Our Christmas Reuelry

THE YULETIDE MUSE alights once a year

And prattles her song, auspicious and clear,

Of gaudy decorations in orange and pink,

Of carols, of merriment, but mostly--of Drink.

For the past year's tribulations, for the next's gloomy signs

She offers this remedy: a flagon of wine.

No prophets or sages, Cassandras or seers

Can give men a forecast of troublesome years

That can't be outwitted, that can't be escaped

By an iron-hard will with the help of the grape.

And though man may stumble, and though man may fall

In scaling his personal paradise wall

There's always a pathway that leads safely down--

The Vine is a friend all the way to the ground.

BUT CHRISTMAS season, you cry in dismay,

Should summon our thoughts towards a merrier day;

No need for our trials to leave us depressed--

We'll open our bottles and drink with our guests.

Our Faculty first, those tutors of youth,

Whose lecturing sparkles with wisdom and truth;

With Henry Rosovsky the Chivas we'll pour

And say his Curriculum's new to the core.

For E. O. Wilson the year has been kind:

A non-fiction Pulitzer for a non-fiction mind.

Let none say the repute of our College has waned--

For Valentyn Moroz came from the Ukraine.

At dozens of Harvard clubs, alumni will swill

Martinis--and millions will flow in the till

Of Bob Kaufmann, Peter Clifton, Tom Reardon, Fred Glimp;

The alumni will give till their wallets are limp.

For Wallace MacCaffrey we offer a sieve

To sort out professors who want to take leaves.

For portly Ed Lashman, a very large switch

To turn on his MATEP that's only a ditch.

For Dame Helen Gardner an updated humanism;

For Matina Horner, an open gymnasium.

From Time Inc.'s bright towers to the Harvard Corporation

We hope Andrew Heiskell won't feel dislocation.

For Robert S. Brustein, our audiences wait;

The actors are anxious; the critics debate.

Philip J. Atkinson's legendary deed

With basement explosives made deans pay him heed;

He got more attention than those wan protesters

Whose divestiture movement has not moved investors.

Our mailboxes have pined, our morale has sunk low

Deprived of Bok's letters on the portfolio.

"What's the word? Johannesburg!" no longer fills our ears

And students spend their time today engrossed in downing beers.

CAMBRIDGE, we're told, will soon turn 350--

Just another good reason not to be thrifty,

And pour out the booze, fill up the glasses

Of our City Hall friends who move like molasses.

For Tom Danehy (the outgoing mayor, you know)

Pills for his cabinets and bills to veto.

The year was a bust for Joseph F. Timilty

Whom the voters believed had little ability

To run City Hall, like our friend Kevin White

Whose mayoral victories are getting too trite.

For Edward J. King, our man on the hill,

A kick in the pants and a new drinking bill.

RUMOR HAS IT there's a White House for sale

And interested buyers have hit the long trail.

Teddy admitted he wants to be prez

But he ought to restrain all the dumb things he says.

Jimmy is struggling to prop up his case

While Jerry has left for the corners of space.

From the West Coast, once more, we're hearing from Ronny

And from Texas, the familiar war-whoops of Johnny.

At campaign dinners through the land, the liquor will flow out

As people bet on who's ahead, who's future is in doubt.

But when the battle gets too rough, and voters stop to think,

They'll cast away their politics and pledge themselves to drink.

WE EXTEND our wall-poster holiday greeting

To Teng Shiao--whoops, that is Deng Xiaoping.

For Idi Amin, Papa Bok, Somoza and the Shah

There's Texas and cognac but no last hurrah.

John Paul the Second gave Boston a blessing

With bread and (yes) wine and a T.V. confessing.

And by no means fail to mention, before we're all abed,

Two friends no longer with us--Burr Hall and Mr. Ed.

To Karim Aga Khan and Thomas Parsekian,

Helmut Schmidt, Greg Nagy and Tommy Stefanian,

J.H. Parry, W.J. Bate, Pat Sorrento, Al Vellucci,

Norman Mailer, Stephen Weinberg, Andrew Young and John Bellucci,

Omeljan Pritsak, Joshua Nkomo, Lewis Brooks and Otto Eckstein,

Aglaia Sense, Yo-Yo Ma, Peter Gomes and Leonard Bernstein,

Alan J. Pakula, W.V.O. Quine, Giscard D'Estaing and Seymour Slive,

Heng Samrin, Francis Coppola, Johnny Rotten and John Clive,

Glen Bowesock, Bonwit Teller, Barney Frank and Mangol Bayat,

Tom Stoppard, Muhammad Ali, Sadegh Ghotbzadeh and Howard Hiatt--

To one and to all, we raise our goblets high,

Then toss the crystal 'gainst the wall and watch the pieces fly.

With wine in our stomachs, and blood in our veins,

Our ideals before us, learning in our train,

We'll face a new decade, with hopes and with fear,

And swallow a new draught at Christmas next year.