The Scarlet Gown | Page 7

people were having tea.
Professors, not half so well up in their work,
Went envying him and me--?Yes!--that was the reason, I always thought
(And Andrew agreed with me),?Why they ploughed us both at the end of the year,
Chilling and killing poor Andrew M'Crie.
But his ghost is more terrible far than the ghosts
Of many more famous than he--?Of many more gory than he--?And neither visits to foreign coasts,
Nor tonics, can ever set free?Two well-known Profs from the haunting wraith
Of the injured Andrew M'Crie.
For at night, as they dream, they frequently scream,
'Have mercy, Mr. M'Crie!'?And at morn they will rise with bloodshot eyes,
And the very first thing they will see,?When they dare to descend to their coffee and rolls,?Sitting down by the scuttle, the scuttle of coals,
With a volume of notes on its knee,?Is the spectre of Andrew M'Crie.
AN INTERVIEW
I met him down upon the pier;
His eyes were wild and sad,?And something in them made me fear
That he was going mad.
So, being of a prudent sort,
I stood some distance off,?And before speaking gave a short
Conciliatory cough.
I then observed, 'What makes you look
So singularly glum?'?No notice of my words he took.
I said, 'Pray, are you dumb?'
'Oh no!' he said, 'I do not think?My power of speech is lost,?But when one's hopes are black as ink,
Why, talking is a frost.
'You see, I'm in for Math. again,
And certain to be ploughed.?Please tell me where I could obtain
An inexpensive shroud.'
I told him where such things are had,
Well made, and not too dear;?And, feeling really very sad,
I left him on the pier.
THE M.A. DEGREE
AFTER WORDSWORTH
It was a phantom of delight?When first it gleamed upon my sight,?A scholarly distinction, sent?To be a student's ornament.?The hood was rich beyond compare,?The gown was a unique affair.?By this, by that my mind was drawn?Then, in my academic dawn;?A dancing shape, an image gay?Before me then was my M.A.
I saw it upon nearer view,?A glory, yet a bother too!?For I perceived that I should be?Involved in much Philosophy?(A branch in which I could but meet?Works that were neither light nor sweet);?In Mathematics, not too good?For human nature's daily food;?And Classics, rendered in the styles?Of Kelly, Bohn, and Dr. Giles.
And now I own, with some small spleen,?A most confounded ass I've been;?The glory seems an empty breath,?And I am nearly bored to death?With Reason, Consciousness, and Will,?And other things beyond my skill,?Discussed in books all darkly planned?And more in number than the sand.?Yet that M.A. still haunts my sight,?With something of its former light.
TRIOLET
After the melting of the snow
Divines depart and April comes;?Examinations nearer grow?After the melting of the snow;?The grinder wears a face of woe,
The waster smokes and twirls his thumbs;?After the melting of the snow
Divines depart and April comes.
VIVIEN'S SONG
AT THE L.L.A. EXAMINATION
In Algebra, if Algebra be ours,?x_ and x^2_ can ne'er be equal powers,?Unless _x_=1, or none at all.
It is the little error in the sum,?That by and by will make the answer come?To something queer, or else not come at all.
The little error in the easy sum,?The little slit across the kettle-drum,?That makes the instrument not play at all.
It is not worth correcting: let it go:?But shall I? Answer, Prudence, answer, no.?And bid me do it right or not at all.
THE WASTER SINGING AT MIDNIGHT
AFTER LONGFELLOW
Loud he sang the song Ta Phershon?For his personal diversion,?Sang the chorus U-pi-dee,?Sang about the Barley Bree.
In that hour when all is quiet?Sang he songs of noise and riot,?In a voice so loud and queer?That I wakened up to hear.
Songs that distantly resembled?Those one hears from men assembled?In the old Cross Keys Hotel,?Only sung not half so well.
For the time of this ecstatic?Amateur was most erratic,?And he only hit the key?Once in every melody.
If 'he wot prigs wot isn't his'n?Ven he's cotched is sent to prison,'?He who murders sleep might well?Adorn a solitary cell.
But, if no obliging peeler?Will arrest this midnight squealer,?My own peculiar arm of might?Must undertake the job to-night.
THIRTY YEARS AFTER
Two old St. Andrews men, after a separation of nearly thirty years, meet by chance at a wayside inn. They interchange experiences; and at length one of them, who is an admirer of Mr. Swinburne's Poems and Ballads, speaks as follows:
If you were now a bejant,
And I a first year man,?We'd grind and grub together?In every kind of weather,?When Winter's snows were regent,
Or when the Spring began;?If you were now a bejant,
And I a first year man.
If you were what you once were,
And I the same man still,?You'd be the gainer by it,?For you--you can't deny it--?A most uncommon dunce were;?My profit would be nil,?If you were what you once were,
And I the same man still.
If you were last in Latin,
And I were first in Greek,?I'd write your Latin proses,?While you indulged in dozes,?Or carved the bench you sat in,
So innocent and meek;?If you were last in Latin,
And I were first in Greek.
If I