Then in my ear with one accord they bellow,
"Fly wretch! thou ne'er shalt be a Johnian Fellow!"

Must I then bid a long farewell to "John's,"
Its stately courts, its wisdom-wooing Dons,
Its antique towers, its labyrinthine maze,
Its nights of study, and its pleasant days?
O learned Synod, whose decree I wait,
Whose just decision makes, or mars my fate;
If in your gardens I have loved to roam,
And found within your courts a second home;
If I have loved the elm trees' quivering shade,
Since on your banks my freshman limbs I laid;
If rustling reeds make music unto me
More soft, more sweet than mortal melody;
If I have loved to "urge the flying ball"
Against your Racquet Court's re-echoing wall;
If, for the honour of the Johnian red,
I've gladly spurned the matutinal bed,
And though at rowing, woe is me! no dab,
I've rowed my best, and seldom caught a crab;
If classic Camus flow to me more dear
Than yellow Tiber, or Ilissus clear;
If fairer seem to me that fragrant stream
Than Cupid's kiss, or Poet's pictured dream;
If I have loved to linger o'er the page
Of Roman Bard, and Academian sage;
If all your grave pursuits, your pastimes gay,
Have been my care by night, my joy by day;
Still let me roam, unworthy tho' I be,