Tuesday, 5/20/97 To Towell
By Brent Eldridge Thou’rt not, tented Towell, built to envious
show; New novices your pomp will never know; Once great shack of
many a lettered page – Now vanished relic of a bygone age. Once
horrible decay upon my eye Assault’st me no more; So with heavy
sigh And mournful looks and drooping brow I humbly honor thee, most
sacred cow. No study boxes crammed and tightly bound With many
students’ surly looks all round; Nor rich array of parti-coloured
gowns, No sight of cozened customers’ sour frowns. But oh! the
hallowed halls of endless stacks, That o’erhanging roof of
numberless cracks. What gravity! What art! To thee, old wreck, I
offer senseless praise, but what the heck! Were those walls fated
by Olympian will Not to be saved by any mortal skill? Did Hector’s
mien bless thy wide drafty ways? Or was it dimwit students’ lazy
gaze Which led thee to be thoroughly unpieced? Or wert thy doom
derived from ancient East: As the great citadel of Jericho? Did
faithful walk thy walls ’round, to and fro; Amid that fearful cry
and dreaded song Blew the bellowing trumpets loud and long So that
the plastic walls fell down quite flat, And utterly destroyed all
within that Was housed there? Oh, awful fate of thine! (A secret
smile! What happy fate of mine!) Were mortarless stones, children’s
blocks, the sign Of thy impending most wretched demise? Thy
prideful towers now lie in true guise: A truly dissembled,
translated heap; Clever counsel thou canst now never keep. But by
comparison thou do cheapen The noble past with thy most misshapen,
Foul visage. End it now brave History: Insure that such a blight
can never be! With these undying words I speak to thee: Thou
honored relic of retired towers, Homage I paid thee hour by hour:
Myself never knowing that all the while Thou were but a great
aluminum pile. Eldridge is a fourth-year English, history and
classics student.