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The Spike: or, Victoria College Review, October 1909

Inaugural Ode on the V.C. Officers Training Corps

Inaugural Ode on the V.C. Officers Training Corps

Rejoice Imperial Mother! Let the breeze
Of hope renewed dispel your dread alarms;
Your weary elder sons may stand at ease.
The trump of war declares
The fact in blatant blares
And drowns those touching things the College Glees.

Spirits of warriors long buried and dead,
Concentrate, concentrate,
All of your genius in one little head
Concentrate, concentrate;
Gather, you sprites, for the good of the nation,
Into one glorious centralization,
Concentrate, concentrate.
Smile on him, Jupiter, smile on him, Mars,
Fit him for victories, battles and slaughters,
Make him the joy of all mothers and pas,
Make him immune from the smiles of their daughters:
Give him a book of manæuvres as litany,
Guns let him shoot at the foe (he won't hit any);
Make him a paragon general here,
Wellington Moltke Napoleon Beere.

page 75

But soft! From high Olympus Jove descends,
Deserts the Board of gods and here unbends:
His hands still red with Cerberean gore,
He scents a nobler game,—the dogs of war.
Beside him strides, with features grimly set,
Hung down in front his trusty bayonet,
That foreign god, von Zedlitz. By and by
They'll trust in him and keep their powder dry.
His duty too, when airships come and go,
To analyse their language here below.
And lastly Pluto brings his fiery shield
And once a year that camp on Easer field.
Immortals these, they stand in mortal dread
Of glorious Beere, who's risen to their head.

And lo, this gallant troop can boast, this martial fierce array,
As many officers as men to honour and obey.
Again behold their Captain Beere, of proud and stately port;
And yet he'll not be Captain long, for see Lieutenant Short.
And though 'tis true in love and war, that men will all things dare,
Their means will surely not be foul, when led by Sergeant Fair.
The matrons say,"the pretty boy," the girls they all adore him,
And this, of course you'll understand, refers to Corporal Oram.

Here is the flower of our manhood in bud;
See how their noble eyes blaze as they mobilize,
Eager to wallow to victory through blood,
Like that unholy 'un, bony Napoleon.
Stealthily, creepily, whispering in shouts,
Steadily, sleepily, out go the scouts.
Then comes the main brigade, uniforms t ell,
Making a plain brigade look rather well;
(Even a puny form, wrapped in a uniform,
Looks rather well).
Bravely they thresh along, wear and hot,
Sometimes it's echelon, sometimes it's not.
Guns to the right of them mow them like grass,
Strangely, in spite of them, onwards they pass.
Powder is flying ground and each man'll
Soon be applying his oil and his flannel.
Such is the sum of a warriors toil,
Oceans of trouble, and afterwards--oil.

General de Bility