-inspirer known 
 
 Like "guter alter Wein"! 
 
 35
 
 METAMOKPHOSIS. 
 
 maid, but yesterday 
 You passed along a shaded way; 
 Filled were your arms with maiden 
 hair 
 
 And poppies warm; against your face 
 The light fern found a resting-place, 
 But more than flower or fern I thought you fair. 
 
 Ah! that was yesterday. 
 
 Your window ledge is wondrous gay 
 With green and gold; and you are there; 
 
 But poison-oak upon your face 
 
 Has found a second blooming-place, 
 And flower and fern, dear maid, are far more fair. 
 
 36
 
 BAEBARA S LULLABY. 
 
 TJLLABY, 
 
 The night is nigh, 
 Low and slow the herons fly; 
 Sleep and rest, 
 In the west 
 All the sunset fires die. 
 
 Down canyons steep 
 
 The white fogs creep 
 And blanket all the pine-trees deep; 
 
 Through the grass 
 
 Wind-songs pass 
 While the night-capped poppies sleep. 
 
 Hush thee, dear! 
 
 The dark is near, 
 All the oak-trees disappear; 
 
 Dim bats fly, 
 
 Then lullaby, 
 
 The red lights blossom, the night is here. 
 37
 
 THE PIONEEKS. 
 
 WEALTH of old tradition marks 
 The other Universities, 
 Stories of great men gone before, 
 
 But no such things as these 
 Could ever set our hearts aflame 
 Like that first year 
 That gave our glorious class its name 
 Of Pioneer. 
 
 The college world was all before 
 
 Us where to choose our place of rest, 
 And Sophomore stock was low, and lived 
 
 By sufferance at best; 
 The other yells died out with shame 
 
 When "Zah! Zah! Zeer!" 
 Made all the echoing Quad proclaim 
 The Pioneer. 
 
 38
 
 THE PIONEERS. 
 
 Then, with our war-paint we profaned 
 
 The dignity of ancient trees, 
 And with our magic numeral awed 
 
 The aborigines; 
 In sundry ways we let them know 
 
 We were right here, 
 
 And just what deference they must show 
 The Pioneer. 
 
 Twas then that in Encina Hall 
 
 The Roble maidens ate, 
 And we, though Freshman hunger gnawed 
 
 At us, were glad to wait; 
 For as they passed along the hall 
 
 The fact was clear 
 Each maiden had among us all 
 Her Pioneer. 
 
 We ve watched three other classes through 
 Their Freshman years since we were 
 there, 
 
 39
 
 THE PIONEERS. 
 
 But somehow everything since then 
 
 Has worn a different air; 
 No other days could be the same, 
 
 None half so dear 
 
 As those that gave our class its name 
 Of Pioneer! 
 
 40
 
 IN MEMORY OF RICHARD ALBRECHT. 
 
 when you fell asleep, they said 
 The good die young. Dear college 
 
 friend ! 
 We who are left have sometime read 
 
 A sweet philosophy, that is to lend 
 Us comfort now that you are dead. 
 
 Life is a sleep, the poets say, 
 
 A slow forgetting of the light 
 Shining from home upon our way; 
 
 Ah, happy one, ere you had lost it quite, 
 God woke you, saying, "It is Day!" 
 
 42
 
 TWO WINDOWS. 
 
 OPENED my window at sunset, 
 
 And close to the sill I stood. 
 In the shadowy grass each poppy 
 
 Had put on a pointed hood, 
 And over me far I saw the star 
 That comes with the sleep of things; 
 The last bird dreamed in her hidden nest, 
 Yet I heard the sound of wings! 
 
 I have watched the warm lights blossom, 
 
 Like poppies that bloom at night; 
 These have faded away in the darkness, 
 
 And only the stars are bright; 
 But I am still by the window-sill, 
 
 Though all the day-world sleeps, 
 For the distant lamp of a midnight witch 
 
 Over the oak-tree peeps. 
 
 43
 
 A HEEO. 
 
 UT into the mud and the wet he goes, 
 
 My hero, tall and strong; 
 Under his jersey the muscle shows, 
 And, Samson-like, his dark hair grows 
 Delightfully thick and long. 
 
 Out from his feet the black mud flies, 
 
 His jacket is far from white; 
 Bother these boys with their dapper ties! 
 Who come and compel me to turn my eyes 
 
 Away from a nobler sight. 
 
 The hills are red with the western sun, 
 
 The twilight comes like a dream; 
 But until the practice work is done 
 I strain my eyes for his every run, 
 
 And I know he will make the team! 
 
 44
 
 A HERO. 
 
 I envy the fellow who keeps his cap, 
 
 With so little appreciation, 
 While I stroll back with a soft-tongued chap 
 Whose muscles I know are n t worth a rap, 
 
 And whose hair is an imitation. 
 
 45
 
 A SONG IN SEASON. 
 
 H, the rain! 
 
 The buttercups overflow, 
 And out on the hill again 
 The yellow violets grow. 
 
 Olv.the rain! 
 
 And the loving mud to pass! 
 The bus waits long for the train, 
 
 And the prof is late to his class. 
 
 Oh, the rain! 
 
 When the bamboo bends to the rim, 
 And a girl and a hurricane 
 
 Are waging a battle grim. 
 
 Oh, the rain! 
 
 At the last sweet bell defied, 
 With one umbrella for twain, 
 
 And a sidewalk two planks wide.
 
 THE SECRET OF TWO. 
 
 E came to the Quad in a sweater, 
 The dude of Encina Hall; 
 
 The rest of us wondered whether 
 The skies were about to fall; 
 
 For the whole crowd put together. 
 In dressing, he beat us all. 
 
 Oh, the look on his love as he met her, 
 The gaze of the prof in class! 
 
 Transformed was the youth aesthetic, 
 What wonder had come to pass? 
 
 Was he going to turn athletic, 
 
 This priest of the Flat-iron and Glass? 
 
 But one in the crowd knew better, 
 One soul, unconsulted and still, 
 
 Who held in his grim possession 
 A brown paper bundle, until 
 
 This gem of aesthetic expression 
 Should pay up his laundry bill. 
 47
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 o, my boy, you cannot please me 
 
 With your cultivated choir; 
 Go yourself, but do not tease me 
 From my place beside the fire; 
 For my heart is back at college 
 While I dream here in the 
 
 dark, 
 And I fancy I hear Shirley 
 
 Asking us, "Who built de ark?" 
 
 Get some pretty girl to go, sir; 
 
 They enjoy that sort of thing; 
 There was one I used to know, sir, 
 
 When the quartet used to sing; 
 And when we went walking, later, 
 
 You could count on one remark, 
 "Isn t Mr. Baker funny 
 
 When he asks, Who built de ark?" 
 
 48
 
 MEMOKIES. 
 
 Give it up, my boy; I m clinging 
 
 To the songs of a dead day; 
 There are other voices singing 
 
 In the firelight, and I pray, 
 When we meet in the hereafter, 
 
 They will give us one good lark, 
 And we all may answer Shirley, 
 
 "Brudder Noah built de ark! " 
 
 49
 
 RELAPSE. 
 
 STUDY Evolution, 
 
 And hear the teacher tell 
 How we have all developed 
 
 From an isolated cell ; 
 
 And in the examination 
 
 Some fellows make it plain 
 
 Their principles will bring them 
 To the starting-point again. 
 
 50
 
 WARNING. 
 
 AIDENS, when near the museum, 
 
 Hush your confidential love, 
 Lest you teach a fatal habit 
 To the statues up above; 
 For reflect, what dreadful discord, 
 Think, what awful anger-blasts 
 Would be stirred up, if those statues 
 Ever got to " trading lasts " !
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 ou may talk of all the places 
 Where you ve gone to eat 
 
 your fill 
 
 The Creamerie and Wilson s, 
 Maison Riche and Palace Grill: 
 They are magic names no longer, 
 
 You can tell it by my looks; 
 For I sing the German Baker, 
 And the new French Cooks. 
 
 In the spring a young man s fancy 
 
 Lightly turns to thoughts of love, 
 So they say; there are exceptions, 
 
 Like myself, as I can prove; 
 For let all the other fellows 
 
 Feast on love in pleasant nooks, 
 But give me the German Baker, 
 
 And the new French Cooks. 
 
 52
 
 APOSTROPHE. 
 
 Now, I don t go much on aliens, 
 
 As a rule; but, if you please, 
 Don t restrict the immigration 
 
 Of such charming men as these; 
 And instead of giving wealthy 
 
 Girls to titled foreign crooks, 
 Let us swap for German Bakers, 
 
 Or for good French Cooks. 
 
 I am longing less for mother 
 
 Than I was not long ago, 
 And my weary way is brightened 
 
 With a blessing, and I know 
 That the good Recording Angel, 
 
 When he figures up his books, 
 Won t forget the German Baker 
 
 And the two French Cooks. 
 
 53
 
 STRATEGY. 
 
 OME, Cupid kills with arrows, 
 
 Some, with traps;" 
 But this spring the little rascal 
 
 Found, perhaps, 
 That he needed both to slay me; 
 
 So he laid a cunning snare 
 On the hillside, and he hid it 
 
 In a lot of maidenhair; 
 And I doubt not he is laughing 
 
 At the joke, 
 
 For he made his arrows out of 
 Poison-oak.
 
 A SONG FOE HILDA. 
 
 HERE the sunshine warm is sleeping 
 
 When the noon is still, 
 See the baby-blue-eyes peeping 
 
 From the grassy hill. 
 All day long the great Sun passes 
 
 Through the sky above; 
 Baby-blue-eyes from the grasses 
 Smile at him they love. 
 
 When the drowsy Sun is sinking 
 
 Deep into the west, 
 See the baby-blue-eyes blinking, 
 
 It is time for rest; 
 And the Lady Moon when beaming 
 
 On the darkened hill, 
 Finds the baby-blue-eyes dreaming 
 
 Of the sunlight still. 
 
 55
 
 A QUESTION OF COLOR. 
 
 ( AIDEN dear, your eyes are blue, 
 
 The glint of gold is in all your 
 
 hair; 
 But never may I to those colors 
 
 two 
 
 Be loyal, although I must own them fair. 
 Still, beauty, though it bloom like yours, 
 
 Is only transient after all; 
 Virtues are strong while love endures, 
 And they in you are cardinal!
 
 57
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 HERE s such a racket round my 
 
 room ! 
 
 The fellow under me 
 Has frequent fits of frightful 
 
 gloom, 
 
 In which condition he 
 Upon a cello wails as though 
 It were the voice of one below 
 Where souls in torment be. 
 
 A man who plays the cornet shrill 
 
 Is quartered overhead; 
 Its strident voice is never still, 
 
 ;wear ho plays in bed; 
 But when he tackles "Robin Hood," 
 And plays it like a dirge, I would 
 
 That one of us were dead! 
 
 58
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 There is a poor asthmatic flute 
 
 That wheezes on my left. 
 If some fine day the heartless brute 
 
 Should be of it bereft, 
 The record-angel, I dare think, 
 Would write me up in colored ink, 
 
 And love me for the theft. 
 
 A singer dwells upon my right, 
 
 Last but by no means least, 
 "Who celebrates in song each night 
 
 Some sweetheart now deceased; 
 And though his grief may be profound, 
 His upper notes, it seems, would sound 
 
 More musical if greased. 
 
 What have I done, that these should join 
 
 To make my fortune worse? 
 Is there no way, for love or coin, 
 
 To rid me of the curse? 
 The happiest day that dawns for me 
 
 59
 
 THE EIVAL8. 
 
 Shall be the one on which I see 
 The noisy flock disperse; 
 
 For though within my room alone 
 For hours I have stayed 
 
 And practiced on my big trombone, 
 It s lost time, I m afraid, 
 
 The racket round my room is such 
 
 I really cannot tell how much 
 Improvement I have made. 
 
 60
 
 AT STUDY-TIME. 
 
 T study-time the white lamp 
 
 throws 
 Its light on many a page 
 
 sublime, 
 
 Where many a master s im 
 age glows, 
 At study time. 
 
 Tet evermore, through prose or rhyme, 
 
 One sweet thought buds and gently grows 
 Full-flushed as roses in their prime. 
 
 At length, unread my books I close, 
 
 Ah, let them go ! too sweet the crime 
 To think on thee, forgetting those 
 At study-time. 
 
 61
 
 LELAND STANFORD. 
 
 WEET rest to thee and thine, 
 
 illustrious head, 
 
 Sweet rest and deep, 
 
 Where we have laid thee, 
 
 after all is said, 
 In granite-guarded sleep; 
 With that stern silence of long ages dead, 
 The sphinxes vigil keep. 
 
 Not yet, strong heart, into that hush of stone 
 
 Comes perfect peace; 
 Still waiting stands the third place open thrown, 
 
 Unrest can only cease 
 When from the sorrow she endures alone 
 
 One other finds release. 
 
 Sweet rest to thee and thine; in calm content 
 Sleep quietly ;
 
 LELAND STAXFOIiD. 
 
 More than a granite tomb the monument 
 That ever stands to thee, 
 
 The gratitude of our great continent 
 Thine immortality. 
 
 63
 
 THE IDEAL CO-ED. 
 
 (WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 
 
 HE ideal co-ed is a thing of books, 
 
 A creature of brain entirely, 
 With stooping shoulders and stu 
 dious looks, 
 
 She digs all day and half the night; 
 People say she is wondrous bright, 
 But her figure s an awful sight ! 
 Her thoughts are deep in the classic past, 
 She only thinks of A. B. at last; 
 
 She has fled this world and its masculine charms, 
 And a refuge found in Minerva s arms. 
 
 Now, the kind of co-ed that I describe 
 
 Is a co-ed seen very rarely; 
 The real co-ed s a thing of grace, 
 With dainty figure and winsome face; 
 
 She walks and rides, and she cuts, mon Dieu! 
 
 64
 
 THE IDEAL CO-ED. 
 
 But every professor lets her through; 
 For her each year is a round of joy, 
 A. B. means nothing if not "A Boy," 
 
 And you and I must yield to her charms, 
 And take the place of Minerva s arms. 
 
 65
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 (WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 
 
 WE LL go down the road to the Lit 
 tle Vendome 
 When the stars are shining 
 
 bright, 
 And we 11 fill up our glasses 
 
 and never go home 
 Through all the livelong night; 
 We 11 drink, drink, drink, with laughter 
 
 free, 
 A toast to our University. 
 
 But the night must pass, 
 
 And there comes, alas ! 
 A dark- brown taste in the morning; 
 O fill up your glasses don t be a dig ! 
 
 Who cares a fig 
 
 If his head is big? 
 
 66
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 And what care we so long as we drink till 
 the dawning ? 
 
 But next day in recitation 
 
 Oh! how hard to keep awake; 
 Raging thirst without cessation, 
 
 All one grand headache ! 
 
 Ah! ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 What though sadly we may suffer, 
 
 What though suspicious be our looks, 
 Every student is a bluffer, 
 
 We will sleep behind our books. 
 
 Come then, drink, with laughter free, 
 
 Drink to the University ! 
 
 All too swiftly each year passes, 
 
 College life is wondrous fair 
 Up then, boys, and fill your glasses, 
 
 Drink to the days that know no care. 
 
 Then fill up the glass to the sparkling brim 
 And drink until we fall; 
 67
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 Whoever can drink it we ve welcome for him 
 
 Beneath the redwood tall; 
 We 11 drink, drink, drink, with laughter free, 
 Beneath the stately Palo Alto tree. 
 
 Though the night must pass, 
 
 And there comes, alas! 
 A world of woe in the morning, 
 We 11 fill up our glasses the man s a dig 
 
 Who cares a fig 
 
 If his head is big, 
 
 So what care we so long as we drink till the 
 dawning ? 
 
 63
 
 FALSE LIGHTS. 
 
 HAVE a little attic room 
 
 That looks upon the Row, 
 
 My head professor s clover lawn 
 Grows grudgingly below, 
 
 And he can watch my study-lamp 
 Until to bed I go. 
 
 So with incentive such as this 
 
 I trim my studious light, 
 And far into the short-wicked hours 
 
 My window-square is bright, 
 And my professor knows he need 
 
 Not ask me to recite. 
 
 Then sweetly let my beacon burn, 
 
 And my professor smile, 
 Although between my light and me 
 
 There lies a darkened mile; 
 My signal-lamp is trimmed, and I 
 
 In Mayfield all the while !
 
 MY LITTLE MATFIELD GIRL. 
 
 (WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 
 
 OST every one loves a co-ed 
 
 Some fellows love two or three, 
 But among all the girls on the 
 
 campus 
 
 There is n t one in it with me, 
 For way down the road by the Brewery 
 
 Lives one who sets me in a whirl, 
 While helping her Ma make tamales, 
 My little Mayfield girl. 
 
 My pearl is a Mayfield girl, 
 
 She s all the world to me; 
 She s in it with any of the girls on 
 
 the Quad, 
 
 Though swagger and swell they be; 
 At Dornberger s Hall, oh, she kills 
 
 them all, 
 As waltzing together we twirl, 
 
 70
 
 MY LITTLE MAYFIELD GIRL. 
 
 No co-ed is in it with her for a 
 
 minute, 
 My little Mayfield girl. 
 
 She never comes up to the classes, 
 
 Or lectures or chapel at all, 
 But when there s a fifty-cent party 
 
 I meet her at Dornberger s Hall; 
 Then I move in the Mayfield "400" 
 
 And round in the lancers we whirl, 
 I wonder she never gets dizzy, 
 
 My little Mayfield girl! 
 
 My pearl is a Mayfield girl, 
 
 None is so sweet as she; 
 Fred is forgotten, and Patsy, as well, 
 
 She makes the town for me; 
 Then let all the rest of the boys go west, 
 
 Where Roble sets young heads awhirl, 
 But the shrine where I m priest lies away 
 to the east 
 
 With my little Mayfield girl. 
 71
 
 IN MEMORY OF LOUIS DONALD McLAINE. 
 
 WATCHED with one who heard, as in 
 
 in a dream, 
 The surging of far waters grow 
 
 apace; 
 The mist that rises from the nearer 
 
 brink 
 
 Settled in chilly damp upon his face; 
 There came a gentle color to the sky, 
 
 I saw the stars melt into morning air, 
 A little yet he knew my ministry, 
 
 And then the river crept between us there. 
 
 When I had closed his eyes, a wonder came; 
 
 Another watcher bent above the place 
 Of my dead friend; dark, terrible, the shape 
 
 Bent over him, I could not see its face; 
 And then it turned to me; all heaven shown 
 From, that calm brow, those eyes serenely 
 clear, 
 
 72
 
 IN MEMORY OF LOUIS DONALD McLAINE. 
 
 Death left me with the body there alone, 
 And witness me, I have not shed one tear. 
 
 One year ago this time he went away, 
 
 One year of struggle, ended in the spring; 
 Not all the shadow of our loss can hide 
 
 The promise sweet that speaks in every thing; 
 Out of the underworld of clinging earth 
 
 Freed nature finds the light. We may not weep 
 Aloud for him; this season of new birth 
 
 Hushes the murmur of our grief to sleep 
 
 73
 
 A TOAST. 
 
 EEE S to the Freshman, all verdant 
 
 and gay. 
 
 ^LJ^ Here s to the Soph and his folly, 
 Here s to the Senior afraid of next 
 
 May, 
 
 And here s to the Junior so jolly; 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the Class, 
 Her glory shall be our excuse for the glass. 
 
 Here s to the Class that is leader in all, 
 Long may she prosper and thrive, boys! 
 Then fill up your glasses and drink at my call 
 The glory of old Ninety-five, boys; 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the Class, 
 Her glory shall be our excuse for the glass. 
 
 74
 
 75
 
 KEUNION. 
 
 HE sun is warm upon the palms, 
 The stately bamboos nod 
 
 As though they felt the freshened life 
 That stirs within the Quad, 
 
 This happy time of meeting, when 
 We greet so joyously 
 
 The voices that we hear again, 
 The faces that we see. 
 
 But while this gladness fills the air 
 
 A shadow steals our way, 
 Darkens the shining green and dims 
 
 The brightness of the day; 
 The fellowship that cheered us then 
 
 And now no more may be, 
 The hand we may not clasp again, 
 
 The face we may not see. 
 
 76
 
 KEUNION. 
 
 Some day, perhaps, a sun may shine 
 
 Where shadow is not known, 
 Where no such hungry thought as haunts 
 
 To-day this echoing stone 
 Shall ever sadden meeting when 
 
 We keep, eternally, 
 The voices that we hear again, 
 
 The faces that we see. 
 
 77
 
 A FKIEND IN NEED. 
 
 OME hither, little Freshman, 
 
 And sit upon my knee, 
 And let me give you pointers on 
 
 The University 
 Some friendly words of warning, 
 To guide you in a land 
 Whose ways are full of mystery 
 And hard to understand. 
 
 No doubt the different teachers 
 
 In whose kind care you propped 
 Have told you many a fairy tale 
 
 Which you as truth have kept, 
 How college-life means struggle 
 
 For intellectual ends, 
 Vain theories, as you soon will find, 
 
 Since you and I are friends. 
 
 78
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 My boy, the world is moving, 
 
 The old ideas outgrown, 
 And we must leave such ancient souls 
 
 To fossilize alone. 
 Our battle with the brain is 
 
 By no means what you dream; 
 The hardest thing you 11 have to do 
 
 Will be to make the team. 
 
 Study your head professor 
 
 More than the books you buy; 
 The proper study of mankind 
 
 Is man, you know, so try. 
 Fathom his favorite hobby, 
 
 Some hidden crank unearth, 
 Whether it s books or babies, just 
 
 Work it for all it s worth. 
 
 When suddenly you find you re 
 Encompassed round about 
 
 By men of whose affection deep 
 You hardly dare, to doubt, 
 
 79
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 Whose grasp, so firm and cordial, 
 Pulls you this way and that, 
 
 Be not puffed up, but recognize 
 The mystic signs of "Frat." 
 
 The girls who wait in ambush 
 
 Along these cloistered ways 
 Fear not, they will not care to frown 
 
 Upon your Freshman days; 
 Take them on walks, to lectures, 
 
 (When these are free, I mean), 
 And when the annual hops come round 
 
 Then get a city queen. 
 
 One s Freshman year, young fellow, 
 
 Is all too short and sweet; 
 To him we yield one precious boon, 
 
 The privilege to treat. 
 He may indulge in beer-feeds 
 
 Uncriticised, although 
 There should be upper-classmen there, 
 
 To give it tone, you know. 
 
 80
 
 A FRIEND IN NEED. 
 
 Oh, by the way, my money 
 
 This month has been delayed; 
 You have n t got a V to spare 
 
 Me, have you, till I m paid ? 
 Ah, thanks! don t lend too often. 
 
 It s lucky you ve got me, 
 Old man, to give you pointers on 
 
 The University. 
 
 81
 
 THE PROF S LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 HE comes to the Quad when her 
 
 Ladyship pleases, 
 And loiters at will in the sun 
 
 and the shade; 
 As free from the burden of work 
 
 as the breezes 
 
 That play with the bamboo is this little maid. 
 The tongues of the bells as they beat out the 
 
 morning 
 
 Like mad in their echoing cases may whirl 
 Till they weary of calling her, all their sharp 
 
 warning 
 Is lost on the ear of the prof s little girl. 
 
 With a scarred-over heart that is old in the knowl 
 edge 
 
 Of all the maneuvers and snares of the Hall, 
 Grown wary of traps in its four years at college, 
 
 And able at last to keep clear of them all, 
 
 82
 
 THE PROF S LITTLE GIRL. 
 
 Oh, what am I doing away from my classes 
 
 With a little blue eye and a brown little curl? 
 
 Ah me ! fast again, and each precious hour passes 
 In slavery sweet to the prof s little girl. 
 
 She makes me a horse, and I mind her direction, 
 
 Though it takes me o er many a Faculty green; 
 I m pledged to the cause of her pussy s protection 
 
 From ghouls of the Lab and the horrors they 
 
 mean; 
 I pose as the sire of a draggled rag dolly 
 
 Who owns the astonishing title of Pearl; 
 And I have forgotten that all this is folly, 
 
 So potent the charm of the prof s little girl! 
 
 Yet, spite of each sacrifice made to impress her, 
 
 She smiles on my rival. Oh, vengeance I d gain! 
 But he wears the same name as my major professor, 
 
 And so in his graces I have to remain; 
 And when she trots off with this juvenile lover, 
 
 Leaving me and the cat and the doll in a whirl, 
 It s pitiful truly for us to discover 
 
 The signs of her sex in the prof s little girl. 
 83
 
 MIZPAH. 
 
 the bills and far away, 
 
 With marvelous muscles and 
 
 wonderful hair, 
 The team has stolen for secret 
 
 play 
 Over the hills and far away, 
 
 And only themselves know where. 
 
 Out on the oval a silence reigns, 
 
 The stealing shadows are all alone; 
 Somewhere else each champion trains, 
 And all unwatched his muscle strains 
 In some retreat unknown. 
 
 And we, who can only watch and cheer 
 
 At nightly practice, must wait and dream 
 Of that mighty day that draws so near, 
 And, hovering still between hope and fear, 
 Bet on our vanished team. 
 8-1
 
 MIZPAH. 
 
 But when they come (ah ! the days are few), 
 
 The Haight-street campers shall yield the day, 
 And the vanquished wearers of gold and blue 
 Shall fold their tents, as the Arabs do, 
 And silently steal away.
 
 FOUR VALENTINES. 
 
 O-MORROW is the day for valentines; 
 Then let me leave, my thesis for 
 
 a space, 
 
 ^-^r Lower the lamplight on these 
 weary lines, 
 
 And dream a little in the shadowed place. 
 In my three years at college, I have named 
 
 My Valentine and kept the season thrice; 
 The jolly saint himself is to be blamed 
 
 If I have never had the same one twice. 
 
 In Freshman days, with all about me strange, 
 
 And home s sweet halo shining on my way, 
 My heart had never known the sense of change, 
 
 And one dear face was with me day by day; 
 So, when the time was here, I wrote my verse 
 
 And drew the heart and arrow up above, 
 And, happy in the thought I might do worse, 
 
 I sent it off to Mother with my love. 
 86
 
 FOUK VALENTINES. 
 
 When I had felt the thrill of Sophomore days, 
 
 My thoughts were given to a dainty maid 
 At college with me, and in woodland ways 
 
 And quiet music-rooms my court I paid. 
 But, with my Junior dignity, I chose 
 
 My Queen abroad, within the city s glare, 
 Forgot the violet for the gayer rose, 
 
 And lost my heart and pocket-money there. 
 
 Saint Valentine, those days were long ago; 
 
 Your power is lost upon this penitent, 
 For, with my Senior gravity, I know 
 
 That life means more than your light sen 
 timent. 
 And yet, this once your day shall have from me 
 
 Some of the old observance, though I scoff; 
 My thesis waits, my Valentine shall be 
 
 The old-maid sister of my major prof. 
 
 87
 
 GOD S ACRE. 
 
 H, so pure the white syringas ! 
 
 Oh, so sweet the lilac bloom 
 In the Arboretum growing 
 
 Near a granite tomb! 
 By the arching pepper-branches 
 Let us tender silence keep; 
 We have come into God s Acre 
 Where the children sleep. 
 
 In the trees the quail are calling 
 
 To the rabbits at their play, 
 While the little birds, unknowing, 
 
 Sing their lives away; 
 In the night-time through the branches 
 
 Wistfully the young stars peep, 
 But, with all these playmates round them, 
 
 Still the children sleep.
 
 GOD S ACRE. 
 
 Once within that leafy shelter 
 
 Some one hid herself, to rest, 
 With another little dreamer 
 
 Folded to her breast; 
 And a sense of consolation 
 
 Stealeth unto them that weep, 
 While that mother-heart lies sleeping 
 
 Where the children sleep. 
 
 Year by year the Christmas berries 
 
 Redden in the quiet air, 
 Year by year the vineyard changes, 
 
 Buds and ripens there; 
 We give place to other faces, 
 
 But the years relentless sweep 
 Cometh not into God s Acre 
 
 Where the children sleep. 
 
 89
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 OME, gather round, ye merry men 
 Who live within the Hall; 
 
 The feast is done, the door is shut, 
 Then gather, gentles all, 
 
 And hearken to a tale of six, 
 And what did them befall. 
 
 Now, Sir Adolphus was a Knight 
 
 Of mickle might to see; 
 He hailed from off the frozen shore 
 
 Of Northern Germany; 
 And no one in the brazen band 
 
 Was half so bold as he. 
 
 His fists were iron-clad in strength; 
 
 His arms were made of brawn; 
 Along Encina s reverent halls 
 
 He walked with splendid scorn, 
 And blew his own horn valiantly 
 
 From eve to dewy morn. 
 
 90
 
 THE BALLAD OF \VOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 Then up rose wily Billinoles 
 
 And listened to the strain; 
 The sound of Sir Adolphus horn 
 Gave him a subtle 
 
 pain, 
 He vowed unto his 
 
 patron saint 
 It should not blow again. 
 
 He hied him up the winding stair, 
 
 Up to the eastern tower, 
 Where dwelt the doughty warrior, Milt, 
 
 A knight of dreaded power, 
 Whose fists to many a reckless foe 
 
 Had brought his passing hour. 
 
 Sir Milt reclined within his hall, 
 
 His pipe was in his hand; 
 He filled it from a casket near 
 
 That bore the "Old Bull" brand. 
 The dust upon his books was deep; 
 
 (You yoemen understand). 
 
 91
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 The wily Billinoles stepped in 
 And softly locked the door; 
 
 With hellish art he argued there, 
 Ten minutes twas or more, 
 
 Until Sir Milt was pledged to wade 
 In Sir Adolphus gore. 
 
 Then up rose Billinoles again 
 
 And hied him forth in 
 
 glee; 
 Adown the hall he sped as 
 
 though 
 
 Upon the track was he; 
 The baleful light within his 
 
 eyes 
 "Was dreadful for to see. 
 
 "Now, Sir Adolphus, hark ye well, 
 
 Encina s bravest knight; 
 The bold Sir Milt has challenged thee 
 
 To meet in bloody fight. 
 92
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 Up, then, and battle for thy fame, 
 And Heaven defend the right ! " 
 
 The Lord Gambrinus swore an oath: 
 "By Adderson," quoth he, 
 
 " And every other evil power 
 That blasts the land or sea, 
 
 I 11 make this upstart bite the dust 
 Ere he be done with me ! 
 
 "Go get thee to the Earl of Jeff; 
 
 Borrow a glove or two 
 And cast them at the feet of Milt, 
 
 My high defiance, too, 
 Or may all Roble cease to smile 
 
 At me, as now they do ! " 
 
 Oh, who can tell from words alone 
 What lieth in the heart? 
 
 No sooner did the gleeful Bill 
 Upon his way depart, 
 
 Than Sir Adolphus showed himself 
 A man of boundless art.
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 Up to Sir Milt lie made his way 
 
 And pressed a novel suit, 
 Which was that they should pull the leg 
 
 Of Billinoles so cute, 
 And give to him through all the world 
 
 The lasting name of "Fruit." 
 
 Bright dawned the day on Woodside town; 
 
 The lists they were prepared; 
 The swelling muscles of the knights 
 
 Were to the sunlight bared. 
 Now listen, merry men, and hear 
 
 Of how the heroes fared. 
 
 Sly Billinoles was there, and Vann, 
 
 And a Scot of equal worth. 
 They turned away their evil eyes 
 
 To hide their godless mirth; 
 (But Heaven took away from them 
 
 Their mortgage on the earth). 
 
 Now would they brook no more delay, 
 But bade the foemen stand. 
 94
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 They rubbed them down and faced them there 
 
 Upon the good green land; 
 But both Adolphus and Sir Milt 
 
 Showed woeful lack of sand. 
 
 Nor this nor that had been arranged 
 
 As they would have it done; 
 Each hemmed and hawed, and so delayed 
 
 To meet the other one, 
 Till Vann and Billinoles were tired 
 
 And sweating in the sun. 
 
 But now at last they take their stand 
 
 Within the oft-changed lists; 
 Up in the glad spring air they raise 
 
 Their murder-dealing fists, 
 When suddenly there comes a cry, 
 
 And every one desists. 
 
 A cloud of dust, a frantic form 
 
 Coming at breakneck speed, 
 Whose lightning rate the watchers know 
 
 Bespeaks an urgent need: 
 95
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 It is the great Frazierius 
 Upon his iron steed! 
 
 With gasping sides he wildly speaks: 
 " For love of life, no more ! 
 
 King David hath got on to this, 
 And all your days are o er, 
 
 If on this day the Woodside green 
 Be stained with student gore." 
 
 This said, he fainted where he stood, 
 And when in time brought to, 
 
 The gathering of valiant men 
 Discreetly then withdrew. 
 
 96
 
 THE BALLAD OF WOODSIDE FIELD. 
 
 The plot had failed, and three of them 
 Were indigo in hue. 
 
 Down to the Redwood market-place 
 They made a quick retreat; 
 
 Where Billinoles did set them up 
 With sundry things to eat, 
 
 And all the dough that he could raise 
 Was swallowed in the treat. 
 
 Now, all ye merry men, who hear 
 
 The story of this scrap, 
 Remember oft the trapper falls 
 
 Into his own sly trap: 
 It is not always whom we fool, 
 
 That later wear the chap. 
 
 97
 
 TO WALTER CAMP. 
 
 IOOD-BY, until we meet again, 
 
 Thrice - honored friend from 
 
 Mother Yale! 
 Under whose stirring generalship 
 
 No team can ever fail. 
 We keep the hope that you will guide 
 Our course thro many another fall; 
 Good-by! take with you on your way 
 The blessing of us all.
 
 A THANKSGIVING TOAST. 
 
 p ^NE of the team for the whole four years; 
 
 Ah, what a record that ! 
 Strongest and best of the Pioneers, 
 
 Fill me a glass to "Phat." 
 Drink with me to his health again; 
 This is no toast to sip; 
 Here s to the captain whose loyal men 
 Saved us the championship! 
 
 Ninety-five, this is our triumph hour, 
 
 Never again to be; 
 But when at length our boasted power 
 
 Fades into memory, 
 Still in the hearts of us all shall live 
 
 He whom to-day we cheer, 
 Downing! the darling of Ninety-five, 
 
 Captain and Pioneer. 
 
 99
 
 IN THE SPIDER S WEB. 
 
 (WEITTEN TO MUSIC.) 
 
 T was once upon a time, 
 That the hero of this rhyme, 
 Guileless Freshie, green as grass, 
 Met an artful Senior lass. 
 Oh, she smiled on him demurely, 
 She had loved none other, surely, 
 And her heart was his securely, 
 Poor little maid! 
 
 For she had never seen the mau 
 soleum, 
 By the stock-farm she had never 
 
 strayed, 
 She had never seen the Quad by 
 
 moonlight, 
 Poor little Koble maid! 
 
 So this Freshman lent his aid, 
 Just to introduce the maid 
 
 100
 
 IN THE SPIDER S WEB. 
 
 To the beauties of the place, 
 But she set him such a pace 
 That he spent his monthly ration 
 All in ice-cream dissipation, 
 Now he damns co-education 
 
 And the Roble maid; 
 For it was not quite true that 
 
 She had never seen the mausoleum, 
 Nor never near the stock-farm 
 
 strayed; 
 She knew each corner of the Quad 
 
 by moonlight, 
 Sly little Roble maid! 
 
 101
 
 HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE." 
 
 T is said there is a maiden 
 Living over in the Hall, 
 Whose tender little spirit 
 
 Several dreadful things appall, 
 Thro whose modest, fluttering nature 
 Suddenly a shudder thrills 
 At the mention or the memory 
 Of the recent Vaudevilles. 
 
 In the chapel she takes refuge 
 
 From the naughtiness elsewhere, 
 Never dreaming that at one time 
 
 We d have doubtless held them there. 
 Little maiden, too incautious, 
 
 Those suggestive colored bills 
 Should have given you suspicions 
 
 Of the daring Vaudevilles. 
 
 Was it your sweet voice, we wonder, 
 Pointing out excitedly, 
 102
 
 "HONI SOIT QUI MAL Y PENSE. 
 
 In the ballet poster, evils 
 
 That the others failed to see? 
 Oh, why did you, little maiden, 
 
 With your dainty moral frills, 
 Ever brave the rank contagion 
 
 Of those sinful Vaudevilles! 
 We have heard how sore they shocked you; 
 
 And your high resolve is known, 
 Never to incur acquaintance 
 
 With the baleful stars that shone. 
 Little maiden, be not anxious; 
 
 W T hile we have our own free wills, 
 You will never know the actors 
 
 In those horrid Vaudevilles. 
 
 Wound up in your righteous wrappings 
 
 For a life of cats and tea, 
 You need never dread disturbance 
 
 From such common clay as we. 
 Let us go our way unhindered 
 
 To pursue the pace that kills, 
 And, though forced to do without you, 
 
 We will stick to Vaudevilles. 
 103
 
 LOEELEI. 
 
 E fareth in a joyous wise 
 
 Where runs the road neath gentle 
 
 skies ; 
 
 How should his canine heart sur 
 mise 
 That where the red-roofed towers rise 
 
 The blood is red upon the slab? 
 His way is warm with sunlight yet, 
 He knoweth not the sun must set; 
 And he hath in the roadway met 
 The Ladye of the Lab. 
 
 How should he read her face aright? 
 Upon her brow the hair is bright, 
 Within her eyes a tender light, 
 Her luring hands are lily-white, 
 
 Tho blood be red upon the slab; 
 Her calling voice is siren-sweet, 
 He crouches fawning at her feet, 
 104
 
 LORELEI. 
 
 (It is a fatal thing to meet 
 The Ladye of the Lab!) 
 
 And she hath ta en him with a string 
 To where the linnets never sing, 
 Where stiff and still is everything, 
 And there a heart lies quivering 
 
 When blood is red upon the slab : 
 O little dog that wandered free ! 
 And hath she done this thing to thee? 
 How may she work her will with me, 
 
 The Ladye of the Lab! 
 
 105
 
 THE LAST GOOD -BY. 
 
 _HE music is hushed in the night, boy, 
 The crowds from the booths are 
 
 gone, 
 The moon on the canvas is white, 
 
 boy, 
 
 We stand in the Quad alone; 
 The lanterns that pointed the eaves, boy, 
 
 Catch fire, blaze a moment, and die, 
 For it s now that the Pioneer leaves, boy, 
 He has come to his last good-by. 
 
 I welcomed the fairy-like change, boy, 
 
 For somehow it made me feel 
 Relieved that the place should seem strange, boy, 
 
 The heartache was all too real. 
 For a man cannot help feeling shame, boy, 
 
 And yet I d have had to cry 
 If the old Quad had looked just the same, boy, 
 
 When it came to the last good-by. 
 
 106
 
 THE LAST (JOOD-BY. 
 
 I told her good-night at the hall, boy, 
 
 Where often I ve said it before; 
 We knew t was the end of it all, boy, 
 
 The old walks would know us no more; 
 And still, though I 11 never forget, boy, 
 
 That soft little parting sigh, 
 I knew in my heart that not yet, boy, 
 
 Came the worst of this last good-by. 
 
 The girls are all right in their place, boy, 
 
 And doubtless we both of us show 
 The power of a feminine grace, boy, 
 
 That has bettered us both, we know; 
 But after these four glad years, boy, 
 
 What co-ed attachment can vie 
 With the love of us two Pioneers, boy, 
 
 In the Quad for our last good-by? 
 
 The fun and the folly of youth, boy; 
 
 We have shared to the full, we two, 
 The thirst of the heart after truth, boy, 
 
 I have felt it and followed, with you; 
 
 107
 
 THE LAST QOOD-BT. 
 
 And now the companionship ends, boy, 
 
 The manifold meanings that lie 
 In the depths of the words, "college friends," boy, 
 
 Make holy this last good-by. 
 
 To-morrow we go to the Gym, boy, 
 
 And then we are done with it all; 
 I 11 warrant the place will be dim, boy, 
 
 When we ve answered that last roll-call. 
 Then, here, with our hands gripped tight, boy, 
 
 In the dear old Quad, you and I, 
 Let us tell it together, "Good-night," boy, 
 
 God bless it forever, Good-by! 
 
 108
 
 109
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 VE left college and you re still there, 
 Spending money while I am 
 
 saving, 
 But once in a while we two meet 
 
 where 
 
 The steps lead down from the city paving, 
 And there we talk of the life each knows, 
 
 The sun and wind of the college weather; 
 We three friends, while the evening goes, 
 You and Pilsner and I together. 
 
 Pilsner s a jolly, congenial chap, 
 
 Surnamed Schlitz, and found wherever 
 They keep the best of this world on tap, 
 
 Sparkling always, unpleasant never; 
 And what if he really crossed the sea, 
 
 Or is native-born, who cares a feather, 
 So long as he makes our number three, 
 
 You and Pilsner and I together? 
 110
 
 AFTERWARD. 
 
 I went out into life last May, 
 
 Only a space, but it seems much longer, 
 Change comes quick when one goes away, 
 
 Pleasures weaken and cares grow stronger; 
 And so, when chatting again are we, 
 
 I doubt a little and wonder whether 
 This means to you what it does to me, 
 
 You and Pilsner and I together. 
 
 Ill
 
 IN THE COLD, COLD WORLD. 
 
 (WRITTEN TO MUSIC.) 
 
 E were jolly Pioneers 
 
 Not so many moons ago, 
 All the joys of Mayfield evenings 
 
 We were said to fully know; 
 But there came a day for leaving, 
 And the great world lay before, 
 So we packed our little schoolbooks, 
 And we 11 use them never more. 
 
 In the cold, cold world, 
 Ah, goodby to youthful follies, 
 All those lazy days are o er; 
 Bumming now must have cessation, 
 For just after graduation 
 Comes a painful revelation 
 
 In the cold, cold world! 
 
 In those happy days we labored 
 When we pleased, or not at all, 
 112
 
 IN THE COLD, COLD WORLD. 
 
 And we made a great impression 
 
 On the world, at Roble Hall. 
 Now we get a cold reception 
 
 From the world we thought to 
 When we ring her iron door-bell, 
 
 We can never find her in. 
 In the cold, cold world, 
 Things are very, very different, 
 
 It is not the dear old Quad; 
 There the palm-trees gently rustle, 
 But outside it s noise and bustle, 
 And it s we who have to rustle 
 In the cold, cold world ! 
 
 113
 
 S/l 
 
 AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 
 
 HEN back into the Quad I came 
 
 In my alumnusship, 
 It did not wholly seem the same; 
 
 The old companionship 
 "Was missing, and I longed to hear 
 Familiar accents in my ear, 
 To feel a well-known grip. 
 
 The while I mourned this chilling change 
 
 With trembling of the lip, 
 I heard a voice no longer strange, 
 
 I felt a well-known grip, 
 And knew that Hodges Dog was nigh, 
 And that he had not passed me by 
 
 In my alumnusship. 
 
 114
 
 WHEN WE COME BACK NO MORE. 
 
 WONDEB, -when from summer sleep 
 
 The old Quad wakes again, 
 When calling bells their vigils keep 
 
 And watch for us in vain, 
 Those bells on which we heaped, 
 
 last year, 
 Anathemas galore, 
 
 But now are grown so strangely dear 
 When we come back no more, 
 
 I wonder if among the leaves 
 
 A voice will whisper low, 
 A little dreaming voice that grieves 
 
 Over the long ago; 
 If new-filled places will forget 
 
 Who loved them best before, 
 Or stir a little with regret 
 
 That we come back no more. 
 
 115
 
 WHEN WE COME BACK NO MOBS. 
 
 When underneath the sacred shade 
 
 "Where shines our name to-day, 
 With stranger steps the man and maid 
 
 Of 99 shall stray, 
 Will our old tree, bent down to hear 
 
 The same things o er and o er, 
 Forget this is not yester-year 
 
 And we come back no more? 
 
 Beyond the Palo Alto hills 
 
 The days slip stealthily; 
 The echo of their footsteps fills 
 
 The Quad with memory; 
 There where we made a painted boast, 
 
 The chapel site before, 
 Lies glimmering the twilight ghost 
 
 Of what will come no more. 
 
 We scatter down the four wide ways, 
 Clasp hands and part, but keep 
 
 The power of the golden days 
 To lull our care asleep, 
 
 116
 
 WHEN WE COME BACK NO MOKE. 
 
 And dream, while our new years we fill 
 With sweetness from those four, 
 
 That we are known and loved there still, 
 Though we come back no more. 
 
 117
 
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