 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
3
NUGAE ETONENSES.
5
My Old School.
There's a long low wall with trees behind it,
And an old grey chapel behind the trees,
Neath the shade of a royal keep you'll find it,
Where Kings and Emperors take their ease.
And an old grey chapel behind the trees,
Neath the shade of a royal keep you'll find it,
Where Kings and Emperors take their ease.
There's another wall, with a field beside it,
A wall not wholly unknown to fame;
For a game's played there which most who've tried it
Declare is a truly noble game.
A wall not wholly unknown to fame;
For a game's played there which most who've tried it
Declare is a truly noble game.
There's a great grey river that swirls and eddies
To the Bells of Ouseley from Boveney Weir,
With willowy stumps where the river's bed is,
And rippling shallows, and spaces clear.
To the Bells of Ouseley from Boveney Weir,
With willowy stumps where the river's bed is,
And rippling shallows, and spaces clear.
There's a cloistered garden and four quadrangles,
And red brick buildings both old and new:
There's a bell that tolls, and a clock that jangles,
And a stretch of sky that is often blue.
And red brick buildings both old and new:
There's a bell that tolls, and a clock that jangles,
And a stretch of sky that is often blue.
There's a street that's alive with boys and masters:
And ah! there's a feeling of home for me:
For my boyhood's triumphs, delights, disasters,
Successes and failures were here, you see.
And ah! there's a feeling of home for me:
For my boyhood's triumphs, delights, disasters,
Successes and failures were here, you see.
6
And if sometimes I've laughed in my rhymes at Eton,
Whose glory I never could jeopardise,
Yet I'd never a joy that I could not sweeten,
Or a sorrow I could not exorcise,
Whose glory I never could jeopardise,
Yet I'd never a joy that I could not sweeten,
Or a sorrow I could not exorcise,
By the thought of my school, and the brood that's bred there,
Her bright boy faces, and keen young life:
And the manly stress of the hours that sped there,
And the stirring pulse of her daily strife.
Her bright boy faces, and keen young life:
And the manly stress of the hours that sped there,
And the stirring pulse of her daily strife.
For, mark, when an old friend meets another
Who have lived and remembered for years apart,
And each is as true as to best-loved brother,
And each has a faithful and tender heart;
Who have lived and remembered for years apart,
And each is as true as to best-loved brother,
And each has a faithful and tender heart;
Do they straight spread arms, and profess devotion,
And exhibit the signs of a heartfelt joy?
No; but each stands steady, and scorns emotion,
And each says:—How do you do, old boy?
And exhibit the signs of a heartfelt joy?
No; but each stands steady, and scorns emotion,
And each says:—How do you do, old boy?
And so, old school, if I lightly greet you,
And have laughed at your foibles these fifteen years,
It is just as a dear old friend I treat you,
And the smile on my lips is a mask for tears:
And have laughed at your foibles these fifteen years,
It is just as a dear old friend I treat you,
And the smile on my lips is a mask for tears:
And it is not a form of words, believe me,
To say I am yours while my pulses beat,
And whatever garlands the fates may weave me
I'll lay right gladly at Eton's feet.
To say I am yours while my pulses beat,
And whatever garlands the fates may weave me
I'll lay right gladly at Eton's feet.
7
The Old School List .
In a wild moraine of forgotten books,
On the glacier of years gone by,
As I plied my rake for order's sake,
There was one that caught my eye:
And I sat by the shelf till I lost myself.
And roamed in a crowded mist,
And heard lost voices and saw lost looks,
As I pored on an Old School List.
On the glacier of years gone by,
As I plied my rake for order's sake,
There was one that caught my eye:
And I sat by the shelf till I lost myself.
And roamed in a crowded mist,
And heard lost voices and saw lost looks,
As I pored on an Old School List.
What a jumble of names! there were some that I knew,
As a brother is known: to-day
Gone I know not where, nay I hardly care,
For their places are full: and, they—
What climes they have ranged: how much they're changed!
Time, place and pursuits assist
In transforming them: stay where you are: adieu!
You are all in the Old School List.
As a brother is known: to-day
Gone I know not where, nay I hardly care,
For their places are full: and, they—
What climes they have ranged: how much they're changed!
Time, place and pursuits assist
In transforming them: stay where you are: adieu!
You are all in the Old School List.
8
There are some who did nothing at school, much since:
And others much then, since naught:
They are middle-aged men, grown bald since then:
Some have travelled, and some have fought:
And some have written, and some are bitten
With strange new faiths: desist
From tracking them: broker or priest or prince,
They are all in the Old School List.
And others much then, since naught:
They are middle-aged men, grown bald since then:
Some have travelled, and some have fought:
And some have written, and some are bitten
With strange new faiths: desist
From tracking them: broker or priest or prince,
They are all in the Old School List.
There's a grave grey lawyer in King's Bench Walk,
Whose clients are passing few:
He seldom speaks: in those lonely weeks,
What on earth can he find to do?
Well, he stroked the eight—what a splendid fate!—
And the Newcastle barely missed:
“A future Lord Chancellor!” so we'd talk
In the days of the old School List.
Whose clients are passing few:
He seldom speaks: in those lonely weeks,
What on earth can he find to do?
Well, he stroked the eight—what a splendid fate!—
And the Newcastle barely missed:
“A future Lord Chancellor!” so we'd talk
In the days of the old School List.
There were several duffers and several bores,
Whose faces I've half forgot,
Whom I lived among, when the world was young,
And who talked “no end of rot”:
Are they now little clerks who stroll in the Parks
Or scribble with grimy fist,
Or rich little peers who hire Scotch moors?
Well—they're all in the old School List.
Whose faces I've half forgot,
Whom I lived among, when the world was young,
And who talked “no end of rot”:
Are they now little clerks who stroll in the Parks
Or scribble with grimy fist,
Or rich little peers who hire Scotch moors?
Well—they're all in the old School List.
There were some who were certain to prosper and thrive,
And certain to do no more,
Who were “capital chaps,” and, tho' moderate saps,
Would never stay in after four:
Now day after day they are packed away,
After being connubially kissed,
To work in the city from ten to five:
There they are in the old School List.
And certain to do no more,
9
Would never stay in after four:
Now day after day they are packed away,
After being connubially kissed,
To work in the city from ten to five:
There they are in the old School List.
There were two good fellows I used to know.
—How distant it all appears!
We played together in football weather,
And messed together for years:
Now one of them's wed, and the other's dead
So long that he's hardly missed
Save by us, who messed with him years ago:
But we're all in the Old School List.
—How distant it all appears!
We played together in football weather,
And messed together for years:
Now one of them's wed, and the other's dead
So long that he's hardly missed
Save by us, who messed with him years ago:
But we're all in the Old School List.
| Quo Musa Tendis? | |