Lines written to console two gentlemen of Eliot House who, in the interest of House spirit, have been denied entertainment priviliges for having remained in the Junior Common Room with young ladies after the hour of seven in the evening.
Forgone but not forgotten, dearest time!
Return no more those thoughts of happiness;
In isolation dameless those sublime
Suspicious gods of Eliot do you press,
Kocktails and Common Room alike taboo.
Ye noisy ruffians no more may chant an air
Marring eve's quiet with a loud halloo.
Evening's no longer evening, pleasant, fair;
Rather 'tis night, black night, and full of vice
Rebellious, rampant, cloaking Satan's scenes
In heaven itself. It's seven o'clock! A trice
Makes gentlemen who linger libertines;
All ease and graciousness is pushed aside
Now Jove himself comes barging in his stride. --Jacobus Amundus
Ed. Note: Realising the anxiety of the times, the Crimson is waiving its usual rule, and prints the above lines without revealing their author. As in the past, it assumes no liability for the sentiments expressed or their possible results.
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ABREAST OF THE TIDE
