An Old Class Poem

(Song composed for the class dinner of the senior class, July, 1827.)

Imprimis to Dartmouth, its laws and its books, Its chambermaids, matrons, its bells, and its cooks, From Lethe's dark waters a bumper we'll crown, And the tide of oblivion their mem'ries shall drown.

To our President next our full glasses we'll toss, Who like Esop's king log, sways a sceptre of moss. With a peaceful dominion may he ever be blest, And his dame still continue to feather his nest

To the captain in comical buckler arrayed His escutcheon a triangle rampant displayed A bumper of fluid we will joyfully sip, And our noddles keep true by regarding the dip,

Now to Shurtleff a toast—though a sleepy divine He's a jolly High Priest of tobacco and wine. May disease and the "hypo" be driven far hence And the world long be cheered by his humourandsense,

For rhetorical Haddock the bottle pass round The orator, gentleman, scholar profound

All his actions integrity marks as her own His tongue is her sceptre, his heart is her throne.

A vinous potation, to Chamberlain quaff, Who can crack a good joke, at a joke loves to laugh. Equipment in talents to all we recount In learning and honour he's—tantamount.

To the giant in learning, the giant in mind, The lion in temper, both savage and kind, The unequalled instructor, we'll fill high our bowls, And fasten his memory firm to our souls.

To him, on our Tutor who would not enlarge? With caution and meekness a bumper we'll charge. Go on, my dear boys, go, go on, do your duty And let me but say, "macte, macte virtute."

To our class, to our class, join the chorus, my boys To our class long life and unqualified joys Independence we swear to maintain As we have done, we will do while life shall remain.