He silently marched me down-stairs,
And Mont Blanc could not freeze with a greater
Assurance of grandeur and airs.
I questioned if Balliol was jolly—
"Your epithet," sighed he, "means noise.
Vile noise! At his age it were folly
To revel with Philistine boys."
Competition, the century's vulture,
Devoured academical fools;
For himself, utter pilgrim of Culture,