In infancy oft' by observance we trace
What life's future page may unfold;
Who the senate, the bar, or the pulpit may grace,

Who'll obtain wreathe of fame or of gold.
My Vale, should my muse prove but willing and free,

Parting sorrows to chase from my brain,
Shall in metre prophetic, on some two or three,

Indulge in her whimsical vein.
First Keate let me give to thy talents and worth,

A tribute that all will approve;
When Atropos shall sever thy life's thread on earth

Thou shalt fall rich in honor and love.
Revered as respected thy memory last,

Long, long, as Etona is known,
Engraved on the hearts of thy scholars, the blast

Of detraction ne'er sully thy stone.
Others too I could name and as worthy of note,

But my Vale 'twould too lengthy extend:
Sage Domine all,—all deserving my vote,
Who the tutor combine with the friend.
But a truce with these ancients, the young I must seek,

The juvenile friends of my heart,
Of secrets hid in futurity speak,

And tell how they'll each play their part.
First Heartly, the warmth of thy generous heart

Shall expand with maturity's years;
New joys to the ag'd and the poor thou'lt impart,

And dry up pale Misery's tears.
Next honest Tom Echo, the giddy and gay,

In sports shall all others excel;
And the sound of his horn, with "Ho! boys, hark—away!"
Re-echo his worth through life's dell.

Horace Eglantine deep at Pierian spring
Inspiration poetic shall quaff,
In numbers majestic with Shakespeare to sing,

Or in Lyrics with Pindar to laugh.
Little Gradus, sage Dick, you'll a senator see,

But a lawyer in every sense,
Whose personal interest must paramount be,

No matter whate'er his pretence.
The exquisite Lilyman Lionise mark,

Of fashion the fool and the sport;
With the gamesters a dupe, he shall drop like a spark,

Forgot by the blaze of the court.
Bob Transit,—if prudent, respected and rich

By his talent shall rise into note;
And in Fame's honor'd temple be sure of a niche,

By each R.A.'s unanimous vote.
Bernard Blackmantle's fortune alone is in doubt,

For prophets ne'er tell of themselves;
But one thing his heart has a long time found out,

'Tis his love for Etonian elves.
For the college, and dames, and the dear playing fields

Where science and friendship preside,
For the spot which the balm of true happiness yields,

As each day by its fellow doth glide.
Adieu, honor'd masters! kind dames, fare thee well!

Ye light-hearted spirits adieu!
How feeble my Vale—my griev'd feelings to tell
As Etona declines from my view.

"Men are my subject, and not fictions vain;
Oxford my chaunt, and satire is my strain."