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A SENIOR'S LAMENT.

AGED Bacchus, on Olympus,

Ruddy is the wine to-day, -

But Ma'am Fortune, prone to crimp us,

Has my sheep-skin ragged away.

Four short years my buxom ponies

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I have ridden might and main;

For four years my bosom cronies,

Luckless wights! have done the same.

And to-night my many shingles,

Hung with medals round, not square,

Through the smoke are staring idly,

With a pessimistic air.

O'er a Venus that a Raphael

Would have shuddered much to see

Hangs a faded veil, - a token

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