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
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
Of suspended chivalry.
Empty coal-bin, empty pockets,
Empty siphons in a row;
O'er my life a dun cloud gathers, -
I can't see the New York show!
O, the German in Lyceum!
O, the German I've to learn;
Hedged my chances in this quarter,
Vain a Freshman's gas I burn.
Why this spirit meek and lowly,
Why, my soul, so much cast down?
Soon will end these warm Mass meetings;
Think upon the score with Brown.
Ancient College, Alma Mater,
Man would loaf to a degree;
As the `leventh hour matureth,
Soften down the Dean's decree.
We have erred, cut recitations,
Naughty children we have been,
But beware, how now are slighted
Many of thy moneyed men!
x.
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