"Alas! What dangers do environ

The man that meddles with old iron."

In Athens centuries ago,

They ran and jumped as we do,

For Greek was learned when young, and was

No everlasting Phaedo,

Boxing and wrestling too were thought

A liberal education,

And discus-throwing was a means

Of constant recreation,

At Harvard, in these latter days,

A man of Greek, desirous

To emulate the ancient feats,

With equal zeal would fire us.

He bade the noble artisan

A ponderous disc to carve us,

And daily did it take the air

And bite the sod of Jarvis.

The athletes took to Fine Arts 4,

And studied the Discobolus;

'Twas "caviare to the general,"

The "vulgus" and the "populus."

It was a sight to make one glad,

This Greek enthusiasm,

Tho' destined to an early death

After a two weeks' spasm.

Forsesee who can! Ill-luck will come,

And eke it so did happen -

They went to cast the classic toy,

And could not find the weapon.

Great tears ran down the Greek man's cheeks,

Great tears of bitter sorrow,

Rewards were vain; they found it not,

Nor on the morrow's morrow.

Days past, there came no news of it;

But one day unexpected,

When hopes had long been given up,

The thing was resurrected.

A man that drove a two-wheeled cart

Was ushered by a peeler,

Who told how in the old junk-shop

Of this renowned iron dealer

He saw that curious thing of theirs,

And guessed it wasn't his'n,

And so he nabbed the varmint there,

And socked him into prison.

He went on bout a piece of brass,

A stove-lid or a sumpin',

But I shut him up and rubbed him down

With a real old solid thumpin',

He went before a magistrate,

And much they meditated,

Examined, re-examined and

Cross-questioned and debated.

They sat on that poor "cullud" man,

(He visibly grew thinner),

Until the verdict was announced

About the hour of dinner.

They did not send him off to jail,

They did not hang him, even,

But turned him over to the Prof.,

To go to Greek 11.