OXFORD, BY DAY AND NIGHT. 489 



Some " Fellows" dream that post has sped 



Through day and night, through shine and shower, 

 To say the old incumbent's dead, 



Or if not dead, can't live an hour. 

 And then they see a parsonage and ease, 

 Tithe wheat and barley, waving in the breeze, 

 Rich fees brought to them by their flock so meek, 

 And hear a score of little tithe pigs squeak. 



Tir'd with lecturing, " Tutors'* sink resigned, 

 And Somnus soothes the harrass'd classic mind. 

 Say is our " Tutor" dreaming of his theme, 



Of lecture, chapel, or of hall ? 

 Oh no, a well-wigg'd "Canon" he doth seem, 



Full of rich fines, and filling a choice stall. 

 Or else a " Dean," all corpulent and grand, 



Angling with politics for a fish or two ; 

 And gaining from some patron's liberal hand 



The mitred eminence, so long his due. 



Daylight is dying in the west, 

 'Tis crimsoning bright Cherwell's breast ; 

 The sun in some pavilion seems, 

 Shrouding his lingering parting beams. 

 The clouds his curtains closing round, 



A's if they were resolv'd to sever 



From this fair world of ours for ever, 

 His orb of light with glories crown'd ! 



By Isis* side there is a din, 

 And rowers leap their boats within ; 

 Crowds are quick gathering far and near, 

 Tumult swells louder on the ear, 

 " A boat race," twenty voices cry, 

 Cutters and skiffs glide swiftly by, 

 To gain the chosen starting place, 

 Where wait the hero's of the race ; 

 Each on his oar intent and steady, 

 And list'ning for the signal ready. 

 It is a splendid sight to see 

 Youth's strength put forth in rivalry ; 

 When all the feelings that adorn 

 The ardent, generous, and high-born, 

 By turns are call'd forth into life, 

 During the brief and manly strife. 



The pistol's fired off they go 

 They skim the light wave's surface o'er ; 



They tug they strain and as they row, 

 Shouts greet them from the crowded shore. 

 Now " Exeter" and " Queens" they cheer, 

 Now " Go it Jesus" splits the ear, 

 Then " Go it Christ's" comes strangely blepded 



With shouts of " Christ's rows like a trump," 

 And when the well-fought race is ended, 



You learn that "Jesus got a bump."* 



* That boat is said to be " bumped" when the prow of the next boat touches her 

 stern* 



