Alas! For all the pleasant ways
We traversed in our Freshman days!
So green were we, so free from guile
And so confiding all the while—
You cannot blame the Soph’mores really
For—ah, our freshness cost us dearly—
They hazed us well—but not unkindly
If aught, too well-and we resign’dly
Accepted meekly green regalia
And deemed all lack of spirit failure!
What time it took to settle courses.
We absolutely worked like horses!
Our French surprised poor, dear Miss Gill:
Our German—that’s surprising still,
And what with Latin, Math and Gym,
Miss Bush’s aid on subjects dim,
And well-timed lectures on hygiene
We soon, ah me! Were not so green!
Not too green, soon, at any rate
At Basket-Ball to meet sad fate,
Not yet—with gestures quite ecstatic
To venture into fields dramatic.
Who can forget—when in full numbers
We stirred the upper classmen’s slumbers
At Four A.M. with lusty shouting
Because we’d had a freshman outing?
Dear me! What energy possessed us then!
We’d even time to wield the pen
And with what cheerful hearts and strong
We sang our winning banner song!
But of all victories the most sweet
Was when we won that first Spring meet—
So soon it all passed—ah what ways
We wandered in our Freshmen days
Early in September
Back we came to College
Came so grave and dignified
Just to awe those Freshie’s pride
Back we came to College.
Do you all remember?
And that sturdy Freshman class
What an endless, countless mass
How we missed our own lost friends
Early in September!
Mistress May, our leader
Spurred our flagging
Basket ball did hopeless seem,
We had lost quite half our team,
Cause for flagging
Of Mistress May, our leader!
Sophomore Year was fleeting,
Ending all too soon!
All our cares were light and small
Worry—we ne’er knew at all!
And the play in June
Gaily we made greeting
When our sister class appeared
Long and loud we stoutly cheered.
Ah! We all regret alas
That Sophomore Year was fleeting!
When we were Junior, smooth was our career
We hardly had a trouble all the year!
We hurried back quite early and “en masse”
To welcome in our little sister class.
So large a class to us seemed quite a crown
No wonder we were just a little proud
Of our new class; and really, truth to say,
We have grown prouder of them every day.
I said our course was smooth—we had our troubles.
In chemistry—but they were only bubbles!
For class—we almost always came on time
And paid our dues—each member, every dime.
In special Latin, and in English too
We still were represented by a few
Who used to shine; and here we ought
To mention Mary’s memorable report
Upon the novel which caused some discussion
About the modern writers—French and Russian!
We had no Year Book then to cause us worry
And so we never used to rush or hurry—
We spent much time on “souls” without a doubt
But that was just to help our neighbors out.
If age, perchance, had made us less athletic
It also saw us tend toward things aesthetic,
Besides, reflected glories oft did pass
To us from our triumphant sister class
The history of the brightest days is short.
And so, our chiefest pleasures seem as nought
The year sped on so fast we only learned
That we were Seniors by our tassels turned!
Ages ago in our Freshmen year—
Ages ago and
We longed to be Seniors, grave
And longings that couldn’t come
true, I fear
In a possible,
For the path of a Senior is narrow
Now we are
here, we know—
There are graver troubles than
Back from a
And a Senior must always appear
chances to go.
Methods to haunt her every week,
Essays to write
Year Book snap-shots and ads.
All sorts of studies, not to speak
Of dozens of
Tactful, talented, just and wise
and “conditions” free—
Half of our heavy burden lies
we ought to be.
And the cause of our num’rous
we’re not, you see!
Little we guessed, in those days gone
When we longed
to be staid, in vain,
That just as our College years
The goal of
our hopes would wane!
And now as Seniors I think we
Just to be