Poems (David)/The Schools

by Edith Mary David

THE SCHOOLS.

ON to our glorious Schools I wend my way,
And thus once more, their honoured courts survey:—
Their fine old walls have linked their noble fame
With thine proud Oxford's ever ancient name.
There in sculptured grandeur and beauty rise
Their ancient pinnacles to the clear blue skies;
How often have the great and honoured dead
Aroused thy slumbering echoes with their tread?
Some have gone forth and with their cherished name
Linked to thy glory their own power and fame;
And each fresh laurel added to their crown,
Around thy name a nobler glory bound.
Say, what is man—that in his little day
The boasted joys or griefs should pass away?
The time must come when earthly care no more
Can touch the icy heart; while, as of yore,
The world its round of busy pleasures go,
Nor on the vacant place one thought bestow.
The golden visions of his power and fame
Fade, to the future age—an empty name!
His vaunted wisdom lost!—The worm and rust
Have trailed his cherished learning in the dust,
His thoughts and acts are criticised no more;
The world rolls on as thoughtless as of yore!
Fast from his fellow-men his memory fades
Into oblivion, as the evening shades.