―――― THE IMPOSITION. We met in upper school, And I thought he would “draw” me; He came, his words were stern, And much did he jaw me. He asked me for my task, Which I could not to him show. Oh! thou hast been the cause Of this anguish, my “Impo.” And once again we met. And his black book was near him He pored and mumbled low, As often you may hear him; He said that I seem’d In my duty towards him slow. Oh! thou hast been the cause Of this anguish, my “Impo.” I wore a clean white shirt, And revelled in its whiteness, Bright studs were in it too, How I envied their brightness; For they made my face look pale, But I did not let him know That thou wert the cause Of this anguish, my “Impo.” W. V. From _The Charterhouse School Collection of Poems_. ――――:o:―――― THE SOLDIER’S TEAR. Upon the hill he turn’d To take a last fond look, Of the valley and the village church, And the cottage by the brook; He listen’d to the sounds So familiar to his ear; And the soldier lean’d upon his sword, And wip’d away a tear. Beside the cottage porch A girl was on her knees, She held aloft a snowy scarf Which flutter’d in the breeze: She breath’d a prayer for him, A prayer he could not hear, But he paus’d to bless her as she knelt, And wip’d away a tear. He turn’d, and left the spot, Oh! do not deem him weak, For dauntless was the soldier’s heart, Tho’ tears were on his cheek. Go, watch the foremost ranks In danger’s dark career, Be sure the hand most daring there Has wip’d away a tear. THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. ―――― THE RECTOR’S TEAR. (Supposed to be sung by the Rev. George Croly.) Beside the church he stood, To take a last fond look Of the pulpit and the vestry-room, And the red morocco book. He heard the beadle’s voice, So familiar to his ear, And he raised his surplice to his eyes, And wiped away a tear. Within the old church door, The clerk was on his knees, Groping about in the wooden box, In which he kept his fees. The parson heard the dub-ups chink Said he to himself, oh! dear, If I had those, I do not think I’d wipe away a tear! That fine old humbug turned To leave the chapel door; He’d pocketted a fortune there, But now he longed for more. Go watch the vacant bishoprics, In the chancellor’s career; If he pops into one of them He’ll wipe away no tear!