A BALLADE OF BOTHERS.
From country, from coast and from city,
From nowhere and goodness knows where,
The visitors come without pity,
There is not a corner to spare;
And students with work to prepare
Must charter a captive balloon
And study aloft in the air,
For the May Week has fallen in June.
The grinding of feet that are gritty
So ceaseless on landing and stair;
The notes of some drawing-room ditty
Disturb the recluse in his lair
And cause him to clutch at his hair
As he toils in the hot afternoon;
But nobody hears if he swear,
For the May Week has fallen in June.
Then the damsels supposing its pretty
Their art-curtain patterns to wear,
And the youths who conceive they are witty,
Came round to be stared at, and stare.
And amateur buglers that blare,
And singers that howl to the moon,
Are more than the system can bear;
For the May Week has fallen in June.
Envoi.
Friend, do not be caught in the snare,
And strive not to sing or to spoon,
Your tripos is all your affair,
For the May Week has fallen in June.
From the 'Cambridge Meteor.'