THE TALE OF A PONY.
BEING AN ATTEMPT AT GRINDING DURING THE SEMI-ANNUALS.
The gay De Sever sold it;
And sold me too, for he called it Gray,
But read I now behold it.
It proved to me a useful horse, -
More Bohn than flesh about it, -
For it pulled me through a very hard course;
I had been left without it.
The trouble was because my head,
Though flat, is never level;
Each day I was dazed by what I read,
And every eve brought evil.
The thought of being plucked, you know,
Had made all my pluck fast fly;
And I'd burned the midnight gas so low
That my face was looking ghastly.
The college lawn looked all forlorn,
For heavy dues were plenty;
I went where I always feel most gone,
To Harvard No. 20.
What I had learned by rote, I wrote;
The rest I thought I'd doctor;
So I tried to pass a very small note,
Which didn't get by the proctor.
Alas! the proctor's tramping soon
Set my poor head a whirring;
That fellow must have been a spoon,
For he seemed made for stirring.
My dreadful task at last was done,
I'm told I did not fail, now;
My pony won me '81,
So I'll cut short its tale now.
I'd got quite hoarse with crying "Woe!"
My wrinkles were increasing;
So I took this "trot" for the "little go,"
And my sheepskin saved from fleecing.
My Greek had been all Greek to me
Until I got my pony;
When lo! the words came easily, -
No longer hard, though Bohny.
And yet the ground o'er which I ground
Made time and trotter fly, sir;
And as time ran out I very soon found
The Greek and I were dry, sir.
The task thus brought me to my beer,
Such efforts were so trying;
And "setting up" I found was here
Much easier than lying.
I worked on till I was worked up,
My brain was sore with soaring;
I felt run down, so I just ran up
To bed, and soon was snoring.
The morning came to break my snooze,
It was the break of day, sir;
I got right up, for I'm not a goose,
So pray, why should I lay, sir.