Then fare-ye-well till this time year,
    Ye heroes stout and strapping,
  And then beware, forgive my fear,
    Lest Oxford find you napping;
  And, oh! when o’er your work ye bend,
    ’Mid shouts of—­“light-blue’s winning,”
  If ye would triumph in the end,
    Remember the beginning!

  P.S.  The Muse true to her sex,
    Less to be blamed than pitied,
  A Post-script must of course annex
    To state a point omitted. 
  When Granta glorying in success
    With Camus pours her orisons;
  One name she gratefully must bless,
    That name is mighty Morrison’s.

  THE GREAT BOAT-RACE.

  1.  HAWKSHAW 3rd Trinity. 5.  KINGLAKE 3rd Trinity.
  2.  PIGOTT Corpus. 6.  BORTHWICK 1st Trinity.
  3.  WATSON Pembroke. 7.  STEAVENSON Trinity Hall.
  4.  HAWKINS Lady Margaret. 8.  SELWYN 3rd Trinity. 
                    Steerer, ARCHER, Corpus.

  BEFORE THE RACE.

  Come, list to me, who wish to hear the glories of our crew,
  I’ll tell you all the names of those who wear the
      Cambridge Blue. 
  First HAWKSHAW comes, a stalwart bow, as
      tough as oak, nay tougher;
  Look at him ye who wish to see the Antipodes to “duffer.” 
  Swift as the Hawk in airy flight, strong as the guardsman SHAW,
  We men of mortal muscles must contemplate him with awe. 
  Though I dwell by Cam’s slow river, and I hope
      am not a bigot,
  I think that Isis cannot boast a better man than PIGOTT: 
  Active, and strong, and steady, and never known to shirk,
  Of Corpus the quintessence, he is always fit for work. 
  The men of Thames will be amazed when they
      see our “Three” so strong,
  And doubt if such a mighty form to mortal mould belong.
  “What son is this?” they, one and all, will ask
      in awe and wonder;
  The men of Cam will answer make, “A mighty son of thunder.” 
  Next HAWKINS comes at “number 4,” the sole surviving pet
  Of the patroness of rowing, the Lady Margaret;
  When they think of his broad shoulders, and
      strong and sinewy arms,
  Nor parents dear, nor brothers stern, need foster fond alarms. 
  O! a tear of love maternal in Etona’s eye will quiver
  When she sees her favourate KINGLAKE also
      monarch of the river. 
  Oh! that I could honour fitly in this unassuming song
  That wondrous combination of steady, long, and strong. 
  Then comes a true-blue mariner from the ever-glorious “First,”
  In the golden arms of Glory and the lap of Victory nurst;
  Though blue may be his colours, there are better oarsmen few,
  And Oxford when it sees him will perhaps look still more blue. 
  Then comes the son of STEPHEN, as solid as a wall;
  We need not add, who know his name, that he
      hails from Trinity