Sagittulae, Random Verses | Page 4

It has been transliterated from the Greek letters psi, upsilon, chi, rho, omicron, lambda, omicron, upsilon, tau, eta, and sigma.]
ATHLETES AND AESTHESIS.
An Idyll of the Cam.
It was an Undergraduate, his years were scarce nineteen;?Discretion's years and wisdom's teeth he plainly ne'er had seen; For his step was light and jaunty, and around him wide and far He puffed the fragrant odours of a casual cigar.
It was a sweet girl-graduate, her years were thirty two;?Her brow was intellectual, her whole appearance blue;?Her dress was mediaeval, and, as if by way of charm,?Six volumes strapped together she was bearing 'neath her arm.
'My beautiful Aesthesis,' the young man rashly cried,?'I am the young Athletes, of Trinity the pride;?I have large estates in Ireland, which ere long
will pay me rent;?I have rooms in Piccadilly, and a farm (unlet) in Kent.
'My achievements thou hast heard of, how I chalk the wily cue, Pull an oar, and wield the willow, and have won my double-blue; How I ride, and play lawn tennis; how I make a claret cup; Own the sweetest of bull terriers, and a grand St. Bernard pup.
'But believe me, since I've seen thee, all these
pleasures are a bore;?Life has now one only object fit to love and to adore;?Long in silence have I worshipped, long in secret have I sighed: Tell me, beautiful Aesthesis, wilt thou be my blooming bride?'
'Sir Student,' quoth the maiden, 'you are really quite intense, And I ever of this honour shall retain the highest sense; But forgive me, if I venture'--faintly blushing thus she spoke-- 'Is not true love inconsistent with tobacco's mundane smoke?'
'Perish all that comes between us,' cried Athletes, as he threw His weed full fifty paces in the stream of Camus blue:?The burning weed encountered the cold river with the hiss Which ensues when fire and water, wranglers old, are forced to kiss.
'Sir Student, much I thank thee,' said the Lady, 'thou hast shown The fragrance of a lily, or of petals freshly blown;?But before to thee I listen there are questions not a few Which demand from thee an answer satisfactory and true.'
'Fire away,' exclaimed Athletes, 'I will do the best I can; But remember, gentle Maiden, that I'm not a reading man;?So your humble servant begs you, put your questions pretty plain, For my Tutors all assure me I'm not overstocked with brain.
'Sir Student' cried the Lady, and her glance was stern and high, Hast thou felt the soft vibration of a summer sunset sky? Art thou soulful? Art thou tuneful? Cans't thou
weep o'er nature's woes??Art thou redolent of Ruskin? Dost thou love a yellow rose?
'Hast thou bathed in emanations from the canvass of Burne Jones? As thou gazest at a Whistler, doth it whistle wistful tones? Art thou sadly sympathetic with a symphony in blue??Tell me, tell me, gentle Student, art thou really quite tootoo?'
''Pon my word,' replied the Student, 'this is coming
it too strong:?I can sketch a bit at Lecture, and can sing a comic song; But my head with all these subjects 'tis impossible to cram; So, my beautiful Aesthesis, you must take me as I am.'
'Wilt thou come into my parlour,' sweetly blushing
asked the Maid,?'To my little bower in Girton, where a table shall be laid? Pen and paper I will bring thee, and whatever thou shalt ask, That is lawful, shall be granted for performance of thy task.'
Lightly leapt the young Athletes from his seat beside the Cam: 'This is tempting me, by Jingo, to submit to an Exam!?So it's time, my learned Lady, you and I should say good-bye'-- And he stood with indignation and wild terror in his eye.
They parted, and Athletes had not left her very far,?Ere again he puffed the odours of a casual cigar;?But he oftentimes lamented, as to manhood's years he grew, 'What a pity such a stunner was so spoilt by being blue!'
And Aesthesis, as she watched him with his swinging manly stride, The 'double-blue' Athletes, of Trinity the pride,?Found it difficult entirely to eradicate love's dart,?As she listened to thy Lecture, Slade Professor of Fine Art.
And Ruskin, and the warblings of Whistler and Burne Jones, And symphonies in colours, and sunset's silent tones,?Move her not as once they moved her, for she weeps in sorrow sore, 'O had I loved Athletes less, or he loved culture more!'
(1882).
A VISION.
As hard at work I trimmed the midnight lamp,?Yfilling of mine head with classic lore,?Mine hands firm clasped upon my temples damp,?Methought I heard a tapping at the door;?'Come in,' I cried, with most unearthly rore,?Fearing a horrid Dun or Don to see,?Or Tomkins, that unmitigated bore,?Whom I love not, but who alas! loves me,?And cometh oft unbid and drinketh of my tea.
'Come in,' I rored; when suddenly there rose?A magick form before my dazzled eyes:?'Or do I wake,' I asked myself 'or