Ban and Arriere Ban | Page 9

Mist, though I love thee not, who puttest down
Trout in the Lochs,
(they feed not, as a rule,
At least on fly, in mere or river-pool
When
fogs have fallen, and the air is lown,
And on each Ben, a pillow not a
crown,
The fat folds rest,) thou, Mist, hast power to cool
The
blatant declamations of the fool
Who raves reciting through the
heather brown.
Much do I bar the matron, man, or lass
Who cries 'How lovely!' and
who does not spare
When light and shadow on the mountain pass,--

Shadow and light, and gleams exceeding fair,
O'er rock, and glade,
and glen,--to shout, the Ass,
To me, to me the Poet, 'Oh, look there!'
LINES
[Written under the influence of Wordsworth, with a slate-pencil on a
window of the dining-room at the Lowood Hotel, Windermere, while
waiting for tea, after being present at the Grasmere Sports on a very
wet day, and in consequence of a recent perusal of Belinda, a Novel, by
Miss Broughton, whose absence is regretted.]
How solemn is the front of this Hotel,
When now the hills are
swathed in modest mist,
And none can speak of scenery, nor tell
Of
'tints of amber,' or of 'amethyst.'
Here once thy daughters, young
Romance, did dwell,
Here Sara flirted with whoever list,
Belinda
loved not wisely but too well,
And Mr. Ford played the Philologist!

Haunted the house is, and the balcony
Where that fond Matron knew
her Lover near,
And here we sit, and wait for tea, and sigh,
While
the sad rain sobs in the sullen mere,
And all our hearts go forth into

the cry,
Would that the teller of the tale were here!
LINES
[Written on the window pane of a railway carriage after reading an
advertisement of sunlight soap, and Poems, by William Wordsworth.]
I passed upon the wings of Steam
Along Tay's valley fair,
The book
I read had such a theme
As bids the Soul despair.
A tale of miserable men
Of hearts with doubt distraught,
Wherein a
melancholy pen
With helpless problems fought.
Where many a life was brought to dust,
And many a heart laid low,

And many a love was smirched with lust -
I raised mine eyes, and, oh!
-
I marked upon a common wall,
These simple words of hope,
That
mute appeal to one and all,
Cheer up! Use Sunlight Soap!
Our moral energies have range
Beyond their seeming scope,
How
tonic were the words, how strange,
Cheer up! Use Sunlight Soap!
'Behold,' I cried, 'the inner touch
That lifts the Soul through cares!
I
loved that Soap-boiler so much
I blessed him unawares!
Perchance he is some vulgar man,
Engrossed in pounds s. d.
But, ah!
through Nature's holy plan
He whispered hope to me!
ODE TO GOLF
'Delusive Nymph, farewell!'
How oft we've said or sung,
When
balls evasive fell,
Or in the jaws of 'Hell,'
Or salt sea-weeds among,

'Mid shingle and sea-shell!
How oft beside the Burn,
We play the sad 'two more';
How often at

the turn,
The heather must we spurn;
How oft we've 'topped and
swore,'
In bent and whin and fern!
Yes, when the broken head
Bounds further than the ball,
The heart
has inly bled.
Ah! and the lips have said
Words we would fain
recall -
Wild words, of passion bred!
In bunkers all unknown,
Far beyond 'Walkinshaw,
Where never
ball had flown -
Reached by ourselves alone -
Caddies have heard
with awe
The music of our moan!
Yet, Nymph, if once alone,
The ball hath featly fled -
Not smitten
from the bone -
That drive doth still atone;
And one long shot laid
dead
Our grief to the winds hath blown!
So, still beside the tee,
We meet in storm or calm,
Lady, and
worship thee;
While the loud lark sings free,
Piping his matin psalm

Above the grey sad sea!
FRESHMAN'S TERM
Return again, thou Freshman's year,
When bloom was on the rye,

When breakfast came with bottled beer,
When Pleasure walked the
High;
When Torpid Bumps were more by far
To every opening
mind
Than Trade, or Shares, or Peace, or War,
To senior
humankind;
When ribbons of outrageous hues
Were worn with
honest pride,
When much was talked of boats and crews,
When
Proctors were defied:
When Tick was in its early bloom,
When
Schools were far away,
As vaguely distant as the tomb,
Nor more
regarded--they!
When arm was freely linked with arm

Beneath the
College limes,
When Sunday grinds possessed a charm
Denied to
College Rhymes:
When ices were in much request
Beside the April
fire,
When men were very strangely dressed
By Standen or by Prior.

Return, ye Freshman's Terms! They DO
Return, and much the

same,
To boys, who, just like me and you,
Play the absurd old
game!
A TOAST
[Kate Kennedy is the Patron Saint of St. Leonard's and St.
Salvator.
Her history is quite unknown.]
The learned are all 'in a swither,'
(They don't very often agree,)

They know not her 'whence' nor her 'whither,'
The Maiden we drink
to together,
The College's Kate Kennedie!
Did she shine in days early or later?
Did she ever achieve a degree?

Was she pretty or plain? Did she mate, or
Live lonely? And who was
the pater
Of mystical Kate Kennedie?
The learned may scorn her and scout her,
But true to her colours are
WE,
The learned may mock her and flout her,
But surely