For Death, whose unrelenting hand,
No mortal prowess can withstand,
Strikes surely, with impartial dart,
Masters’ and under-graduates’ heart
And the short space that here we tarry,
At least “in statu pupillari,”
Forbids our growing hopes to germ
Alas! beyond the appointed term.
Nay, even now our time is o’er,
And January threatening lower,[48]