Chapter 1

Produced by Al Haines

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.