The Ibis

Once upon a halftime dreary, while we rooted, weak and weary,
In between the interceptions and the growing Yalie score--
While the Elis kept on creeping toward the lead that we were keeping
We heard an Ibis gently weeping, in the grip of cruel captors--
"'Tis old Thresky," we exulted, "in the grip of cruel captors!"
"He must be free forevermore!"

Ah, distinctly we remember it was in the bleak November;
And each drunken Lampoon member slowly staggered to the floor.
With conscience bold and resolve steely, we took the name of Steve C. Hely
Longing to see our friend fly freely--freely from the Lampoon door--
Never to perch again atop that painted Lampoon door--
We saved the bird, and nothing more.

"Blessed Crimson, you have found me, for the Yale Band would impound me,"
Said the Ibis, barely speaking as the Eli's upped the score;
"Oh, the horrors I have witnessed of the Lampoon's dirty business--
The disturbing tests of 'fitness' they practiced with me before--
Never will I again go back to that place I was before,"
Wept the Ibis, "nevermore."

"Fear not, Thresky; rest assured, you are our most beloved Bird--
We shall guard you from those Poonsters; cease your weeping, we implore!
Shed no feather as a token of the cruel things they have spoken,
Leave their solitude unbroken!--Stay with us forevermore!
Leave their sad mock-Flemish castle to their new-made impostor!
"You're safe," we murmured, "forevermore."

And the Ibis, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
In an undisclosed location on our nation's eastern shore.
And the Poonsters have the seeming of an opium addict's dreaming,
For the lamplight o'er them streaming throws his shadow on their floor;
And their souls from out that shadow that lies floating on their floor
Shall be lifted--nevermore!