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E. W. Bowling >> Sagittulae, Random Verses
SAGITTULAE,
RANDOM VERSES
BY
E. W. BOWLING,
RECTOR OF HOUGHTON CONQUEST, AND
LATE FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
Si dulce est desipere in loco,
ignosce nostro, blande lector, ioco.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
CAMBRIDGE: W. METCALFE & SON, TRINITY STREET.
1885.
PREFACE.
A very few of the following pieces appeared in "Punch," during the
Consulship of Plancus. The rest have been written by me during the
past twenty-five years, under the signature of "Arculus," for "The
Eagle," the Magazine of St. John's College, Cambridge. I hope their
reappearance will be welcome to a few of my old College friends.
The general reader will probably think that some apology is due to him
from me for publishing verses of so crude and trivial a character.
I can only say that the smallest of bows should sometimes be unstrung,
and that if my little arrows are flimsy and light they will, I trust,
wound no one.
E. W. BOWLING.
CONTENTS.
THE BATTLE OF THE PONS TRIUM TROJANORUM
JULIA
CLIO FATIDICA
ATHLETES AND AESTHESIS
A VISION
A MAY TERM MEMORY
THE MAY TERM
A TRAGEDY OF THE 19TH CENTURY
"NUNC TE BACCHE CANAM"
A ROMANCE IN REAL (ACADEMIC) LIFE
THE SENIOR FELLOW
A VALENTINE
A CURATE'S COMPLAINT
TEMPORA MUTANTUR
SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS
TURGIDUS ALPINUS
THE ALPINE CLUB MAN
THE MODERN CLIMBER
THE CLIMBER'S DREAM
THE BEACONSFIELD ALPHABET
THE GLADSTONE ALPHABET
SOLITUDE IN SEPTEMBER
MEDITATIONS OF A CLASSICAL MAN ON A MATHEMATICAL
PAPER DURING A LATE FELLOWSHIP EXAMINATION
THE LADY MARGARET 5TH BOAT (May, 1863)
IN CAMUM
FATHER CAMUS
IN MEMORIAM G. A. P.
GRANTA VICTRIX
THE GREAT BOAT RACE
LINES BY A CAMBRIDGE ANCIENT MARINER
THE SORROWS OF FATHER CAM
THE COMING BOAT RACE
A BALLAD
AN APRIL SQUALL
BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--I.
BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--II.
BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--III.
BEDFORDSHIRE BALLAD.--IV.
[Transcriber's note: The poems "In Camus" and "Father Camus" appear to
be the same poem, the former in Latin; the latter in English. In the
original book, they are printed on facing pairs of pages, the left-hand
page Latin, the right-hand page English. In this e-text, each poem is
together, and are in the same order as shown in the Table of Contents.]
THE BATTLE OF THE PONS TRIUM TROJANORUM:
_A lay sung in the Temple of Minerva Girtanensis_.
[NOTE.--On Thursday, February 24th, 1881, three Graces were submitted
to the Senate of the University of Cambridge, confirming the Report of
The Syndicate appointed June 3rd, 1880, to consider four memorials
relating to the Higher Education of Women. The first two Graces were
passed by majorities of 398 and 258 against 32 and 26 respectively; the
third was unopposed. The allusions in the following lay will probably
be understood only by those who reside in Cambridge; but it may be
stated that Professor Kennedy, Professor Fawcett, and Sir C. Dilke gave
their votes and influence in favour of The Graces, while Dr.
Guillemard, Mr. Wace, Mr. Potts, Professor Lumby, Dr. Perowne, Mr.
Horne and Mr. Hamblin Smith voted against The Graces.]
I
Aemilia Girtonensis,
By the Nine Muses swore
That the great house of Girton
Should suffer wrong no more.
By the Muses Nine she swore it,
And named a voting day,
And bade her learned ladies write,
And summon to the impending fight
Their masters grave and gay.
II.
East and West and South and North
The learned ladies wrote,
And town and gown and country
Have read the martial note.
Shame on the Cambridge Senator
Who dares to lag behind,
When light-blue ladies call him
To join the march of mind.
III.
But by the yellow Camus
Was tumult and affright:
Straightway to Pater Varius
The Trojans take their flight--
'O Varius, Father Varius,
'To whom the Trojans pray,
'The ladies are upon us!
'We look to thee this day!'
IV.
There be thirty chosen Fellows,
The wisest of the land,
Who hard by Pater Varius
To bar all progress stand:
Evening and morn the Thirty
On the Three Graces sit,
Traced from the left by fingers deft
In the great Press of Pitt.
V.
And with one voice the Thirty
Have uttered their decree--
'Go forth, go forth, great Varius,
'Oppose the Graces Three!
'The enemy already
'Are quartered in the town,
'And if they once the Tripos gain,
'What hope to save the gown?'
VI.
'To Hiz, [1] the town of Offa,
'Their classes first they led,
'Then onward to Girtonia
'And Nunamantium sped:
'And now a mighty army
'Of young and beardless girls
'Beneath our very citadel
'A banner proud unfurls.'
VII.
Then out spake Father Varius,
No craven heart was his:
'To Pollmen and to Wranglers
'Death comes but once, I wis.
'And how can man live better,
'Or die with more renown,
'Than fighting against Progress
'For the rights of cap and gown?'
VIII.
'I, with two more to help me,
'Will face yon Graces Three;
'Will guard the Holy Tripod,
'And the M.A. Degree.
'We know that by obstruction
'Three may a thousand foil.
'Now who will stand on either hand
'To guard our Trojan soil?'
IX.
Then Parvue Mariensis,
Of Bearded Jove the Priest,
Spake out 'of Trojan warriors
'I am, perhaps, the least,
'Yet will I stand at thy right hand.'
Cried Pottius--'I likewise
'At thy left side will stem the tide
'Of myriad flashing eyes.
X.
Meanwhile the Ladies' Army,
Right glorious to behold,
Came clad in silks and satins bright,
With seal-skins and with furs bedight,
And gems and rings of gold.
Four hundred warriors shouted
'Placet' with fiendish glee,
As that fair host with fairy feet,
And smiles unutterably sweet,
Came tripping each towards her seat,
Where stood the dauntless Three.
XI.
The Three stood calm and silent,
And frowned upon their foes,
As a great shout of laughter
From the four hundred rose:
And forth three chiefs came spurring
Before their ladies gay,
They faced the Three, they scowled and scoffed,
Their gowns they donned, their caps they doffed,
Then sped them to the fray.
XII.
Generalis Post-Magister,
Lord of the Letter-bags;
And Dilkius Radicalis,
Who ne'er in combat lags;
And Graecus Professorius,
Beloved of fair Sabrine,
From the grey Elms--beneath whose shade
A hospitable banquet laid,
Had heroes e'en of cowards made.--
Brought 'placets' thirty-nine.
XIII
Stout Varius hurled 'non placet'
At Post-Magister's head:
At the mere glance of Pottius
Fierce Radicalis fled:
And Parvus Mariensis--
So they who heard him tell--
Uttered but one false quantity,
And Professorius fell!
* * * *
XIV.
But fiercer still and fiercer
Fresh foemen sought the fray.
And fainter still and fainter
Stout Varius stood at bay.
'O that this too, too solid
Flesh would dissolve,' he sighed;
Yet still he stood undaunted,
And still the foe defied.
XV.
Then Pollia Nunamensis,
A student sweetly fair,
Famed for her smiles and dimples
Blue eyes and golden hair,
Of Cupid's arrows seized a pair,
One in each eye she took:
Cupid's best bow with all her might
She pulled--each arrow winged its flight,
And straightway reason, sense, and sight
Stout Varius forsook.
XVI.
'He falls'--the Placets thundered,
And filled the yawning gap;
In vain his trusty comrades
Avenge their chief's mishap--
His last great fight is done.
'They charge! Brave Pottius prostrate lies,
No Rider helps him to arise:
They charge! Fierce Mariensis dies.
The Bridge, the Bridge is won!
XVII.
In vain did Bencornutus
Flash lightnings from his beard;
In vain Fabrorum Maximus
His massive form upreared;
And Lumbius Revisorius--
Diviner potent he!--
And Peronatus robed in state,
And fine old Fossilis sedate,
All vainly stemmed the tide of fate--
Triumphed the Graces Three!
XVIII.
But when in future ages
Women have won their rights,
And sweet girl-undergraduates
Read through the lamp-lit nights;
When some, now unborn, Pollia
Her head with science crams;
When the girls make Greek Iambics,
And the boys black-currant jams;
XIX.
When the goodman's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom,
And the good wife reads her Plato
In her own sequestered room;
With weeping and with laughter
Still shall the tale be told,
How pretty Pollia won the Bridge
In the brave days of old.
(1881).
[1] The ancient name of Hitchin.
JULIA.
An Ode.
[NOTE.--The following imitation of Cowper's _Boadicea_ was written in
1858; most of its predictions have since been fulfilled.]
When the Cambridge flower-show ended,
And the flowers and guests were gone,
And the evening shades descended,
Roamed a man forlorn alone.
Sage beside the River slow
Sat the Don renowned for lore
And in accents soft and low
To the elms his love did pour.
"Julia, if my learned eyes
Gaze upon thy matchless face:
'Tis because I feel there lies
Magic in thy lovely grace.
"I will marry! write that threat
In the ink I daily waste:
Marry--pay each College debt--
College Ale no more will taste.
"Granta, far and wide renowned,
Frowns upon the married state;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground
Hark! Reform is at the gate.
"Other Fellows shall arise,
Proud to own a husband's name:
Proud to own their infants' cries--
Harmony the path to fame.
"Then the progeny that springs
From our ancient College walls,
Armed with trumpets, noisy things,
Shall astound us by their squalls.
"Sounds no wrangler yet has heard,
Our posterity shall fright:
E'en 'the Eagle,' [1] valiant bird,
Shall betake itself to flight."
Such the thoughts that through him whirl'd
Pensively reclining there:
Smiling, as his fingers curled
His divinely-glowing hair.
He, with all a lover's pride,
Felt his manly bosom glow,
Sought the Bull, besought the Bride,
All she said was "No, Sir, No!"
Julia, pitiless as cold,
Lo the vengeance due from Heaven!
College Living he doth hold;
Single bliss to thee is given.
[1] "The Eagle" is the well-known Magazine of St. John's College,
Cambridge.
CLIO FATIDICA.
[NOTE.--The following lines were written to celebrate the 'bump' by
which the Lady Margaret 1st Boat became "Head of the River" in 1871.
On the next evening Professor Selwyn delighted the eyes and the hearts
of all Johnians by sculling down the river to salute the Head of the
River. The title of _psychroloutes_ [*] needs no explanation to those
who know the Selwyns, who are no less renowned as swimmers than as
oarsmen.]
"Tell me, Muse, what colour floateth round
the River's ancient head:
Is it white and black, or white and blue, is it
scarlet, blue, or red?"
Thus I prayed, and Clio answered, "Why, I thought
the whole world knew
That the red of Margareta had deposed the flag
of blue!
Babes unborn shall sing in rapture how, desiring
Close [1] affinity,
Goldie, rowing nearly fifty, overlapped, and bumped
First Trinity.
I myself was at the Willows, and beheld the victory won;
Saw the victor's final effort, and the deed of daring done.
I myself took off my bonnet, and forgetful of my years,
Patting Goldie on the shoulder, gave him three
times thrice three cheers.
Ne'er, oh! ne'er, shall be forgotten the excitement
of that night;
Aged Dons, deem'd stony-hearted, wept with
rapture at the sight:
E'en the Master of a College, as he saw them overlap,
Shouted 'Well rowed, Lady Margaret,' and took
off his College cap;
And a Doctor of Divinity, in his Academic garb,
Sang a solemn song of triumph, as he lashed his
gallant barb;
Strong men swooned, and small boys whistled,
sympathetic hounds did yell
Lovely maidens smiled their sweetest on the men
who'd rowed so well:
Goldie, Hibbert, Lang, and Bonsey, Sawyer,
Burnside, Harris, Brooke;
And the pride of knighthood, Bayard, who the
right course ne'er forsook,
But the sight which most rejoiced me was the
well-known form aquatic
Of a scholar famed for boating and for witticisms Attic.
Proud, I ween, was Lady Margaret her Professor
there to view,
As with words of wit and wisdom he regaled the
conquering crew.
Proud, I ween, were Cam and Granta, as they
saw once more afloat
Their Etonian _psychroloutes_ [*], in his "Funny"
little boat.
Much, I ween, their watery spirits did within
their heart's rejoice,
As they listened to the music of that deep and
mellow voice.
Ah! 'tis well, to sing of boating, when before
my swimming eyes
Baleful visions of the future, woes unutterable rise.
All our palmy days are over; for the fairer, feebler sex
Has determined every College in succession to annex;
And before another decade has elapsed, our eyes shall see
College Tutors wearing thimbles o'er convivial cups of tea.
For 'golden-haired girl-graduates,' with 'Dowagers
for Dons,'
Shall tyrannize in Trinity, and domineer in 'John's.'
Then, instead of May Term races in the science grand
of rowing,
There'll be constant competition in the subtle art
of sewing.
Soon the modern undergraduate, with a feather in her hat,
Shall parade the streets of Cambridge, followed
by her faithful cat.
From Parker's Piece and Former's shall be banished
bat and wicket,
For crotchet work and knitting shall supplant the
game of cricket,
Save whene'er a match at croquet once a Term is
played at Girton
By the Members of "the College" and the Moralists
of Merton.
Then no tandems shall be driven, and no more
athletic sports,
Save fancy balls and dances, shall appear in
"Field" reports:
And instead of 'pots' and 'pewters' to promote
the art of walking,
We shall have a silver medal for proficiency in talking.
Wranglers fair shall daily wrangle, who no
Mathematics ken;
Lady preachers fill the pulpit, lady critics
wield the pen.
O ye gallant, gallant heroes who the River's
head have won,
Little know ye what an era of confusion hath begun.
I myself shall flee from Cambridge, sick at heart
and sorely vexed,
Ere I see my University disestablished and unsexed.'"
Thus she spake, and I endeavoured to console the
weeping Muse:
"Dry your tears, beloved Clio, drive away this
fit of blues.
Cease your soul with gloomy fancies and forebodings
to perplex;
You are doing gross injustice to the merits of your sex.
Know you not that things are changing, that the
Earth regains her youth,
Since Philosophers have brought to light the one
primeval truth?
Long have all things been misgoverned by the
foolish race of men,
Who've monopolized sword, sceptre, mitre, ermine,
spade, and pen,
All the failures, all the follies, that the weary
world bewails,
Have arisen, trust me, simply from the government of males.
But a brighter age is dawning; in the circling of the years
Lordly woman sees before her new 'ambitions,' new careers;
For the world's regeneration instantaneously began,
When Philosophers discovered the inferior claims of man.
With new honours Alma Mater shall eternally be crowned,
When the Ladies march in triumph, and her learned
seat surround;
Then a nobler race of students, and of athletes
shall arise,
Students fair who thirst for knowledge, athletes
true who 'pots' despise.
It is well for thee, sweet Clio, at their harmless
tastes to sneer,
At their love of cats and croquet, their antipathy
to beer;
But as soon as every College has surrendered to the fair,
Life up here will be perfection, we shall breathe
ambrosial air;
For the problem of past ages will be solved, and
we shall find
The superior powers of woman, both in body and in mind.
She shall teach us how to study, how to ride,
and run, and row;
How to box and play at cricket; how the heavy
weight to throw;
How to shoot the trembling pigeon; how the wily rat
to slay;
How at football and at racquets; how at whist and
chess to play;
How to drive the rapid tandem; how to jump, and how
to walk;
(For young women, trust me, Clio, can do something
more than talk)
How to climb the Alps in summer; how in winter time
to skate;
How to hold the deadly rifle; how a yacht to navigate;
How to make the winning hazard with an effort sure
and strong;
How to play the maddening comet, how to sing a comic song;
How to 'utilize' Professors; how to purify the Cam;
How to brew a sherry cobbler, and to make red-currant jam.
All the arts which now we practise in a desultory way
Shall be taught us to perfection, when we own the
Ladies' sway."
Thus I spake, and strove by speaking to assuage
sweet Clio's fears;
But she shook her head in sorrow, and departed drowned
in tears.
(1874).
[1] Mr. J. B. Close, a well-known oarsman, stroke of the First Trinity
1st Boat.
[*] [Transcriber's note: The word "psychroloutes" appears in the
original book in Greek. It has been transliterated from the Greek
letters psi, upsilon, chi, rho, omicron, lambda, omicron, upsilon, tau,
eta, and sigma.]
ATHLETES AND AESTHESIS.
_An Idyll of the Cam_.
It was an Undergraduate, his years were scarce nineteen;
Discretion's years and wisdom's teeth he plainly ne'er had seen;
For his step was light and jaunty, and around him wide and far
He puffed the fragrant odours of a casual cigar.
It was a sweet girl-graduate, her years were thirty two;
Her brow was intellectual, her whole appearance blue;
Her dress was mediaeval, and, as if by way of charm,
Six volumes strapped together she was bearing 'neath her arm.
'My beautiful Aesthesis,' the young man rashly cried,
'I am the young Athletes, of Trinity the pride;
I have large estates in Ireland, which ere long
will pay me rent;
I have rooms in Piccadilly, and a farm (unlet) in Kent.
'My achievements thou hast heard of, how I chalk the wily cue,
Pull an oar, and wield the willow, and have won my double-blue;
How I ride, and play lawn tennis; how I make a claret cup;
Own the sweetest of bull terriers, and a grand St. Bernard pup.
'But believe me, since I've seen thee, all these
pleasures are a bore;
Life has now one only object fit to love and to adore;
Long in silence have I worshipped, long in secret have I sighed:
Tell me, beautiful Aesthesis, wilt thou be my blooming bride?'
'Sir Student,' quoth the maiden, 'you are really quite intense,
And I ever of this honour shall retain the highest sense;
But forgive me, if I venture'--faintly blushing thus she spoke--
'Is not true love inconsistent with tobacco's mundane smoke?'
'Perish all that comes between us,' cried Athletes, as he threw
His weed full fifty paces in the stream of Camus blue:
The burning weed encountered the cold river with the hiss
Which ensues when fire and water, wranglers old, are forced to kiss.
'Sir Student, much I thank thee,' said the Lady, 'thou hast shown
The fragrance of a lily, or of petals freshly blown;
But before to thee I listen there are questions not a few
Which demand from thee an answer satisfactory and true.'
'Fire away,' exclaimed Athletes, 'I will do the best I can;
But remember, gentle Maiden, that I'm not a reading man;
So your humble servant begs you, put your questions pretty plain,
For my Tutors all assure me I'm not overstocked with brain.
'Sir Student' cried the Lady, and her glance was stern and high,
Hast thou felt the soft vibration of a summer sunset sky?
Art thou soulful? Art thou tuneful? Cans't thou
weep o'er nature's woes?
Art thou redolent of Ruskin? Dost thou love a yellow rose?
'Hast thou bathed in emanations from the canvass of Burne Jones?
As thou gazest at a Whistler, doth it whistle wistful tones?
Art thou sadly sympathetic with a symphony in blue?
Tell me, tell me, gentle Student, art thou really quite tootoo?'
''Pon my word,' replied the Student, 'this is coming
it too strong:
I can sketch a bit at Lecture, and can sing a comic song;
But my head with all these subjects 'tis impossible to cram;
So, my beautiful Aesthesis, you must take me as I am.'
'Wilt thou come into my parlour,' sweetly blushing
asked the Maid,
'To my little bower in Girton, where a table shall be laid?
Pen and paper I will bring thee, and whatever thou shalt ask,
That is lawful, shall be granted for performance of thy task.'
Lightly leapt the young Athletes from his seat beside the Cam:
'This is tempting me, by Jingo, to submit to an Exam!
So it's time, my learned Lady, you and I should say good-bye'--
And he stood with indignation and wild terror in his eye.
They parted, and Athletes had not left her very far,
Ere again he puffed the odours of a casual cigar;
But he oftentimes lamented, as to manhood's years he grew,
'What a pity such a stunner was so spoilt by being blue!'
And Aesthesis, as she watched him with his swinging manly stride,
The 'double-blue' Athletes, of Trinity the pride,
Found it difficult entirely to eradicate love's dart,
As she listened to thy Lecture, Slade Professor of Fine Art.
And Ruskin, and the warblings of Whistler and Burne Jones,
And symphonies in colours, and sunset's silent tones,
Move her not as once they moved her, for she weeps in sorrow sore,
'O had I loved Athletes less, or he loved culture more!'
(1882).
A VISION.
As hard at work I trimmed the midnight lamp,
Yfilling of mine head with classic lore,
Mine hands firm clasped upon my temples damp,
Methought I heard a tapping at the door;
'Come in,' I cried, with most unearthly rore,
Fearing a horrid Dun or Don to see,
Or Tomkins, that unmitigated bore,
Whom I love not, but who alas! loves me,
And cometh oft unbid and drinketh of my tea.
'Come in,' I rored; when suddenly there rose
A magick form before my dazzled eyes:
'Or do I wake,' I asked myself 'or doze'?
Or hath an angel come in mortal guise'?
So wondered I; but nothing mote surmise;
Only I gazed upon that lovely face,
In reverence yblent with mute surprise:
Sure never yet was seen such wondrous grace,
Since Adam first began to run his earthlie race.
Her hands were folded on her bosom meek;
Her sweet blue eyes were lifted t'ward the skie;
Her lips were parted, yet she did not speak;
Only at times she sighed, or seemed to sigh:
In all her 'haviour was there nought of shy;
Yet well I wis no Son of Earth would dare,
To look with love upon that lofty eye;
For in her beauty there was somewhat rare,
A something that repell'd an ordinary stare.
Then did she straight a snowycloth disclose
Of samite, which she placed upon a chair:
Then, smiling like a freshly-budding rose,
She gazed upon me with a witching air,
As mote a Cynic anchorite ensnare.
Eftsoons, as though her thoughts she could not smother,
She hasted thus her mission to declare:--
'Please, these is your clean things I've brought instead of brother,
'And if you'll pay the bill you'll much oblige my mother.'
(1860).
A MAY TERM MEMORY.
She wore a sweet pink bonnet,
The sweetest ever known:
And as I gazed upon it,
My heart was not my own.
For--I know not why or wherefore--
A pink bonnet put on well,
Tho' few other things I care for,
Acts upon me like a spell.
'Twas at the May Term Races
That first I met her eye:
Amid a thousand Graces
No form with her's could vie.
On Grassy's sward enamelled
She reigned fair Beauty's Queen;
And every heart entrammell'd
With the charms of sweet eighteen.
Once more I saw that Bonnet--
'Twas on the King's Parade--
Once more I gazed upon it,
And silent homage paid.
She knew not I was gazing;
She passed unheeding by;
While I, in trance amazing,
Stood staring at the sky.
The May Term now is over:
That Bonnet has 'gone down';
And I'm myself a rover,
Far from my Cap and Gown.
But I dread the Long Vacation,
And its work by night and day,
After all the dissipation
Energetic of the May.
For _x_ and _y_ will vanish,
When that Bonnet I recall;
And a vision fair will banish,
Newton, Euclid, and Snowball.
And a gleam of tresses golden,
And of eyes divinely blue,
Will interfere with Holden,
And my Verse and Prose imbue.