Let some prefer the nice _morceau_
And piquant joys of feasting know,
The bliss of snuff be mine.


* * * * *




ODE ON A COLLEGE FEAST DAY.

(_For the Mirror._)


Hark! hear ye not yon footsteps dread
That shook the hall with thundering tread?
With eager haste,
The fellows past.
Each intent on direful work.
High lifts the mighty blade and points the deadly fork!

But hark! the portals sound and pacing forth,
With steps, alas! too slow,
The college gips of high illustrious worth
With all the dishes in long order go;
In the midst, a form divine,
Appears the fam'd Sir-loin;
And soon with plums and glory crown'd,
A mighty pudding sheds its sweets around.