POETRY VERSUS SCIENCE. A FRESHMAN'S DREAM. " Ne forte pudori Sit tibi Musa lyrae solers, et cantor Apollo ! " Horace. You are a Cantab, reader, are you not ? And did you dwell within the gates of Trinity ? I hope you did, it is a pleasant spot ; Besides, one claims a sort of strange affinity With those that erst have shared the self-same lot ; In fact it borders upon consanguinity : Great thoughts expand ; By Jove I I wonder whether We 've ever smoked, dined, wined, or supp'd together ? Well, did you read ? Perhaps it may have been your Luck to emerge in some immense Degree : I scarcely dare imagine you were Senior Wrangler, but so it still perchance may be ; Perhaps you loved the Dons, perhaps the Dean your Bosom companion may have been ; to me, He always bore a most unchristian spite : I shot his cat, and screw'd him in one night, Which he acknowledged by an imposition, Of grievous length : I cut the whole concern. Besides, about that time, I had a Vision ; As in some dozen stanzas you may learn, Through Mr. Bentley's very kind permission ; So to your college days again return ; Fancy it midnight : hark, how sweetly swells The stately chime of old St. Mary's bells I I closed old Euclid ; for, within the grate, The dying flames their last faint flicker shed ; Besides, the night was getting pretty late, Quite time for christian folk to be a-bed, Who mean to grace the chapel-doors at eight, A deed I always contemplate with dread ; For, though I trust, in season, I 'm devout, I must confess, I curse the turning out. Still, I sat on, to ponder o'er the past, The present, and the future, wondering long For what ill deed my lot had thus been cast Amid dame Granta's stiff and solemn thong,