Our "Three" was unseated, and we were
defeated, and robbed of our laurels by Isis.]—
O oft do I dream of the muddy old stream, the
Father of wisdom and knowledge,
Where ages ago I delighted to row for the honour
and praise of my College.
I feel every muscle engaged in the tussle, I hear
the wild shouting and screaming;
And as we return I can see from the stern Lady
Margaret's red banner streaming;
Till I wake with a start, such as nightmares impart,
and find myself rapidly gliding,
And striving in vain at my ease to remain on a
seat that is constantly sliding.
Institutions are changed, men and manners
deranged, new systems of rowing and reading,
And writing and thinking, and eating and drinking,
each other are quickly succeeding.
Who knows to what end these new notions will
tend? No doubt all the world is progressing,