The Scarlet Gown Part 6

St. Andrews! not for ever thine shall be Merely the shadow of a mighty name, The remnant only of an ancient fame Which time has crumbled, as thy rocks the sea.

For thou, to whom was given the earliest key Of knowledge in this land (and all men came To learn of thee), shalt once more rise and claim The glory that of right belongs to thee.

Grey in thine age, there yet in thee abides The force of youth, to make thyself anew A name of honour and a place of power.

Arise, then! shake the dust from off thy sides; Thou shalt have many where thou now hast few; Again thou shalt be great. Quick come the hour!

SONG FROM 'THE PRINCESS'

As through the street at eve we went (It might be half-past ten), We fell out, my friend and I, About the cube of _x+y_, And made it up again.

And blessings on the falling out Between two learned men, Who fight on points which neither knows, And make it up again!

For when we came where stands an inn We visit now and then, There above a pint of beer, Oh there above a pint of beer, We made it up again.

ANDREW M'CRIE

FROM THE UNPUBLISHED REMAINS OF EDGAR ALLAN POE

It was many and many a year ago, In a city by the sea, That a man there lived whom I happened to know By the name of Andrew M'Crie; And this man he slept in another room, But ground and had meals with me.

I was an a.s.s and he was an a.s.s, In this city by the sea; But we ground in a way which was more than a grind, I and Andrew M'Crie; In a way that the idle semis next door Declared was shameful to see.

And this was the reason that, one dark night, In this city by the sea, A stone flew in at the window, hitting The milk-jug and Andrew M'Crie.

And once some low-bred tertians came, And bore him away from me, And shoved him into a private house Where the 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 Cla.s.sics, rendered in the styles Of Kelly, Bohn, and Dr. Giles.

And now I own, with some small spleen, A most confounded a.s.s 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.