Thou hast outslept the world's regard;

What would'st thou with our modern ways,

Thou Rip Van Winkle of the Yard?

Though once it was thy pleasing fate

To serve the universal ends, -

From Freshman up to graduate

Alike thy debtors and thy friends,

Yet now, a melancholy ghost,

Thou still dost haunt thine ancient place;

The little world that prized thee most

Supplanted by a stranger race.

Some Annex maid, perchance, compels

Thy stream with dainty finger-tips;

Some midnight reveller dispels

The heat that haunts his fevered lips.

Ah, well! thy fate is but the goal -

Unseen - of all that men pursue;

And we, who now thy lot condole,

Shall soon be antiquated too!

And though thy day is long gone by,

Thou still may'st point a moral fine, -

That when our outer shell's as dry,

Our hearts may still be fresh as thine!

C. F. L. '81.