Sagittulae, Random Verses | Page 7

warm rays?Illumine hill and heather,?I think of all the pleasant days?We might have had together.?When Lucifer's phosphoric beam?Shines e'er the Lake's dim water,?O then, my Beautiful, I dream?Of thee, the salt sea's daughter.
O why did Death thy beauty snatch?And leave me lone and blighted,?Before the Hymeneal match?Our young loves had united??I knew thou wert not made of clay,?I loved thee with devotion,?Soft emanation of the spray!?Bright, foam-born child of Ocean!
One night I saw an unknown star,?Methought it gently nodded;?I saw, or seemed to see, afar?Thy spirit disembodied.?Cleansed from the stain of smoke and oil,?My tears it bade me wipe,?And there, relieved from earthly toil,?I saw my Meerschaum pipe.
Men offer me the noisome weed;?But nought can calm my sorrow;?Nor joy nor misery I heed;?I care not for the morrow.?Pipeless and friendless, tempest-tost?I fade, I faint, I languish;?He only who has loved and lost?Can measure all my anguish.
A ROMANCE IN REAL (ACADEMIC) LIFE.
By the waters of Cam, as the shades were descending,?A Fellow sat moaning his desolate lot;?From his sad eyes were flowing salt rivulets, blending?Their tide with the river which heeded them not--
"O! why did I leave,"--thus he wearily muttered--?"The silent repose, and the shade of my books,?Where the voice of a woman no sound ever uttered,?And I ne'er felt the magic of feminine looks?
"Then I rose when the east with Aurora was ruddy;?Took a plunge in my Pliny; collated a play;?No breakfast I ate, for I found in each study?A collation which lasted me all through the day.
"I know not what temptress first came to my garden?Of Eden, and lured me stern wisdom to leave;?But I rather believe that a sweet 'Dolly Varden'?Came into my rooms on a soft summer eve.
"From that hour to this, dresses silken and satin?Seem to rustle around me, like wings in a dream;?And eyes of bright blue, as I lecture in Latin,?Fill my head with ideas quite remote from my theme.
"My life was once lonely, and almost ascetic;?But now, if I venture to walk in the street,?With her books in her hand, some fair Peripatetic?Is sure to address me with whisperings sweet.
"O, dear DR. OXYTONE, tell me the meaning?Of this terrible phrase, which I cannot make out;?And what is the Latin for "reaping" and "gleaning?"?Is "podagra" the Greek, or the Latin for "gout?"
"'And what do you mean by "paroemiac bases?"?Did the ladies in Athens wear heels very high??Do give me the rules for Greek accents, and Crasis??Did CORNELIA drive out to dine in a fly?
"'When were bonnets first worn? was the toga becoming??Were woman's rights duly respected in Rome??What tune was that horrible Emperor strumming,?When all was on fire--was it Home, Sweet Home?"
"Such questions as these (sweetest questions!) assail me, When I walk on our Trumpington-Road-Rotten-Row;?The voice of the charmer ne'er ceases to hail me?(Is it wisely she charmeth?) wherever I go.
"Locked up in my rooms, I sigh wearily 'ohe!'?But cards, notes, and letters pour in by each post;?From PHYLLIS, EUPHROSYNE, PHIDYLE, CHLOE,?AMARYLLIS and JANE, and a numberless host.
"And now, I must take either poison or blue-pill,?For things cannot last very long as they are."?He ceased, as the exquisite form of a pupil?Dawned upon him, serene as a beautiful star.
Much of syntax and "accidence moving" our Fellow?Discoursed as they sat by the murmuring stream,?Till, as young Desdemona_ was charmed by _Othello,?She listened, as one who is dreaming a dream.

Now he, who was once a confirmed woman-hater,
Sees faces around him far dearer than books;
And no longer a Coelebs, but husband and "pater,"
Lauds in Latin and Greek MRS. OXYTONE'S looks.
(1871)
THE SENIOR FELLOW.
When the shades of eve descending?Throw o'er cloistered courts their gloom,?Dimly with the twilight blending?Memories long forgotten loom.?From the bright fire's falling embers?Faces smile that smiled of yore;?Till my heart again remembers?Hopes and thoughts that live no more.
Then again does manhood's vigour?Nerve my arm with iron strength;?As of old when trained with rigour?We beat Oxford by a length.?Once again the willow wielding?Do I urge the flying ball;?Till "lost ball" the men who're fielding?Hot and weary faintly call.
Then I think of hours of study,?Study silent as the tomb,?Till the rays of morning ruddy?Shone within my lonely room.?Once again my heart is burning?With ambition's restless glow;?And long hidden founts of learning?O'er my thirsty spirit flow.
Soon fresh scenes my fancy people,?For I see a wooded hill;?See above the well-known steeple;?Hear below the well-known rill;?Joyous sounds each gale is bringing,?Wafted on its fragrant breath;?Hark! I hear young voices singing,?Voices silent now in death.
Brothers, sisters, loved and loving,?Hold me in their fond embrace;?Half forgiving, half reproving,?I can see my Mother's face,?Mid a night of raven tresses,?Through the gloom two sad eyes shine;?And my hand a soft hand presses,?And a heart beats close to mine.
In mine ears a voice is ringing,?Sweeter far than earthly strain,?Heavenly consolation bringing?From the land that knows no pain,?And when slowly from me stealing?Fades that vision into air,?Every