Oxford

I saw the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The gray spires of Oxford Against a pearl-gray sky, My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die. The years go fast in Oxford The golden years and gay, The hoary Colleges look down On careless boys at play. But when the bugles sounded war They put their games away. They left the peaceful river, The cricket field, the quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod -- They gave their merry youth away For country and for God. God rest you, happy gentlemen, Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place Than even Oxford town.

Winifred M. Letts

[The Boat Race will not be held this year (1915). The whole of last year's Oxford Eight and the great majority of the cricket and football teams are serving the King.]

Under the tow-path past the barges Never an eight goes flashing by; Never a blatant coach on the marge is Urging his crew to do or die; Never a critic we knew enlarges, Fluent, on How and Why! Once by the Iffley Road November Welcomed the Football men aglow, Covered with mud, as you'll remember, Eager to vanquish Oxford's foe. Where are the teams of last December? Gone -- where they had to go! Where are her sons who waged at cricket Warfare against the foeman-friend? Far from the Parks, on a harder wicket, Still they attack and still defend; Playing a greater game, they'll stick it, Fearless until the end! Oxford's goodliest children leave her, Hastily thrusting books aside; Still the hurrying weeks bereave her, Filling her heart with joy and pride; Only the thought of you can grieve her, You who have fought and died.

W. Snow

Beneath fair Magdalen's storied towers I wander in a dream, And hear the mellow chimes float out O'er Cherwell's ice-bound stream. Throstle and blackbird stiff with cold Hop on the frozen grass; Among the aged, upright oaks The dun deer slowly pass. The chapel organ rolls and swells, And voices still praise God; But ah! the thought of youthful friends Who lie beneath the sod. Now wounded men with gallant eyes Go hobbling down the street, And nurses from the hospitals Speed by with tireless feet. The town is full of uniforms, And through the stormy sky, Frightening the rooks from the tallest trees, The aeroplanes roar by. The older faces still are here, More grave and true and kind, Ennobled by the steadfast toil Of patient heart and mind. And old-time friends are dearer grown To fill a double place: Unshaken faith makes glorious Each forward-looking face. Old Oxford walls are grey and worn: She knows the truth of tears, But to-day she stands in her ancient pride Crowned with eternal years. Gone are her sons: yet her heart is glad In the glory of their youth, For she brought them forth to live and die By freedom, justice, truth. Cold moonlight falls on silent tower; The young ghosts walk with the old; But Oxford dreams of the dawn of May And her heart is free and bold.

Tertius van Dyke Magdalen College, January, 1917

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