THE OLD MATRON
A stone’s-throw from the College gate
There lives a very noble lady;
A cottage-lawn her whole estate,
Without a tree to keep it shady;
For thirty years she served the school
In quite a number of positions,
And by her character and rule
Upheld its very best traditions.
School generations came and went,
Head followed Head—but in this story
’Tis foreign to my main intent
To say which gained the greatest glory;
Enough that minds of every size,
Hustlers and scholars, bloods and boobies,
All came in time to recognize
Her price was far above all rubies.
For, though immersed in household cares
And such extremely mundane matters
As washing, packing and repairs
Of wardrobes normally in tatters,
She found with unobtrusive tact
A hundred ways of help and healing,
And never overlooked an act
Of cruelty or double-dealing.
Her office and her Spartan breed
Forbade her to be sentimental,
But in an hour of real need
She could be wonderfully gentle;
To fashion, to the swift or strong
She was incapable of truckling,
But helped the lonely soul along
And comforted the ugly duckling.
Robust in body and in mind,
Free from all feminine caprices,
Seeing the best in all her kind,
Though loving nephews more than nieces,
She made no pets; if haply one
Appealed to her beyond another,
It was the orphan or the son
Neglected by a selfish mother.
Too fond to quit a scene so dear,
Too wise to fancy she was slighted,
Loth to intrude or interfere,
Though always helpful when invited,
She is the first whom boys on leave
Greet when they seek their alma mater,
The last they part from on the eve
Of their return to trench and crater.
For in her strong and homely face,
Her life serene and self-forgetting,
They see the Genius of the Place
Incarnate in a human setting;
And, though they readily would own
Their debt to Founder, Saint and Patron,
Keep in their heart of hearts a throne
Of special glory for the Matron.