“I sometimes dig for buttered rolls,
[50] Or set limed twigs for crabs;
I sometimes search the grassy knolls
For wheels of hansom-cabs.
And that’s the way” (he gave a wink)
“By which I get my wealth –
And very gladly will I drink
Your Honour’s noble health.”
I heard him then, for I had just
Completed my design
To keep the Menai bridge from rust
[60] By boiling it in wine.
I thanked him much for telling me
The way he got his wealth,
But chiefly for his wish that he
Might drink my noble health.
And now, if e’er by chance I put
My fingers into glue,
Or madly squeeze a right-hand foot
Into a left-hand shoe,
Or if I drop upon my toe
[70] A very heavy weight,
I weep, for it reminds me so
Of that old man I used to know –
Whose look was mild, whose speech was slow,
Whose hair was whiter than the snow,
Whose face was very like a crow,
With eyes, like cinders, all aglow,
Who seemed distracted with his woe,
Who rocked his body to and fro,
And muttered mumblingly and low,
[80] As if his mouth were full of dough,
Who snorted like a buffalo –
That summer evening long ago,
A-sitting on a gate.
[The Red Queen’s Lullaby]
Hush-a-by lady, in Alice’s lap!
Till the feast’s ready, we’ve time for a nap.
When the feast’s over, we’ll go to the ball –
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!
[“To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said”]
To the Looking-Glass world it was Alice that said
“I’ve a sceptre in hand, I’ve a crown on my head.
Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be
Come and dine with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”
Then fill up the glasses as quick as you can,
And sprinkle the table with buttons and bran:
Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea –
And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three!
“O Looking-Glass creatures,” quoth Alice, “draw near!
[10] ’Tis an honour to see me, a favour to hear:
’Tis a privilege high to have dinner and tea
Along with the Red Queen, the White Queen, and me!”
Then fill up the glasses with treacle and ink,
Or anything else that is pleasant to drink:
Mix sand with the cider, and wool with the wine –
And welcome Queen Alice with ninety-times-nine!
[The White Queen’s Riddle]
“First, the fish must be caught.”
That is easy: a baby, I think, could have caught it.
“Next, the fish must be bought.”
That is easy: a penny, I think, would have bought it.
“Now cook me the fish!”
That is easy, and will not take more than a minute.
“Let it lie in a dish!”
That is easy, because it already is in it.
“Bring it here! Let me sup!”
[10] It is easy to set such a dish on the table.
“Take the dish-cover up!”
Ah, that is so hard that I fear I’m unable!
For it holds it like glue –
Holds the lid to the dish, while it lies in the middle:
Which is easiest to do,
Un-dish-cover the fish, or dishcover the riddle?
Wasp in a Wig
When I was young, my ringlets waved
And curled and crinkled on my head:
And then they said “You have been shaved,
And wear a yellow wig instead.”
But when I followed their advice,
And they had noticed the effect,
They said I did not look so nice
As they had ventured to expect.
They said it did not fit, and so
[10] It made me look extremely plain:
But what was I to do, you know?
My ringlets would not grow again.
So now that I am old and grey,
And all my hair is nearly gone,
They take my wig from me and say
“How can you put such rubbish on?”
And still, whenever I appear,
They hoot at me and call me “Pig!”
And that is why they do it, dear,
[20] Because I wear a yellow wig.
[“A boat beneath a sunny sky”]
A boat beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July –
Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear –
Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autumn frosts have slain July.
[10] Still she haunts me, phantomwise,
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.
Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.
In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:
Ever drifting down the stream—
[20] Lingering in the golden gleam—
Life, what is it but a dream?
Oxford Poems, with some Memoria Technica
Examination Statute
A is for A[cland], who’d physic the Masses,
B is for B[rodie], who swears by the gases.
C is for C[onington], constant to Horace.
D is for D[onkin], who integrates for us.
E is for E[vans], with rifle well steadied.
F is for F[reeman], Examiner dreaded!
G’s G[oldwin Smith], by the “Saturday” quoted.
H is for H[eurtley], to “Margaret” devoted.
I am the Author, a rhymer erratic –
[10] J is for J[owett], who lectures in Attic:
K is for K[itchin], than attic much warmer.
L is for L[iddell], relentless reformer!
M is for M[ansel], our Logic-provider,
And N[orris] is N, once a famous rough-rider.
O[gilvie]’s O, Orthodoxy’s Mendoza!
And P[arker] is P, the amendment-proposer.
Q is the Quad, where the Dons are collecting.
R is for R[olleston], who lives for dissecting:
S is for S[tanley], sworn foe to formality.
[20] T’s T[ravers Twiss], full of Civil Legality.
U’s U[niversity], factiously splitting,
V’s the V[ice-Chancellor], ceaselessly sitting.
W’s W[all], by Museum made frantic,
X the Xpenditure, grown quite gigantic.
Y are the Young men, whom nobody thought about –
Z is the Zeal that this victory brought about.
The Deserted Parks
“Solitudinem faciunt: Parcum appellant.”
Museum! loveliest building of the plain
Where Cherwell winds towards the distant main;
How often have I loitered o’er thy green,
Where humble happiness endeared the scene!
How often have I paused on every charm,
The rustic couple walking arm in arm –
The groups of trees, with seats beneath the shade
For prattling babes and whisp’ring lovers made –
The never-failing brawl, the busy mill
[10] Where tiny urchins vied in fistic skill –
(Two phrases only have that du
sky race
Caught from the learned influence of the place;
Phrases in their simplicity sublime,
“Scramble a copper!” “Please, Sir, what’s the time?”)
These round thy walks their cheerful influence shed;
There were thy charms – but all these charms are fled.
Amidst thy bowers the tyrant’s hand is seen,
And rude pavilions sadden all thy green;
One selfish pastime grasps the whole domain,
[20] And half a faction swallows up the plain;
Adown thy glades, all sacrificed to cricket,
The hollow-sounding bat now guards the wicket;
Sunk are thy mounds in shapeless level all,
Lest aught impede the swiftly rolling ball;
And trembling, shrinking from the fatal blow,
Far, far away thy hapless children go.
Ill fares the place, to luxury a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and minds decay;
Athletic sports may flourish or may fade,
[30] Fashion may make them, even as it has made;
But the broad parks, the city’s joy and pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied!
Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey
The rich man’s joys increase, the poor’s decay,
’Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand
Between a splendid and a happy land.
Proud swells go by with laugh of hollow joy,
And shouting Folly hails them with “Ahoy!”
Funds even beyond the miser’s wish abound,
[40] And rich men flock from all the world around.
Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name,
That leaves our useful products still the same.
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride
Takes up a space that many poor supplied;
Space for the game, and all its instruments,
Space for pavilions and for scorers’ tents;
The ball, that raps his shins in padding cased,
Has wore the verdure to an arid waste;
His Park, where these exclusive sports are seen,
[50] Indignant spurns the rustic from the green;
While through the plain, consigned to silence all,
In barren splendour flits the russet ball.
In peaceful converse with his brother Don,
Here oft the calm Professor wandered on;
Strange words he used – men drank with wondering ears
The languages called “dead,” the tongues of other years.
(Enough of Heber! Let me once again
Attune my verse to Goldsmith’s liquid strain.)
A man he was to undergraduates dear,
[60] And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
And so, I ween, he would have been till now,
Had not his friends (’twere long to tell you how)
Prevailed on him, Jack-Horner-like, to try
Some method to evaluate his pie,
And win from those dark depths, with skilful thumb,
Five times a hundredweight of luscious plum –
Yet for no thirst of wealth, no love of praise,
In learned labour he consumed his days!
O Luxury! thou cursed by Heaven’s decree,
[70] How ill exchanged are things like these for thee!
How do thy potions, with insidious joy,
Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy;
Iced cobbler, Badminton, and shandy-gaff,
Rouse the loud jest and idiotic laugh;
Inspired by them, to tipsy greatness grown,
Men boast a florid vigour not their own;
At every draught more wild and wild they grow;
While pitying friends observe “I told you so!”
Till, summoned to their post, at the first ball,
[80] A feeble under-hand, their wickets fall.
Even now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done;
Even now, methinks while pondering here in pity,
I see the rural Virtues leave the city.
Contented Toil, and calm scholastic Care,
And frugal Moderation, all are there;
Resolute Industry that scorns the lure
Of careless mirth – that dwells apart secure –
To science gives her days, her midnight oil,
[90] Cheered by the sympathy of others’ toil –
Courtly Refinement, and that Taste in dress
That brooks no meanness, yet avoids excess –
All these I see, with slow reluctant pace
Desert the long-beloved and honoured place!
While yet ’tis time, Oxonia, rise and fling
The spoiler from thee: grant no parleying!
Teach him that eloquence, against the wrong,
Though very poor, may still be very strong;
That party-interests we must forgo,
[100] When hostile to “pro bono publico”;
That faction’s empire hastens to its end,
When once mankind to common sense attend;
While independent votes may win the day
Even against the potent spell of “Play!”
May 1867.
The New Belfry of Christ Church, Oxford
“If thou wouldst view the Belfry aright,
Go visit it at the mirk midnight–
For the least hint of open day
Scares the beholder quite away.
When wall and window are black as pitch,
And there’s no deciding which is which;
When the dark Hall’s uncertain roof
In horror seems to stand aloof;
When corner and corner, alternately,
[10] Is wrought to an odious symmetry;
When distant Thames is heard to sigh
And shudder as he hurries by;
Then go, if it be worth the while,
Then view the Belfry’s monstrous pile,
And, home returning, soothly swear
‘ ’Tis more than Job himself could bear !’
“Is it the glow of conscious pride –
Of pure ambition gratified –
That seeks to read in other eye
[20] Something of its own ecstasy?
Or wrath, that worldlings should make fun
Of anything ‘the House’ has done?
Or puzzlement, that seeks in vain
The rigid mystery to explain?
Or is it shame that, knowing not
How to defend or cloak the blot –
The foulest blot on fairest face
That ever marred a noble place –
Burns with the pangs it will not own,
[30] Pangs felt by loyal sons alone?”
Song and Chorus
Five fathoms square the Belfry frowns;
All its sides of timber made;
Painted all in greys and browns;
Nothing of it that will fade.
Christ Church may admire the change –
Oxford thinks it sad and strange.
Beauty’s dead! Let’s ring her knell.
Hark! now I hear them – ding-dong, bell.
From The Vision of the Three T’s: A Threnody by the
Author of “The New Belfry” (1873)
The Wandering Burgess
Our Willie had been sae lang awa’
Frae bonnie Oxford toon,
The townsfolk they were greeting a’
As they went up and doon.
He hadna been gane a year, a year,
A year but barely ten,
When word came unto Oxford toon,
Our Willie wad come agen.
Willie he stude at Thomas his Gate,
[10] And made a lustie din;
And who so blithe as the gate-porter
To rise and let him in?
�
�Now enter Willie, now enter Willie,
And look around the place,
And see the pain that we have ta’en
Thomas his Quad to grace.”
The first look that our Willie cast,
He leuch loud laughters three,
The neist look that our Willie cast,
[20] The tear blindit his e’e.
Sae square and stark the Tea-chest frowned
Athwart the upper air,
But when the Trench our Willie saw,
He thocht the Tea-chest fair.
Sae murderous-deep the Trench did gape
The parapet aboon,
But when the Tunnel Willie saw
He loved the Trench eftsoon.
’Twas mirk beneath the tane archway,
[30] ’Twas mirk beneath the tither;
Ye wadna ken a man therein,
Though it were your ain dear brither.
He turned him round and round about,
And looked upon the Three;
And dismal grew his countenance,
And drumlie grew his e’e.
“What cheer, what cheer, my gallant knight?”
The gate-porter ’gan say.
“Saw ever ye sae fair a sight
[40] As ye have seen this day?”
“Now haud your tongue of your prating, man:
Of your prating now let me be.
For, as I’m a true knight, a fouler sight
I’ll never live to see.
“Before I’d be the ruffian dark
Who planned this ghastly show,
I’d serve as secretary’s clerk
To Ayrton or to Lowe.
“Before I’d own the loathly thing
[50] That Christ Church Quad reveals,
I’d serve as shoeblack’s underling
To Odger and to Beales!”
A Bachanalian Ode
Here’s to the Freshman of bashful eighteen!
Here’s to the Senior of twenty!
Here’s to the youth whose moustache can’t be seen!
And here’s to the man who has plenty!
Let the men Pass!
Out of the mass
I’ll warrant we’ll find you some fit for a Class!
Here’s to the Censors, who symbolise Sense,
Just as Mitres incorporate Might, Sir!
[10] To the Bursar, who never expands the expense!
And the Readers, who always do right, Sir!
Tutor and Don,
Let them jog on!
I warrant they’ll rival the centuries gone!
Here’s to the Chapter, melodious crew!
Jabberwocky and Other Nonsense Page 19