Phi Beta Kappa.--Cambridge, 1867

You bid me sing,--can I forget The classic ode of days gone by,-- How belle Fifine and jeune Lisette Exclaimed, "Anacreon, geron ei"? "Regardez done," those ladies said,-- "You're getting bald and wrinkled too When summer's roses all are shed, Love 's nullum ite, voyez-vous!"

In vain ce brave Anacreon's cry, "Of Love alone my banjo sings" (Erota mounon). "Etiam si,-- Eh b'en?" replied the saucy things,-- "Go find a maid whose hair is gray, And strike your lyre,--we sha'n't complain; But parce nobis, s'il vous plait,-- Voila Adolphe! Voila Eugene!"

Ah, j eune Lisette! Ah, belle Fifine! Anacreon's lesson all must learn; O kairos oxiis; Spring is green, But Acer Hyems waits his turn I hear you whispering from the dust, "Tiens, mon cher, c'est toujours so,-- The brightest blade grows dim with rust, The fairest meadow white with snow!"

You do not mean it! Not encore? Another string of playday rhymes? You 've heard me--nonne est?-before, Multoties,-more than twenty times; Non possum,--vraiment,--pas du tout, I cannot! I am loath to shirk; But who will listen if I do, My memory makes such shocking work?

Ginosko. Scio. Yes, I 'm told Some ancients like my rusty lay, As Grandpa Noah loved the old Red-sandstone march of Jubal's day. I used to carol like the birds, But time my wits has quite unfixed, Et quoad verba,--for my words,-- Ciel! Eheu! Whe-ew!--how they're mixed!

Mehercle! Zeu! Diable! how My thoughts were dressed when I was young, But tempus fugit! see them now Half clad in rags of every tongue! O philoi, fratres, chers amis I dare not court the youthful Muse, For fear her sharp response should be, "Papa Anacreon, please excuse!"

Adieu! I 've trod my annual track How long!--let others count the miles,-- And peddled out my rhyming pack To friends who always paid in smiles. So, laissez-moi! some youthful wit No doubt has wares he wants to show; And I am asking, "Let me sit," Dum ille clamat, "Dos pou sto!"