[* Transcriber's note: The names "Thomas o Kulindon" and "Iason o Chalkourgos" were transliterated from the Greek as follows:

Thomas: Theta, omega, mu, alpha, sigma.

o: omicron.

Kulindon: Kappa, upsilon, lambda, iota, nu, delta, omega, nu.

Iason (Jason?): Iota, alpha, sigma, omega, nu.

o: omicron.

Chalkourgos: Chi, alpha, lambda, kappa, omicron, upsilon, rho, gamma, omicron, sigma.]

IN CAMUM.

Ridicula nuper cymba, sicut meus est mos, Flumineas propter salices et murmura Cami, Multa movens mec.u.m, fumo inspirante, iacebam.

Illic forte mihi senis occurrebat imago Squalida, torva tuens, longos incompta capillos; Ipse manu cymbam prensans se littore in udo Deposuit; Camique humeros agnoscere latos Immanesque artus atque ora hirsuta videbar: Mox lacrymas inter tales dedit ore querelas-- "Nate," inquit, "tu semper enim pius accola Cami, Nate, patris miserere tui, miserere tuorum!

Quinque reportatis tumet Isidis unda triumphis: Quinque anni videre meos sine laude secundo Cymbam urgere loco cunctantem, et cedere victos.

Heu! quis erit finis? Quis me manet exitus olim?

Terga boum tergis vi non cedentia nostri Exercent iuvenes; nuda atque immania crura, Digna giganteas inter certare palaestras, Quisque ferunt, latosque humeros et brachia longa, Collaque Atlanteo non inferiora labore: "Sed vis arte carens frustra per stagna laborat: Fit brevis inque dies brevior (proh dedecus ingens!) Ictus, et incerto tremulam movet impete cymbam, Usque volaturae similem, tamen usque morantem.

Ah! Stanleius ubi est? ubi fortis et acer Ionas Et Virtus ingens, maiorque vel Hercule Iudas?

Ah! ubi, laeva mei novit quem fluminis ora, Ile 'Ictus,' vitreis longe spectandus ocellis, Dulce decus Cami, quem plebs ign.o.blis 'Aulam,'

Vulpicanem Superi grato cognomine dic.u.n.t?

Te quoque, magne Pales, et te mea flumina deflent O formose puer, quibus alto in gurgite mersis Mille dedit, rapuit mille oscula candida Naias?

Quid decus amissum repeto, aut iam laude perempta Nomina Putnaeis annalibus eruta testor?

"Granta ruit, periitque decus, periitque vetusta Gloria remorum primaeque per aequora navis.

Sed vos, O juvenes, sanguis quibus integer aevi, Spes ventura domus, Grantaeque novissima proles, Antiquum revocate decus, revocate triumphos!

Continuo Palinurus ubi 'iam pergite' dixit Er.e.c.t.u.m librate caput; nec pandere crura Parcite, nec solidis firmi considere transtris!

Ast ubi contactas iam palmula senserit undas, Compressa incipiat iam tum mihi crura phaselus Accipere, et faciles iter accelerare per undas.

"Incipiente ictu qui vim non prompserit omnem Dique hominesque odere; hic, pondus inutile cymbae, Tardat iter; comites necat; hunc tu, nauta, caveto!

Nec minus, incepto quoties ratis emicat ictu, Cura sit ad finem justos perferre labores.

Vidi equidem multos--sileantur nomina--fluctus Praecipites penetra.s.se, sed heu! brevis effluit ictus, Immemor etremi mediique laboris in unda; Nam tales nisus tolerare humana nequit vis; Et quamvis primos jam jam victura carina Evolet in cursus, primisque triumphet in undis, Mox ubi finis adest atque ultima meta laborum, Labitur exanimis, vi non virtute subacta.

"Tu quoque qui cymbae tendis Palinurus habenas Ultro hortare viros; fortes solare benignis Vocibus; ignavos accende, suosque labores Fac peragant, segnique veta torpere veterno.

Sed quid ego haec? priscae si iam pietatis imago Ulla manet, si quid vobis mea gloria curae est, Camigenae, misero tandem succurrite patri, Ereptosque diu vincendo reddite honores!

Tunc ego arundinea redimitus tempora vitta Antiquo fruar imperior iustisque triumphis: Tum demum Cloacina meos foedissima fluctus Desierit temerare, et puro flumine labens Camus ad Oceanum volvetur amabilis amnis."

Dixit, et in piceas Fluvius sese abdidit undas; Sed me ridiculam solventem a littore cymbam Nectaris ambrosii circ.u.mvolvuntur odores, Decedente Deo; naresque impellit acutas Confusi canis amnis et illaetabilis aura.

FATHER CAMUS.

Smoking lately in my "Funny," as I'm wont, beneath the bank, Listening to Cam's rippling murmurs thro' the weeds and willows dank, As I chewed the Cud of fancy, from the water there appeared An old man, fierce-eyed, and filthy, with a long and tangled beard; To the oozy sh.o.r.e he paddled, clinging to my Funny's nose, Till, in all his mud majestic, Cam's gigantic form arose.

Brawny, broad of shoulders was he, hairy were his face and head, And amid loud lamentations tears incessantly he shed.

"Son," he cried, "the sorrows pity of thy melancholy sire!

Pity Camus! pity Cambridge! pity our disasters dire!

Five long years hath Isis triumphed, five long years have seen my Eight Rowing second, vainly struggling 'gainst an unrelenting fate.

What will be the end, I know not! what will be the doom of Camus?

Shall I die disowned, dishonoured? Shall I live, and yet be famous?

Backs as strong as oxen have we, legs Herculean and bare, Legs that in the ring with t.i.tan wrestler might to wrestle dare.

Arms we have long, straight, and sinewy, Shoulders broad, necks thick and strong, Necks that to the earth-supporting Atlas might full well belong.

"But our strength un-scientific strives in vain thro' stagnant water, Every day, I blush to own it, Cambridge strokes are rowing shorter.

With a short spasmodic impulse see the boats a moment leap, Starting with a flying motion, soon they stop and sink to sleep.

Where are Stanley, Jones, and Courage? where is 'Judas' stout and tall, Where the Stroke named ''all' by Bargemen, known to Cambridge as 'Jack Hall'?

'Twas a spectacle to see him in his gig-lamps row along, And the good ship speeding onward swift as Poet's gushing song.

Where is Paley? Where is Fairbairn, from whose lips the Naiads dank s.n.a.t.c.hed and gave their sweetest kisses when our Eight at Chiswick sank?

What avails it to remember brilliant days now lost in night?

What avails it Putney's annals, and past glories to recite?

"Lost is Granta, lost our glory, lost our former pride of place, Gone are all my blushing honours, nought is left me but disgrace.

For regardless of all science, every oarsman now obeys Wild, new fangled laws and notions, never dream'd of in old days.

But do you, my gentle Freshmen, who have youth in every vein, Labour by your manly valour our lost laurels to regain!

When you hear the c.o.x'n's 'row on all,' then keep erect your head; Then be your arms and bodies with one motion for'ard sped: Sit firm upon your cushions all; and, when the oar is in, With one harmonious action let your work at once begin: Press your feet against the stretcher, and your legs with vigour ply, Till the ship, as swift as lightning, thro' the yielding water fly.

"He who 'misses the beginning' makes his comrades all to suffer, Spoils the swing, and is a nuisance; turn him out, for he's a duffer!

Having made a good beginning you must carry on the work, And until the stroke is finished not an atom must you shirk.

I have seen--no names I mention--certain oarsmen with a dash Plunge their oars into the water, and produce a sudden splash!

But the middle and the finish are all wasted in the air, And no human const.i.tution can such toil incessant bear; For although the ship at starting may at once its distance clear, And victory seem certain, when the winning post is near, The crew worn out and breathless have nothing in them left, And though pluck may ne'er desert them, of their vigour are bereft.

"And do you, my Palinuris, steering straight the gallant bark, By voice and exhortation keep your heroes to the mark.

Cheer the plucky, chide the cowards who to do their work are loth, And forbid them to grow torpid by indulging selfish sloth.

Fool! I know my words are idle! yet if any love remain; If my honour be your glory, my discredit be your pain; If a spark of old affection in your hearts be still alive!

Rally round old Father Camus, and his glories past revive!

Then adorned with reedy garland shall I take my former throne, And, victor of proud Isis, reign triumphant and alone.

Then no more shall Cloacina with my streams her offerings blend, And old Camus clear as crystal to the ocean shall descend!"

He spoke, and 'neath the surface, black as pitch, he hid his head, And, punting out my Funny, I my homeward journey sped.

But a strange ambrosial odour, as the G.o.d sank 'neath the flood, Seem'd to float and hover round me, creeping upward from the mud: And for ever from the water's troubled face there seem'd to rise A melancholy fragrance of dead dogs unto the skies.

IN MEMORIAM G. A. P.

He has gone to his grave in the strength of youth, While life shone bright before him; And we, who remember his worth and truth, Stand vainly grieving o'er him.

He has gone to his grave; that manly heart No more with life is glowing; And the tears to our eyes unbidden start, Our sad hearts' overflowing.

I gaze on his rooms as beneath I pace, And the past again comes o'er me, For I feel his grasp, and I see his face, And his voice has a welcome for me.

I gaze on the river, and see once more His form in the race competing; And I hear the time of his well-known oar, And the shouts his triumph greeting.

Flow on, cold river! Our bitter grief No tears from thy waves can waken: Thy whisp'ring reed, and thy willow leaf By no sad sighs are shaken.

Thy banks are thronged by the young and gay, Who dream not of the morrow; No ear hast thou for a mournful lay, No sympathy with sorrow.

Flow on, dull river! Thy heedless wave, As it echoes shouts of gladness, Bears forms as stalwart, and hearts as brave, As his whom we mourn in sadness.

But an arm more strong, and a heart more bold, And with purer feelings glowing, Thy flowing waters shall ne'er behold, Till time has ceased from flowing.