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by Forrest Pass, History ‘08
Hark, and hear the sacred tale,
The legend of this ancient grail,
That sits aside the ale-taps flowing,
Its jewels in autumn’s dimness glowing.
For when April’s showers sweet are raining
And supervisors cease complaining,
Theses we’ll nail to Fogs’s door,
The goblet deep we’ll fill once more –
Who’ll drink from the Goblet of Knowledge?
For in this hall have scholars gathered
Since Kubla could and Cotton mathered;
Not heat nor rain nor gloom of night
Can keep them from this tavern bright
Where Richard, son of Ghie, chants lowly
From book of carols, mournful, holy,
And all who hear him raise a glass,
That many more a night shall pass,
‘Ere we drink from the Goblet of Knowledge!
But then from Western’s dreaming spire, a whirring and a chime:
O, let not time deceive you, you cannot conquer time!
A thesis bound, submitted, a certificate inscribed,
A long-suff’ring mentor, winking, says “High time that we imbibed!”
Then in the tavern, on the mead-stool, seated by the bar
The chalice silvern cometh – long beholden from afar.
Its glory runneth over, you raise it to your lip,
Your veynes to bathe in swich licour – a taste, a draught, a sip:
Drink from the Goblet of Knowledge!
Silent, with a wild surmise,
Behold the world, with teary eyes.
Farewell the nights of pitter-patter!
Adieu, ye halls of alma mater!
Let memory be your Sancho Panza –
(Oh dear, this is a tortured stanza...);
These names inscribed in goblet’s tome,
Their spirits haunt this pleasure dome.
So as you catche a falling starre,
Remember where your past yeares are,
Where you drank from the Goblet of Knowledge!