Round yon gray walls, enchained by slumber's spell,
Each son of learning snores within his cell.
For though long vigils the pale student keep,
E'en learning's self, we know, must sometimes sleep—
So morn shall see him, with a brightened face,
Fresh as a giant, to resume his race.
But hark! the chimes of yonder chapel-tower
Sound the arrival of the unwelcome hour.
Now drowsy Lentulus his head half rears,
To mumble curses on the Dean he fears.
What though his gyp exhort him, ere too late,
To seek the chapel and avert his fate?
Who, when secure his downy sheets between,
Recks of the threatenings of an angry Dean!
Slow rolling round he bids his mentor go
And bear his warnings to the shades below.
Soon shall he, summoned to the well-known room,[24]
Repent his recklessness and learn his doom,
Within the walls a dull constraint to know,
And many a midnight jollity forego.
Far happier he, to whom the harsh-tongued bell
Sounds, as it should, his murdered slumber's knell.
Cold he contemns, and, shuffling on his clothes,
Boldly stalks forth, nor heeds his redd'ning nose.
Straight o'er the grass-plot cuts his dewy line
In mad defiance of the College fine;
Breathless with hurry gains the closing grate,
And thanks his stars he was not just too late.
His name prick'd off upon the marker's roll,
No twinge of conscience racks his easy soul,
While tutor's wines and Dean's soft smiles repay
His prompt submission to the College sway.
The service o'er, by Cam's dull bank of sedge
He strides, while hunger gains a keener edge;
(Though fasting walks I cannot loathe too much,
Since such my custom, my advice be such.)
For him, who straight returns, what horrors wait!
How chill and comfortless his chamber's state.
The crackling fuel only serves too well
To show the cold it vainly strives to quell;
While the grim bedmaker provokes the dust,
And soot-born atoms, which his tomes encrust:
Awhile suspended high in air they soar,
Then, sinking, seek the shelves on which they slept before.
Down bolt his commons and his scalding tea,
Then off to lectures in pedantic glee.
He notes each artifice and master-stroke—
Each musty parallel and mustier joke;
Snaps up the driblets to his share consigned,
And as he cram'd his body crams his mind;
Then seeks at home digestion for his lore,
And slams in Folly's face the twice-barred door.
This hour, perchance, sees Lentulus descend
To seek the chamber of some jovial friend—
Yawn o'er the topics of the passing day,
Or damn the losses of his last night's play;
While well he augurs from the clattering plates,
The glad intelligence that breakfast waits.
From Memory's store the sportive muse may glean
The charms that gild awhile the careless scene—
The song, the anecdote, the bet, the joke,
The steaming viands, and the circling smoke—
The racy cider-cup, or brisk champagne,
Long prompt the merriment and rouse the strain;
Till Pleasure, sated of the loaded board,
Seeks what amusement fresher scenes afford.
Some prove their skill in fence—some love to box—
Some thirst for vengeance on the dastard fox;
Each by his fav'rite sport's enchanting power,
Cheats of its tediousness the flying hour.
Now the dull court a short siesta takes,
For scarce a footstep her still echo wakes,
Save where the prowling duns their victim scout,
And seize the spendthrift wretch that dares steal out.
Come, let us wander to the river's bank,
And learn what charm collects yon breathless rank;
The hope or horror pictured in each face
Marks the excitement of the coming race.
Hark! o'er the waters booms the sound of strife;
Now the hush'd voices leap at once to life;
Now to their toil the striving oarsmen bend;
Now their gay hues the flaunting banners blend;
Now leap the wavedrops from the flashing oar;
Now the woods echo to the madd'ning roar;
Now hot th' enthusiastic crowd pursue,
And scream hoarse praises on the unflinching crew;
Now in one last wild chance each arm is strained;
One panting struggle more—the goal is gained.
A scene like this, what stream can boast beside?
Scarce rival Isis on her fairer tide.[25]
But think not thus could live the rower's power,
Save long privation steeled him for the hour.
The couch relinquished at the voice of morn,
The toilsome exercise, the cup forsworn,
The frugal dinner, and scarce-tasted wine—
Are these no sacrifice at glory's shrine?
Thus with new trophies shall his walls be graced—
Each limb new strengthened, and each nerve new braced.
Some idlers to the pavements keep their feet,
And strut and ogle all the passing street.
And if 'tis Sunday's noon, on King's Parade,[26]
See the smug tradesman too and leering maid;
See the trim shop-boy cast his envious eye
On Topling's waistcoat and on Sprightly's tie,
Bravely resolved to hoard his labour's fruit,
And ape their fancies in his next new suit.
But now the sounding clocks in haste recall
Each hungry straggler to his College hall;
For Alma Mater well her nursling rears,
Nor cheats his gullet, while she fills his ears.
Heavens! what a clatter rends the steam-fraught air—
How waiters jostle, and how Freshmen stare!
One thought here strikes me—and the thought is sad—
The carving for the most part is but bad.
See the torn turkey and the mangled goose!
See the hack'd sirloin and the spattered juice!
Ah! can the College well her charge fulfil,
Who thus neglects the petit-maître's skill?
The tutor proves each pupil on the books—
Why not give equal license to the cooks?
As the grave lecturer, with scrupulous care,
Tries how his class picks up its learned fare—
From Wisdom's banquet makes the dullard fast—
Denied admittance till his trial's past—
So the slow Freshman on a crust should starve,
Till practice taught him nobler food to carve:
Then Granta's sons a useful fame should know,
And shame with skill each dinner-table beau.
High on the daïs, and more richly stored,
Well has old custom placed the Fellow's board:
Thus shall the student feel his fire increased
By brave ambition for the well-graced feast—
Mark the sleek merriment of rev'rend Dons,
And learn how science well rewards her sons.
But spare, my muse, to pierce the sacred gloom
That veils the mysteries of the Fellows' room;
Nor hint how Dons, their untasked hours to pass,
Like Cato, warm their virtues with the glass.[27]
Once more, at sound of chapel chime, repairs
The surpliced scholar to his vesper prayers;
For discipline this tribute at his hands,
First and last duty of the day, demands.
Then each, as diligence or mirth invite,
Careful improves or thriftless wastes the night.