Classic Poem

Far hence a lonely exile strayed
By dark Potomac's brim:
The world Columbus erst surveyed
Was now surveyed by him:
He pined to view with yearning eye
His own domestic hob,
Nor solaced was by Pumpkin Pie,
Nor cheered by Corn-on-Cob!

Columbia's Press, Alive and Bright,
Where'er that exile went,
Displayed before his wondering sight
Its wealth of incident:
His scanty ease he oft employed
In reading it — but still
There was a kind of aching void
Divorces scarce could fill.

'Twas then, 'mid alien scenes and men,
All in that distant place
There dawned upon his visual ken
One, one familiar face!
Amid that Press of Yellow hue
One sheet was yellower yet:
It was (great Heavens!) the O XFORD University G AZETTE !

In deep amaze the Wanderer sat,
Nor checked a natural tear:
" Tremendous Rag!" he cried, " and what
(In Thunder) dost thou here?
Are these the things that Georgia reads
And Texas wants to know?
Are Congregation's last misdeeds
The theme of Idaho?"

There, while he read that stately prose,
By Fancy's blessed boon
Before his mind the vision rose
Of Tuesday Afternoon. . . .
That cheered the heart: a load of grief
Was lifted from his brow:
He felt a sensible relief,
He'd no nostalgia now.