Disconsolate, gloomy, and undone
I take in the "Dilly" my place;
By Zurich and Basel to London
I rush, as if running a race.
My quest and my troubles are over;
As I drive through the desolate street
To my Club in Pall Mall, I discover
Sweet Solitude's summer retreat.




MEDITATIONS OF A

CLASSICAL MAN ON A MATHEMATICAL PAPER

DURING A LATE FELLOWSHIP EXAMINATION.

Woe, woe is me! for whither can I fly?
Where hide me from Mathesis' fearful eye?
Where'er I turn the Goddess haunts my path,
Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath:
In accents wild, that would awake the dead,
Bids me perplexing problems to unthread;
Bids me the laws of _x_ and _y_ to unfold,
And with "dry eyes" dread mysteries behold.
Not thus, when blood maternal he had shed,
The Furies' fangs Orestes wildly fled;
Not thus Ixion fears the falling stone,