The Term of the Freshman.
How jollily, how joyously we live at B. N. C.[53]
Our reading is all moonshine—the wind is not more free:
The champagne is all sparkling; we quaff it day and night,
Like creatures in whose sunny throats a thirsty flame burns bright.
All Oxford knows our triumph: fast birds around us sweep;
Strange “duns” come up to look at us, their masters though so deep;
In our wake, like any serpent, doth the night policeman go,
And at the toll-bar tarrieth the proctor with his pro.