Sagittulae, Random Verses Part 9

(1879)

SOLITUDE IN SEPTEMBER.

O BEATA SOLITUDO; O SOLA BEAt.i.tUDO.

(_Inscription in the Grounds of Burg Birseck, near Basel._)

Sweet Solitude where dost thou linger?

When and where shall I look in thy face?

Feel the soft magic touch of thy finger, The glow of thy silent embrace?

Stern Civilization has banished Thy charms to a region unknown; The spell of thy beauty has vanished-- Sweet Solitude, where hast thou flown?

I have sought thee on pampas and prairie, By blue lake and bluer creva.s.se, On sh.o.r.es that are arid and airy, Lone peak, and precipitous pa.s.s.

I have sought thee, sweet Solitude, ever Regardless of peril and pain; But in spite of my utmost endeavour I have sought thee, fair charmer, in vain.

To the Alps, to the Alps in September, Unconducted by Cook, did I rush; Full well even now I remember How my heart with emotion did gush.

Here at least in these lonely recesses With thee I shall cast in my lot; Shall feel thy endearing caresses, Forgetting all else and forgot.

But I met a young couple "proposing"

On the top of the sunny Languard; I surprised an old gentleman dozing, "Times" in hand, on the heights of Fort Bard.

In the fir woods of sweet Pontresina Picnic papers polluted the walks; On the top of the frosty Bernina I found a young mountain of--corks.

I trod, by the falls of the Handeck, On the end of a penny cigar; As I roamed in the woods above Landeck A hair-pin my pleasure did mar: To the Riffel in vain I retreated, Mr. Gaze and the Gazers were there; On the top of the Matterhorn seated I picked up a lady's back hair!

From the Belle Vue in Thun I was hunted By "'Arry" who wished to play pool; On the Col du Bonhomme I confronted The whole of a young ladies' school.

At Giacomo's Inn in Chiesa I was asked to take shares in a mine; With an agent for "Mappin's new Razor"

I sat down at Baveno to dine.

On the waves of Lake Leman were floating Old lemons (imagine my feelings!), The fish in Lucerne were all gloating On cast-away salads and peelings; And egg-sh.e.l.ls and old bones of chicken On the sh.o.r.e of St. Moritz did lie: My spirit within me did sicken-- Sweet Solitude, where shall I fly?

Disconsolate, gloomy, and undone I take in the "Dilly" my place; By Zurich and Basel to London I rush, as if running a race.

My quest and my troubles are over; As I drive through the desolate street To my Club in Pall Mall, I discover Sweet Solitude's summer retreat.

MEDITATIONS OF A

CLa.s.sICAL MAN ON A MATHEMATICAL PAPER

DURING A LATE FELLOWs.h.i.+P EXAMINATION.

Woe, woe is me! for whither can I fly?

Where hide me from Mathesis' fearful eye?

Where'er I turn the G.o.ddess haunts my path, Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath: In accents wild, that would awake the dead, Bids me perplexing problems to unthread; Bids me the laws of _x_ and _y_ to unfold, And with "dry eyes" dread mysteries behold.

Not thus, when blood maternal he had shed, The Furies' fangs Orestes wildly fled; Not thus Ixion fears the falling stone, Tisiphone's red lash, or dark Cocytus' moan.

Spare me, Mathesis, though thy foe I be, Though at thy altar ne'er I bend the knee, Though o'er thy "a.s.ses' Bridge" I never pa.s.s, And ne'er in this respect will prove an a.s.s; Still let mild mercy thy fierce anger quell! oh Let, let me live to be a Johnian fellow!

She hears me not! with heart as hard as lead, She hurls a Rhombus at my luckless head.

Lo, where her myrmidons, a wrangling crew, With howls and yells rise darkling to the view.

There Algebra, a maiden old and pale, Drinks "double _x_," enough to drown a whale.

There Euclid, 'mid a troop of "Riders" pa.s.ses, Riding a Rhomboid o'er the Bridge of a.s.ses; And shouts to Newton, who seems rather deaf, I've crossed the Bridge in safety Q.E.F.

There black Mechanics, innocent of soap, Lift the long lever, pull the pulley's rope, Coil the coy cylinder, explain the fear Which makes the nurse lean slightly to her rear; Else, equilibrium lost, to earth she'll fall, Down will come child, nurse, crinoline and all!

But why describe the rest? a motley crew, Of every figure, magnitude, and hue: Now circles they describe; now form in square; Now cut ellipses in the ambient air: Then in my ear with one accord they bellow, "Fly wretch! thou ne'er shalt be a Johnian Fellow!"

Must I then bid a long farewell to "John's,"

Its stately courts, its wisdom-wooing Dons, Its antique towers, its labyrinthine maze, Its nights of study, and its pleasant days?

O learned Synod, whose decree I wait, Whose just decision makes, or mars my fate; If in your gardens I have loved to roam, And found within your courts a second home; If I have loved the elm trees' quivering shade, Since on your banks my freshman limbs I laid; If rustling reeds make music unto me More soft, more sweet than mortal melody; If I have loved to "urge the flying ball"

Against your Racquet Court's re-echoing wall; If, for the honour of the Johnian red, I've gladly spurned the matutinal bed, And though at rowing, woe is me! no dab, I've rowed my best, and seldom caught a crab; If cla.s.sic Camus flow to me more dear Than yellow Tiber, or Ilissus clear; If fairer seem to me that fragrant stream Than Cupid's kiss, or Poet's pictured dream; If I have loved to linger o'er the page Of Roman Bard, and Academian sage; If all your grave pursuits, your pastimes gay, Have been my care by night, my joy by day; Still let me roam, unworthy tho' I be, By Cam's slow stream, beneath the old elm tree; Still let me lie in Alma Mater's arms, Far from the wild world's troubles and alarms: Hear me, nor in stern wrath my prayer repel! oh Let, let me live to be a Johnian Fellow!

(1865).

THE LADY MARGARET 5TH BOAT,

_May_, 1863.

1. BOYCOTT, W. 5. PALEY, G. A.

2. FERGUSON, R. S. 6. GORST, P. F.

3. BOWLING, E. W. 7. SECKER, J. H.

4. SMITH, JASON. 8. FISHER, J.

Steerer--BUSh.e.l.l, W. D.

Eight B.A.'s stout from town came out M.A. degrees to take, And made a vow from stroke to bow a b.u.mp or two to make.

Weary were they and jaded with the din of London town, And they felt a tender longing for their long-lost cap and gown.

So they sought the old Loga.n.u.s: well pleased, I trow, was he, The manly forms he knew so well once more again to see: And they cried--"O old Loga.n.u.s, can'st thou find us e'er a boat, In which our heavy carcases may o'er the waters float?"

Then laughed aloud Loga.n.u.s--a bitter jest lov'd he-- And he cried "Such heavy mariners I ne'er before did see; I have a fast commodious barge, drawn by a wellfed steed, 'Twill scarcely bear your weight, I fear: for never have I see'd Eight men so stout wish to go out a rowing in a 'height;'

Why, gentlemen, a man of war would sink beneath your weight."

Thus spake the old Loga.n.u.s, and he laughed both long and loud, And when the eight men heard his words, they stood abashed and cowed; For they knew not that he loved them, and that, sharply tho' he spoke, The old man loved them kindly, tho' he also loved his joke: For Loga.n.u.s is a Trojan, and tho' h.o.a.ry be his head, He loveth Margareta, and the ancient Johnian red.

So he brought them out an eight-oar'd tub, and oars both light and strong, And bade them be courageous, and row their s.h.i.+p along.

Then in jumped Casa Minor, the Captain of our crew, And the gallant son-of Fergus in a "blazer" bright and new; And _Thomas o Kulindon_ [*] full proudly grasped his oar, And _Iason o Chalkourgos_ [*], who weighs enough for "four;"

For if Jason and Medea had sailed with him for cargo, To the bottom of the Euxine would have sunk the good s.h.i.+p Argo.

Then Pallidulus Bargaeus, the mightiest of our crew, Than whom no better oarsman ever wore the Cambridge blue.

And at number six sat Peter, whom Putney's waters know; Number seven was young Josephus, the ever-sleepless Joe; Number eight was John Piscator, at his oar a wondrous dab, Who, tho' all his life a fisher, yet has never caught a crab; Last of all the martial Modius, having laid his good sword by, Seized the rudder-strings, and uttered an invigorating cry: "Are you ready all? Row, Two, a stroke! Eyes front, and sit at ease!

Quick March! I meant to say, Row on! and mind the time all, please."

Then sped the gallant vessel, like an arrow from a bow, And the men stood wondering on the banks to see the "Old'uns" row; And Father Camus raised his head, and smiled upon the crew, For their swing, and time, and feather, and their forms, full well he knew.

They rowed past Barnwell's silvery pool, past Charon's gloomy bark, And nearly came to grief beneath the railway rafters dark: But down the willow-fringed Long Reach so fearful was their pace, That joyous was each Johnian, and pale each foeman's face.

They rowed round Ditton corner, and past the pleasant Plough, Nor listened to the wild appeal for beer that came from bow; They rowed round Gra.s.sy Corner, and its fairy forms divine, But from the boat there wandered not an eye of all the nine; They rowed round First-Post Corner, the Little Bridge they pa.s.sed, And calmly took their station two places from the last.

Off went the gun! with one accord the sluggish Cam they smote, And were b.u.mped in fifty seconds by the Second Jesus Boat.

(1863).