Chapter II

Though he be green as grass is, And fresh as new-mown hay Before the first year passes His verdure fades away. His hopes now faintly glimmer, Grow dim and ever dimmer, And with a parting shimmer Melt into 'common day.'

He cares no more for Liddell Or Scott; and Smith, and White, And Lewis, Short, and Riddle Are 'emptied of delight.' Todhunter and Colenso (Alas, that friendships end so!) He curses _in extenso_ Through morning, noon, and night.

No more with patient labour The midnight oil he burns, But unto some near neighbour His fair young face he turns, To share the harmless tattle Which bejants love to prattle, As wise as infant's rattle Or talk of coots and herns.

At midnight round the city He carols wild and free Some sweet unmeaning ditty In many a changing key; And each succeeding verse is Commingled with the curses Of those whose sleep disperses Like sal volatile.

He shaves and takes his toddy Like any fourth year man, And clothes his growing body After another plan Than that which once delighted When, in the days benighted, Like some wild thing excited About the fields he ran.