Harvard Lampoon.

Speed.

They tell how fast the arrow sped,
  When William shot the apple,
But who can calculate the speed
  Of him who’s late for chapel?

Trinity Tablet.

A Senior Schedule.

We’re a-studying of Literature
  As hard as e’er we can;
We dote on Revolutions
  And the Brotherhood of Man.

We’re returning to the People
  With a truly Lyric Cry;
And for Democratic Spirit
  We’d lay us down and die.

We’re a-reading of Philosophy
  To find out why we be,
And a-learning that External Worlds
  Lie wholly in the Me.

We don’t believe in Matter,
  And of Mind we’re not quite sure;
We’re inclined to think Uncertainties
  Most likely to endure.

We’re a-studying Geology
  Of Pre-historic Times,
Before the Tides of Primal Sea
  Got written into rhymes;

When the “Old World spun forever,”
  And the poets never knew it,—­
And all the Rocks, and Stones, and Things,
  Were nicely mixed up through it.

We’re a-looking at Fine Pictures
  Made by People what are dead;
And we criticize Cathedrals
  With a Ruskin at our head.

We’re a-growing awful learned,—­
  There’s lots more of the kind,—­
But we do not mind confessing
  That it’s all a Beastly Grind.

MARY HOLLANDS McLEAN.
Wellesley Lyrics.

A Change of Heart.

I knew he cut his classes, and I’d heard him flunk in history,
And how he dared say “not prepared” so often was a mystery. 
He’d sometimes cram for an exam., but seldom knew a word in it. 
His parted hair grew long and fair; I thought he looked absurd in it.

I felt regret whene’er we met, and bowed with utmost gravity;
I didn’t dream he’d joined the team—­I thought him all depravity. 
So when I found, at Haight Street ground, how great was his agility,
I oped my eyes in marked surprise, amazed at his ability.

He tackled hard, gained many a yard, place-kicked and charged successively; He turned the edge of the flying wedge, and interfered aggressively!

He bucked the line!  I thought it fine, and shouted out excitedly;
He passed the ball behind them all!  I saw the scheme delightedly.

He slipped about the line without a thought of trip or fumbling, When to the din of tooting tin a crowd on him came tumbling.  I felt a chill, my heart stood still, when those mean boys fell down on him, His clothes were torn, his nose cap gone, and streaks of black and brown on him.

He scored a touchdown then, and such a frenzy I did never see;
It made the umpire’s whistle dumb, and overwhelmed the referee. 
Then when he punted out in front, though hoarse with loud admiring,
I with, delight yelled, “He’s all right!” for they were all inquiring.