The Science Club

Hurrah for the Science Club!
    Join it, ye fourth year men;
Join it, thou smooth-cheeked scrub,
    Whose years scarce number ten

Join it, divines most grave;
    Science, as all men know,
As a friend the Church may save,
    But may damage her as a foe.

(And in any case it is well,
    If attacking insidious doubt,
Or devoting H--- to H---,
    To know what you're talking about.)

Hurrah for the lang-nebbit word!
    Hurrah for the erudite phrase,
That in Dura Den shall be heard,
    That shall echo on Kinkell Braes!

Hurrah for the spoils of the links
    (The golf-ball as well as the daisy)!
Hurrah for explosions and stinks
    To set half the landladies crazy!

Hurrah for the fragments of boulders,
    Surpassing in size and in weight,
To be carried home on the shoulders
    And laid on the table in state!

Hurrah for the flying-machine
    Long buried from sight in a cupboard,
With bones that would never have been
    Desired of old Mother Hubbard!

Hurrah for the hazardous boat,
    For the crabs (of all kinds) to be caught,
For the eggs on the surface that float,
    And the lump-sucker curiously wrought!

Hurrah for the filling of tanks
    In the shanty down by the shore,
For the Royal Society's thanks,
    With Fellowships flying galore!

Hurrah for discourses on worms,
    Where one listens and comes away
With a stock of bewildering terms,
    And nothing whatever to pay!

Hurrah for gadding about
    Of a Saturday afternoon,
In the light of research setting out,
    Coming home in the light of the moon!

Hurrah for Guardbridge, and the mill
    Where one learns how paper is made!
Hurrah for the samples that fill
    One's drawer with the finest cream-laid!

Hurrah for the Brewery visit
    And beer in liberal doses!
In the cause of Science, what is it
    But inspecting a technical process?

Hurrah for a trip to Dundee
    To study the spinning of jute!
Hurrah for a restaurant tea,
    And a sight of the Tay Bridge to boot!

Hurrah, after every excursion,
    To feel one's improving one's mind,
With the smallest amount of exertion,
    And that of the pleasantest kind!

Robert Fuller Murray

Robert Fuller Murray was a Scottish poet known for his lyrical and expressive poetry. Born on December 26, 1863, in Roxbury, Massachusetts, he moved to Scotland at a young age. Despite a short life, ending on April 15, 1894, Murray left a significant mark with his works, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry is characterized by its elegance and depth of feeling. Murray's influence remained through posthumous publications and collections of his poetry.

Robert Fuller Murray

For Scotland

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Moonlight North And South

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

A Song Of Greek Prose

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

Dawn Song

Robert Fuller Murray, Simple Poetry

English

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Reflections Of A Magistrand. On Returning To St. Andrews

In the hard familiar horse-box I am sitting once again;
Creeping back to old St. Andrews comes the slow North British train,

Bearing bejants with their luggage (boxes full of heavy books,
Which the porter, hot and tipless, eyes with unforgiving looks),

Bearing third year men and second, bearing them and bearing me,
Who am now a fourth year magnate with two parts of my degree.

We have started off from Leuchars, and my thoughts have started too
Back to times when this sensation was entirely fresh and new.

When I marvelled at the towers beyond the Eden's wide expanse,
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's manse

With some money in his pocket, with some down upon his cheek,
With the elements of Latin, with the rudiments of Greek.

...

Robert Fuller Murray

A College Career

I

When one is young and eager,
    A bejant and a boy,
Though his moustache be meagre,
    That cannot mar his joy
When at the Competition
He takes a fair position,
And feels he has a mission,
    A talent to employ.

With pride he goes each morning
    Clad in a scarlet gown,
A cap his head adorning
    (Both bought of Mr. Brown);
He hears the harsh bell jangle,
And enters the quadrangle,
The classic tongues to mangle
    And make the ancients frown.

He goes not forth at even,
    He burns the midnight oil,
He feels that all his heaven
    Depends on ceaseless toil;
Across his exercises
A dream of many prizes
Before his spirit rises,
    And makes his raw blood boil.

II

Though he b...

Robert Fuller Murray

Stinkomalee Triumphans

Whene'er with pitying eye I view
Each operative sot in town.
I smile to think how wondrous few
Get drunk who study at the University we've Got in town,

What precious fools 'The People' grew,
Their alma mater not in town;
The 'useful classes' hardly knew
Four was composed of two and two,
Until they learned it at the University we've Got in town.

But now they're taught by Joseph Hume, by far the cleverest Scot in town,
Their items and their tottles too
Each may dissect his sister Sue,
From his instructions at the University we've Got in town.

Then LE comes, like him how few
Can caper and can trot in town,
In pirouette or pas de deux
He beats the famed Monsieur Giroux,
And teaches dancing at the University we've Got in town.

And...

Richard Harris Barham

The End Of April

This is the time when larks are singing loud
    And higher still ascending and more high,
This is the time when many a fleecy cloud
    Runs lamb-like on the pastures of the sky,
This is the time when most I love to lie
    Stretched on the links, now listening to the sea,
Now looking at the train that dawdles by;
    But James is going in for his degree.

James is my brother.    He has twice been ploughed,
    Yet he intends to have another shy,
Hoping to pass (as he says) in a crowd.
    Sanguine is James, but not so sanguine I.
If you demand my reason, I reply:
    Because he reads no Greek without a key
And spells Thucydides c-i-d-y;
    Yet James is going in for his degree.

No doubt, if the authorities allowed
    The taking in of Bohns, ...

Robert Fuller Murray

The Delights Of Mathematics

It seems a hundred years or more
    Since I, with note-book, ink and pen,
In cap and gown, first trod the floor
    Which I have often trod since then;
Yet well do I remember when,
    With fifty other fond fanatics,
I sought delights beyond my ken,
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

I knew that two and two made four,
    I felt that five times two were ten,
But, as for all profounder lore,
    The robin redbreast or the wren,
The sparrow, whether cock or hen,
    Knew quite as much about Quadratics,
Was less confused by x and n,
    The deep delights of Mathematics.

The Asses' Bridge I passed not o'er,
    I floundered in the noisome fen
Which lies behind it and before;
    I wandered in the gloomy glen
Where ...

Robert Fuller Murray

Adventure Of A Poet

As I was walking down the street
    A week ago,
Near Henderson's I chanced to meet
    A man I know.

His name is Alexander Bell,
    His home, Dundee;
I do not know him quite so well
    As he knows me.

He gave my hand a hearty shake,
    Discussed the weather,
And then proposed that we should take
    A stroll together.

Down College Street we took our way,
    And there we met
The beautiful Miss Mary Gray,
    That arch coquette,
Who stole last spring my heart away
    And has it yet.

That smile with which my bow she greets,
    Would it were fonder!
Or else less fond--since she its sweets
    On all must squander.
Thus, when I meet her in the streets,
    I sadly ponder,
And after her, as she r...

Robert Fuller Murray