The Senior Fellow.

When the shades of eve descending             Throw o'er cloistered courts their gloom,         Dimly with the twilight blending             Memories long forgotten loom.         From the bright fire's falling embers             Faces smile that smiled of yore;         Till my heart again remembers             Hopes and thoughts that live no more.         Then again does manhood's vigour             Nerve my arm with iron strength;         As of old when trained with rigour             We beat Oxford by a length.         Once again the willow wielding             Do I urge the flying ball;         Till "lost ball" the men who're fielding             Hot and weary faintly call.         Then I think of hours of study,             Study silent as the tomb,         Till the rays of morning ruddy             Shone within my lonely room.         Once again my heart is burning             With ambition's restless glow;         And long hidden founts of learning             O'er my thirsty spirit flow.         Soon fresh scenes my fancy people,             For I see a wooded hill;         See above the well-known steeple;             Hear below the well-known rill;         Joyous sounds each gale is bringing,             Wafted on its fragrant breath;         Hark!    I hear young voices singing,             Voices silent now in death.         Brothers, sisters, loved and loving,             Hold me in their fond embrace;         Half forgiving, half reproving,             I can see my Mother's face,         Mid a night of raven tresses,             Through the gloom two sad eyes shine;         And my hand a soft hand presses,             And a heart beats close to mine.         In mine ears a voice is ringing,             Sweeter far than earthly strain,         Heavenly consolation bringing             From the land that knows no pain,         And when slowly from me stealing             Fades that vision into air,         Every pulse beats with the feeling             That a Spirit loved was there.