AT THE MAGDALEN GROUND.
Ecce canit formas alius jactusque pilarum.
I.
DRIVE to the Magdalen Ground;
Soon myself there I found,
Balls flew, and ground boys
After them blundered!
Theirs not at ease to lie,
Theirs but to field, and shy
Balls up and mind their eye;
If they were out of breath,
Who could have wondered?
II.
Balls to the right of me!
Balls to the left of me!
Balls, too, in front of me!
Nearly a hundred!
There stood each cricket swell,
Some of them batted well,
Smacking the balls about;
Seldom their wickets fell;
I stood and wondered!
III.
Thirsty, with elbows bare,
Bowlers were bowling there;
Cricket-balls through the air
Whizzed past their heads the while.
Muchly I wondered
Why no one's head was broke,
For at each mighty stroke
Close past the legs or head
Of some unconscious bloke,
Fast the balls thundered;
Which, had they hit him, would
Limbs have near sundered!
IV.
Balls to the right of me!
Balls to the left of me!
Balls, too, behind me!
Bounded and thundered!
Then came a sudden thwack,
Right on my poor old back,
Earthward I tumbled smack,
Knocked out was all my breath
With this untimely crack;
Whether my bones were smashed,
I lay and wondered.
Ne'er will the memory fade
Of the large bruise it made,
Not if six hundred
Years on this earth I stayed.
Why cricket's ever played,
Often I've wondered!
From Lays of Modern Oxford, 1874.
The following is a fair specimen of the Puff Poetical, taken from the Daily News of January, 1878:—