=Cambridge=
[This poem is written in pencil on the fly-leaf of a copy of Poems
1833 in the Dyce Collection in South Kensington Museum. Reprinted with
many alterations in Life, vol. I, p. 67.]
Therefore your halls, your ancient colleges,
Your portals statued with old kings and queens,
Your bridges and your busted libraries,
Wax-lighted chapels and rich carved screens,
Your doctors and your proctors and your deans
Shall not avail you when the day-beam sports
New-risen o'er awakened Albion—No,
Nor yet your solemn organ-pipes that blow
Melodious thunders through your vacant courts
At morn and even; for your manner sorts
Not with this age, nor with the thoughts that roll,
Because the words of little children preach
Against you,—ye that did profess to teach
And have taught nothing, feeding on the soul.