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A DAY IN VACATION AT COLLEGE.
A MOCK-HEROIC POEM.
The laughing hours, and rose-lip'd Hebe leads
Thee, midst the jolly choir of maidens trim,
Daughters of pleasance; list, oh list awhile,
From love and mirth's brisk music, to the strains,
Hoarse-ecchoing, of thy solitary friend!
While, how slow pace along his ling'ring hours,
'Midst Granta's gloomy walls, he sorrowing tells,
And paints the awful scene! O friend to woe!
Sad muse, in sable stole right meekly clad,
Thy melancholy young who leadest forth
Slow, mournful, musing, to the mirky tomb,
Midst darkness horrible (save where the moon
With intercepted light, serves but to make
The scene more solemn) and his midnight song,
Grief-dictated, inspirest—Goddess come,
And thro' the live-long, tedious, lonely day,
Assist me while I drag laborious on.
Breaks through the silence of the morn, and calls
To solitary prayers? since there no face
Of friendly aspect on my hunger smiles,
Inviting to the breakfast's kind repast!
Chance thro' the ill-frequented house of God
Himself who grudges food: and, diet thin,
Pines to afford a miserable size !
Hence to keen appetite, and hunger strong,
What hopes can well ? reflections thus severe,
Food to desire, not so to ravenous maws,
Yet why indulge? since fate's decrees stand fix'd,
And fruitless 'tis to hope reverse our doom!
Come then, thou lonely loaf, thou pensive cup,
And 'midst the tortur'd kettle's hissing plaints,
Let me eat, sip, and yawn o'er pamphlet dull.
Where's now the jocund pun, the merry jibe,
Erst laughter-usher'd midst belov'd compeers?
Where's now the social walk, the friendly chat,
As thronging thick to Cloacina's fane?
In sort not unresembling Gallic dames
Of decency nought heedful: how unlike
The virgin modesty of British maids?
How pant their little hearts, how glow their cheeks
With elegance of blushes, if descried
Of nature's wants ought conscious! oh go on,
Ye sole sweet chearers of my musing hours,
Still delicate, and still by grace refin'd
Height'ning the marriage bliss, to every joy,
To every rapture adding new increase.
Of pleasure glimmering ray, 'tis all from you,
From sweet reflection on the absent fair,
Soul of my soul—with whom whyleare when blest,
How gay was nature, and each scene how trim!
How chang'd, how alter'd now! for lo! (the morn
Midst thoughts thus pensive, or midst travelling dull,
O'er the wild maze of philosophic ground,
At length o'erpast) as by the dinner bell,
Once sound most grateful, call'd, the dusty stairs,
(Despotic empire where Arachne holds
Her curious webs, midst death-denouncing beats,
Incessant weaving) as adown I move
My hunger-stirr'd, yet grief-stay'd languid limbs,
Clos'd every antique window thro' the dome,
(Black with the smoke of many a rolling year)
Whence, or in night-cap white, or, some more gay,
In velvet soft of many a varied hue,
Peep'd forth, on barber calling shrill and loud,
Dreading the loss of dinner, numerous heads!
No barbers trim are now! No more they skim
The well-shav'd lawn, its beard regardles grows
To length uncouth, and wild neglected grass
O'er every plat uncultivated reigns!
No barbers trim are now! no more with wig
Well-powder'd, white or brown, of don more grave,
Or scholar blythe meet emblems, haste those sires
Of news, and spruce consummators of dress!
No more the jolly Jips , with heart a foe
To thought or sorrow, carol out their songs,
Loud-echoing thro' the mirth-devoted court,
As to the butteries, with their paper friend
Jocund they jog along, and o'er their ale
Measure their masters merits by their gifts!
To penury, alas, and pinching want
Condemn'd, the long vacation loud they curse,
To sophs more dread than curfeu! so thro' life
The weal of one still proves another's woe.
Meet representative, yon matron view,
With years and labour bent, on lonely step,
Entrance of stair-case, where her masters lov'd
Erst won, all pensive plac'd; her heavy head
Her feeble arm upholds; her heavy heart,
Ah me, what now remaineth to uphold?
And to the room of midnight revelry,
Late jolly seat, repair! there, there what joy
The ruins of the rout to traverse o'er,
And with the luscious fragments feast her taste
Luxurious, and o'erwhelm her thirsty gule!
Careless of morrow, by the mellow youth
All things are to her rapine left a prey!
How pants her heart, while silently secure
She ravages the scene! and as the bee
From morning flowers, with honey-loaded thigh
Hastes happy to the hive—so homeward fares,
What wonder now she mourns, when revel-routs,
When feasts and spoils like these are found no more?
So wept, so griev'd the Macedonian chief,
When all the world dread ravag'd, and o'er-run,
No other world remain'd for future deeds,
Future destruction, blood-shed, spoils, and death!
(For such unphilosophic eyes wou'd deem,
What tables Granta's wiser sons yclepe,)
The hall, whence frighted hospitality
Wan takes her flight, with lonely steps and slow
Musing I enter, and with sighs behold
My solitary trencher ! banquets rich,
And choicest dainties all their relish lose,
If temper'd not with sweet society!
Stiff thro' the hall, the lowering of my cap,
And reverential meek respect demands
One moving, dull, alone, distrest like me,
Of big authority, and that great name,
Fellow, in Granta's walls sonorous deem'd,
Full proud, and swoln with mighty littleness!
Sick of the mimic pageant, down I haste
My sparing dinner; and full glad avoid
A wight so hateful to judicious eyes:
Left to his own dull silence, and to gnaw
Malign his cancred and perturbed gall!
And doubts which way to turn his sober steed,
Each equally perplexing, each alike
Lonely and desert: so from every scene
Friendly society and comfort fled,
In hesitation sighing, long I stand,
Where to direct my faint and feeble feet!
Along the silent streets, whose awful gloom
Adds horror to my melancholy soul,
I steal on unregarded: friendly face,
Round-cap , or square, ne'er greet my passing steps
With salutation pleasing: nor the shops
Of Thurlbourn, Merrill —or than those more sweet,
That, where the beauteous wife's bright visage gives
Beauty to books, and lustre to their backs,
One acceptable greeting e'er afford!
Not one lov'd friend—'tis silence, darkness all!
As in profoundest meditation lost,
Beside the door-case leaning I behold,
In fond imagination's eye, the walk
Hight Regent, by the babbling sophists throng'd,
For stern dispute in mental armour clad.
Slow tolls the bell: bright glory holds aloft
Her splendid crown, where gaily stamp'd in gold,
Great Wrangler glows, and panting honour throbs
In each firce combatant's aspiring heart!
As from the east the giant-sun breaks forth,
To run his course, on each beholder's eye!
He comes, ascend the rostrum, mount on high,
Great Cato of fair science, and confound
The syllogistic slaves of cavil sly!
See the press thickens, hark the fight begins,
Tongue-doughty—oh, of ignorance ye sons!
How ill for you in unknown guise they treat
Of subjects deep, important! else what funds,
What mighty crops of science might ye reap,
And grow in wisdom wealthy! so yon son,
(Or Cambro-Briton, or from northern climes,
Late footing o'er the hard and pebbly soil)
As by that pillar leaning, all agape,
Thus witnessing his wonder and applause,
Right sapient deems, while in his troubled thoughts
He scorns the ignorance of northern climes:
And prickt with emulation hies him home
To plod o'er hallow'd Euclid's sacred page!
And crown'd with high applause, jocund they haste
To drench their thirsty souls in chearing wine:
Pleas'd talking o'er the glories of the day,
And taking off each argument afresh.
Thus from the chace, around the rosy cups
The jolly-hearted hunters stun the ear
With feats atchiev'd by each, while every fence
And in imagination slain anew.
These active scenes are wrapt in slumber now,
The still schools droop, the desart rostrum mourns;
And pensive silence with her down-fixt eyes
Walks solitary round the sorrowing walls.
Reviving coffee, or heart-chearing tea,
And with them pamphlets in long happy roll,
Food for the hungry mind! how dreary all
As ent'ring there, I pace along the room!
The languid Dockrill drops his wonted smiles,
Pale Dockerilla on her elbow leans,
And views the long, long order, shining trim,
(Ah that they shine!) of coffee-pots forlorn!
While each with me in deep complaining joins
And ruminates full sad on happier days.
Quick let me wander to those pleasing scenes,
Where nymphs whilome right gaily trimm'd, advanc'd,
And spread their gawdy plumage to the sun.
But vanish'd is the sun from Granta's skies,
With it the summer's vanish'd—and the pride
Of summer, each gay butterfly is gone!
No more the high-arch'd walk of lovely Clare,
No more proud Trinity's delightful round,
Or Johnian scenes for solitude devis'd,
Are with the bevy bright of gownsmen blythe
And beauteous ladies, elegantly throng'd.
No more the Commoner with gold distinct,
With step superior; while perchance his side,
Some humbler fellow, very meek, attends,
No more [OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
The thoughtless youth full idly loll along,
Sole monarch; and if nought can give me joy,
At least am free from ought to raise my spleen.
Here only am I blest while nature's works,
And every beauty thro' the laughing fields,
Contemplating, delighted: while my limbs,
Beside the gurgling spring, which murmuring rills
Adown the steep, amidst the wispering breeze
Soft sighing of the gently waving boughs,
Indulgently I spread; and feed my thoughts
With thy perfections and thy works, great king
Of universal nature;—sure to lead
To that most perfect loveliest of thy works,
(Sweet meditation!) her, who holds my heart,
And is, whate'er has been of beauty feign'd!
Think not to lure me with those gallant joys,
More boasted of than known: one hour of love,
Of innocent delight, of guileless bliss,
Of converse delicate, refin'd and pure,
Exceeds your utmost pleasures, and may vie
With all the transports of lascivious love!
Quick move along the nimble-footed hours,
When with thee oft, so oft, too winged prov'd,
Then fleeter than a snail-pac'd moment now.
And as the silent melancholy court
Yawning I enter, 'chance a dismal scrape,
From hand of forlorn Fiddler, wounds my ear,
And to the scene adds horror. So the howl
Of triple-mouthed Cerberus bursting dread
Thro' the dull silence of hell's awful gloom,
New terror struck thro' pale Æneas' soul
Dire woe-begone, and made e'en hell more horrible.
Or new or meet to mend the dull-spent day:
How shall the long, long tedious evening pass?
Where are the social friends, the flowing cups
Midst converse pleasing jovially put round,
Midst mirth and laughter, honest joke and joy?
Where is the evening, held more social yet,
Midst conversation, open'd and refin'd,
On themes that well might suit an Attic ear?
Ah D--- now where art thou? blest indeed
And I—small comfort—to reflection left
Of what I once enjoy'd!—upbraidings hence
The hours move on, and proud Augusta's walls
Shall all those comforts to my soul afford,
Granta unkindly to my wish denies.
So might mankind be blest: learn, mortals, learn,
The present state contented to support,
Let flattering hope the future prospects crown!
And every hour well knows the next's employ;
The day of God except: then ruling change
Usurps her wonted sway: The pulpit then
New fund of matter to engage my soul,
Or raise my laughter, as with --- fill'd
--- or --- graciously supplies.
Yawn'd, threat'ning dissolution, some with awe,
With souls religious, felt the warning shock,
And pick'd morality from every shake.
While others, looser throng, with laughter vain,
And idle observation, deem'd it light,
While with gay pleasures closely compass'd round,
They rioted in jovisaunce secure,
And unregarding, or with smiles could hear
“The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds.”
A size of bread is half a half-penny roll: a common modicum with the small eaters of breakfasts at the university.
Are an idle useful set of hangers on the college, who procure ale, pence, &c. by running errands, and doing little services for their masters; and are a degree inferior in place and preeminence to the bed-makers: from a regard to the interests of the young gentlemen, the butler seldom permits them to have any thing of him without a note from the giver—which is usually in this form, a size of ale—Williams—loaf and butter, Jackson: by this the reader will understand what is meant by paper friend.
Which rings in that dreadful term, the last hefore degree-time, when the sophs, or those who then take their degrees, are in no small terror from moderators, wiflers, or examiners, proctors, philosophy, and fiery trials.
Meaning an aged bed-maker, for 'tis requisite, and a point of great prudence in the governors of colleges, that the she bed-makers should be both aged and uninviting, Iest temptation should cause the younger hearts to wander from the paths of virtue.
That is,—a square piece of deal board, seldom if ever scraped, (never wash'd) off which the younger part of the university dine.
The undergraduates, or those who are not dignified with the title of A. B. or any thing similar thereto, in general wear round-caps, not unlike those of the charity-boys, saving that they are black,—the superior orders wear square ones dignified with silken tassels.
Thurlbourn and Merril are so well known, we need observe nothing of the honesty or excellence of these eminent booksellers. The third (Mr. Matthews) who is hinted at in the next line, is less famous in public, but renowned within the walls of Granta, for a very pretty wife, whom he had just brought home when this poem was written.
N. B. This circumstance may, in future times, be of no small service to fix the chronology of this poem.
Mr. Merrill's shop looks upon the walk commonly called the Regent, which leads to the schools, which before two, (the hour when public exercise is kept in the schools) is generally much thronged by the younger sort, to hear the disputations, but more particularly when any renowned hero is to ascend the rostrum.
There are twelve of every year constantly honoured with that appellation, as a mark of their superior merit. Many are the privileges they used to enjoy, which by imperceptible degrees, have dwindled away to one only, that of chusing each a squire, and visiting all the fair ladies of the town, from whom they demand—nought but a kiss. And the good-natured ladies never were averse to so laudable a custom. But mark the unkindness of our times! even this privilege is taken away, and the Wranglers must no more joyously ravish the balmy blessings from the coy and struggling fair: scarce a dry eye was seen on the day when the wranglers were last expected, the peeping maidens observed, now and then, one with down-cast looks steal along the streets, and muffle up his inglorious face in dismal black, proper emblem of the cruel destiny.—The year 1750 is, and will be, remembered with grief, by every Cambridge virgin, and future Wrangler.
Or moderator, whose business it is to be umpire in all academical disputations, to keep up good manners and decency between the combatants.
The names of the master and mistress of the coffee-house, commonly called Robin's coffee-house. For the description of an academical coffee-house, we refer the reader to that noble history of Little Pompey.
Every reader will confess the propriety of what is said of this gentleman, when I tell them the person here meant, is the truly amiable author of Clarissa.
No particular persons are here meant: every university man can easily supply the vacancies, as no pulpit affords greater variety of excellent, as well as miserable, preachers, than St. Mary's.—The learned reader will observe how strictly the writer of this piece has complied with the opinions of the ingenious author of the very grave Scribleriad. He, in imitation thereof, never deigning to let one smile intrude all the way through; and in so doing, we hope people of true and nicer taste will confess he has hit upon the true burlesque. For in the preface to that poem, saith the writer,—‘In a mock-heroic poem, the author should never be seen to laugh, but constantly wear that grave irony, which Cervantes only has inviolably preserved.’
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