The Song of Victoria College.

Aedem Colimus Minervae
Acti desiderio
Artes nosse liberales
Hoc in Hemispherio
Aedem colimus Musarum
Sub Australi sidere
Nos a Musis maria longa
Nequeunt dividere.

Chorus:
Oh Victoria, sempiterna
Sit tibi felicitas
Alma mater, peramata
Per aetates maneas.

Studiosi, studiosae
Captant sapientiam
Circa venti turbulenti
Auferunt desidiam.
Omnium Collegiorum
Surgit hoe novissimum
Ergo vires juveniles
Exhibent fortissimum.

Corpus sanum ne sit absens
Properamus ludere
Subter jugum occupantes
Fuste pilam trudere.
Voces dignas Cicerone
Audias effundere
Oratores, Oratrices
Et sellas pertundere.

page 7

Absent Friends.

Air: "A Little Boy Called Taps."

When their day is done and their course is run
In the lecture rooms and hallways,
Where the great ships go and the wild winds blow,
Do they pass and scatter always.
To the gleaming feast of the lurid East,
As described by Mr. Kipling,
In their endless quest through the wakeful West
Go the strong man and the stripling.

Chorus:
In the wild and woolly places,
Where the strangest tales are told,
You will find their friendly faces,
And perhaps the Green and Gold;
One may be a bloated banker,
Or a chap with nought to spend,
So he be from Salamanca,
He's just an Absent Friend.

Or the hand of Fate through the Golden Gate
May direct them in their roaming,
Where the buffaloes snort when they're pinked for sport
On the prairies of Wyoming;
Or where red deer spoors lie on Highland moors,
Is the "Sapientia Magis"
Still an honoured toast and a glorious boast
As they sit beside the haggis.

Chorus:
You will see them come a-strolling
In some unsuspected land,
As you watch the ships a-coaling
By a queer old foreign strand.
One may be a bloated banker,
Or a chap with nought to spend,
So he be from Salamanca
He is just an Absent Friend.

Not a troopship rides on the guarded tides
To the war-worn lands without them;
You will find them there, where the star-shells flare,
And the smoke hangs thick about them.

page 8

In the deathless charge up the gully's marge,
Where the echoes roll in thunder,
There the Green and Gold may be rent and holed.
But it's never down and under.

Chorus:
Ask the guns of old Kum Kaleh,
Ask the guns of Neuve Chapelle,
Who was foremost in the rally,
You will like their answer well.
He may be a simple ranker,
Or a chap with stars to lend,
So he be from Salamanca,
He is just an Absent Friend.

When their backs are bent and their strength is spent,
And their heads have no more hair on,
In a few brief ticks they will reach the Styx
And the jetty owned by Charon.
With the heroes bold of the days of old,
You will find them intermingling.
If you stroll that way on a holiday
It will set your ears a-tingling.

Chorus:
When you hear familiar laughter,
And the same old student songs,
That were hurled from roof and rafter
In the days where youth belongs.
Be it shade of bloated banker,
Or of chap with nought to spend.
So it be from Salamanca.
It is just an Absent Friend.

Gaudeamus.

Gaudeamus igitur
Juvenes dum sumus;
Post jucundam juventutem
Post molestam senectutum
Nos habebit humus.

page 9

Vita nostra brevis est
Brevi finetur,
Venit mors velociter
Rapit nos atrociter
Nemini parcetur.

Vivat Academia
Vivant professores,
Vivat membrum quodlibet
Vivant membra quaelibent
Semper sint in flore.

Vivant omnes virgines
Faciles formosae!
Vivant Mulieres
Tenerae amagiles
Bonae, laboriosae.

Floreat Georgius Rex
Haud minus quam Pater
Oh virtues sic ametur
Optimus ut appelletur
Patriaeque Pater.

Final Chorus.

Air: "The Old Brigade."

Just one stave more, and the song is done,
A stave for the olden time,
One age has passed, and the age to come
Is the age of the Golden prime.
So praise we the men who have passed away,
Who held to a legend bold
Whatever a sordid world may say,
Wisdom is more than gold.

Chorus (To be Sung Twice):
So when we are singing of College,
Singing the songs of old,
Think of the past,
Hold to the last,
That it's wisdom that's more than gold.

page 10

For this is the burden of the world
Which it speaketh day by day,
Though many a worldly lip be curled
With a sneer that it does not pay.
In our ears is the voice of a Mammon age,
In our hearts is a tale that's old,
The tale of our garnered heritage—
The Wisdom that's more than gold.

Sports' Chorus.

Air: "Huntsmen's Chorus," from "Der Freischutz." (Weber.)

When the airs like wine in sunny weather,
And the winds blow cobwebs from the brains;
When Latin's folly and Law's terror
And the blood goes dancing through the veins,
Then hey! for where your fancy races
Away from the city's stifling grip
To the playing fields and open places
And let the world of toilers slip!

Chorus.
Then here's to the long white road that beckons,
The climb that baffles, the risk that nerves,
And here's to the merry heart that reckons
The rough with the smooth, and never swerve!

Be it hockey-stick or oval leather,
Or skiff or racquet, rod or gun,
Here's luck to the sport we've had together,
For the chances lost and battles won;
For the wicket true, and field in fettle,
And the man who's safe for a tingling catch,
For the losing team that shows its mettle,
And the man who wins his heat from scratch.