Ah me, and are ye going to,
The wars for to be shotten in;
Soon will ye mourn, alas ye Stu—
—dents of hapless, of the far-famed U—
—Niversity of Gottingen
Soon will ye hate that much-loved Bu—
—onaparte, now so hot-in-grain;
Ye never thought he’d conscribe you,
But more would reverence the U—
—Niversity of Gottingen.
How did ye look around, how view,
The Books ye had been blotting in,
When first the dreadful news ye knew,
That bade ye bid a last adieu,
To them and eke to Gottingen.
Though new the Spanish plains ye Stu—
—dents bold, you are proudly trotting in,
You soon may find good cause to rue
The moment when ye left the U—
—Niversity of Gottingen.
Unused to hardship ye will rue,
The mischiefs ye are plotting in,
Anxious will sit, and sadly view,
With Fancy’s eye the distant U—
—Niversity of Gottingen.
When ye are dead I wonder who,
Will tell the Graves ye’re rotting in,
Or even say here lie a few,
“Who studied morals, at the U—”
—Niversity of Gottingen.
“Oxford and Cambridge, sisters two,
With prejudice begotten in,”
Proud will look round, and sneering view,
You and your poor forsaken U—
—Niversity of Gottingen.