And chattering "correspondents" seek
Against the goddess strife to stir,
But while the Senate rules, you bet,
The Goths shan't smash the Grecians yet.

When Don meets Don injurious fray
Then comes in sooth the tug of war;
And on this memorable day
They gather in from near and far,
To whelm the unnatural ones who'd seek
To set the "Grace" against the Greek.

SWETE looks on JEBB and JEBB on BROWNE,
And BATESON looks on ROBERTSON SMITH.
They cry, "Of WELLDON 'tis ill-done!"
But THOMSON is a man of pith,
And GRIMTHORPE, that scalp-hunting "Brave"
Will tomahawk the "Modern" slave.

The Proctors sat with serious brow,
Within the swarming Senate House,
Voters in hundreds swarmed below,
Fellows of scholarship and _nous_.
They counted votes, and, when 'twas done,
_Non-placets_ had it, three to one!

And where are they, Granta's fell foes,
The champions of the Modern side?
Five twenty-five emphatic "Noes"
Have squelched their schemes, and dashed their pride.