WELLESLEY, 1905, CREW SONG. Away, away, at close of the golden day, The stroke is steady, 'T is 1905! Along the shady shore the echoes are telling o'er The swift and steady beat of oars that are light and fleet; And tow'ring high against the sky, We see the hills and halls of our beautiful Wellesley! Away, away, at close of the golden day, The stroke is swinging, The cheers are ringing, 'T is 1905! And deep within the lake, wherever our path we take, A phantom shell below keeps place in the even ing glow; And loud and clear a rousing cheer Comes o'er the lake for the crew of the Manu ka-wa-i! ANONYMOUS. VITAI LAMPADA. THERE'S a breathless hush in the Close to night Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a season's fame, But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote, "Play up! play up! and play the game!" The sand of the desert is sodden red, Red with the wreck of a square that broke;· The Gatling 's jammed and the colonel dead And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. The river of death has brimmed his banks, And England's far, and Honour a name, But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks, Play up! play up! and play the game!" 66 This is the word that year by year While in her place the School is set Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget. This they all with a joyful mind Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind "Play up! play up! and play the game!" HENRY NEwbolt. BOATING SONG. (After Weatherly.) WE sing the song of the boat and oar, As we launch our shells from off the shore, With measured dip and steady clip we glide along, Our pulses leap to the rhythmic sweep that marks our song, And all together we catch and feather and lift her strong, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! The flashing blade and gliding shell for me, The flashing blade and gliding shell for me, At Alma Mater's shrine we vow, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! Yeo-ho! That the laurel wreath shall crown her brow, Or now we leap with bending sweep the river's tide; For a noble class and a bonnie lass, and victory our guide; Who never shall wait to see us late past the line to glide, Yeo-ho! lads ho! Yeo-ho! The flashing blade and gliding shell for me, ANONYMOUS. SWIMMING. (From "The Two Foscari.") How many a time have I Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring, The wave all roughened; with a swimmer's stroke Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, And laughing from my lip the audacious brine, With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep BYRON. THE CHEER OF THOSE WHO SPEAK ENGLISH. THE playground is heavy with silence, Our lads in the lengthening silence Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah! Three cheers, and a "tiger,” too, Who carried the victory through! With clear voices uptossed For those winning before The ships-of-the-line beat to quarters, "Cast off! Provide!" goes round; |