24 WILFRID BLAIR
They know, they know how well things go on the
Merton fields of France ; But the S.C.R.'s must be fields of Mars — they dare
leave nought to chance ; "Louvain !" is the word, and their souls are stirred ;
for they think of their matchless tuns. And the ground shall be dusted ere Oxford's crusted
port shall be broached by Huns.
II
The proud Professors toe the line
And turn to the left for right incline.
Forgot, forgot are their divers lores
In the patriot stress of forming fours.
Their mortar-boards are a hive for bees
(Which they often were) as they stand at ease.
Though every morn they are wisdom's fount
In matters which nowadays hardly count.
Each afternoon each neophyte
Gets totally mixed between left and right
(And a don at maths, and a logic don
Turn each to each and are pounced upon).
At the terrible voice of the tu — the sergeant
Their gills go gules and their locks more argent.
And still as the breath comes short, and the knees
Wobble in places, and many a wheeze
Is torn from the depth of complaining turns,
Down the weak line the whisper comes :
�� �
