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.