He cannot hear the singing Of birds upon the bents. Nor watch the wild-flowers springing. Nor smell the April scents. He gathers grief with grinding, Foul food of sorrow finding In books of beastly binding And beastlier contents. Our hope alone sustains him, And no more hopes beside, One only trust restrains him From shocking suicide: He will not play nor palter With hemlock or with halter, He will not fear nor falter, Whatever chance betide. He knows examinations Like all things else have ends, And then come vast vacations And visits to his friends: And youth with pleasure yoking, And joyfulness and joking, And smilingness and smoking, For grief to make amends. _The University News Sheet._ St. Andrews, N. B. March 31, 1886. ――――:o:―――― VACCINE. _Written after reading “Faustine.”_ Hail! sacred salutary nymph, Fair freckless queen; Pure and translucent flows thy lymph, Potent Vaccine! “Each shapely silver arm” receives The lancet keen; E’en warriors trembling raise their sleeves For thee, Vaccine. “Let me go over your good gifts,” That plain are seen; Thou sav’st the face from scars and rifts, Clear-browed Vaccine. Belovèd maid of many charms, Calm and serene, Fondly we take thee _in our arms_, Lovely Vaccine! Virtue of inoculation, To try we mean; We’re _now_ a humour-us nation, You’ll own, Vaccine. Doctors, like ancient knights again, With lances keen, Daily go “pricking o’er the plain,” With thee, Vaccine. It would have gladdened Jenner’s heart, Could he have seen Such thousands suffering from the smart Of thee, Vaccine. And _Jenner-ations_ yet to be Seen on life’s scene, Shall pæans sing in praise of thee, Saving Vaccine! _The Day’s Doings._ March 4, 1871. ――――:o:―――― LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI (A.D. 1875). Oh, what can ail thee, seedy swell, Alone, and idly loitering? The season’s o’er――at operas No “stars” now sing. Oh, what can ail thee, seedy swell, So moody! in the dumps so down? Why linger here when all the world Is “out of town?” I see black care upon thy brow, Tell me, are I.O.U.’s now due? And in thy pouch, I fear thy purse Is empty, too. “I met a lady at a ball, Full beautiful――a fairy bright; Her hair was golden (dyed, I find!) Struck by the sight―― “I gazed, and long’d to know her then: So I entreated the M.C. To introduce me――and he did! Sad hour for me. “We paced the mazy dance, and too, We talked thro’ that sweet evening long, And to her――it came to pass, I breathed Love’s song. “She promised me her lily hand, She seemed particularly cool: No warning voice then whispered low, ‘Thou art a fool!’