793 75 >y 1 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/songsofboatclubOOquin QUINSIGAMOND BOAT CLUB BALCONY SONGS OF THE BOAT CLUB THE QUINSIGAMOND BOAT CLUB Worcester, Massachusetts 1917 17 Copyright, 1917 by the Quinsigamond Boat Club ©GI.A477287 I 26 1917 FOREWORD The Quinsigamond Boat Club has ever mingled drama and song with its athletics. Some deem it an aristocratic organization, whereas it is one of the most democratic of clubs, election to its membership being by vote of all, and all members are equal. This rule is subject to the single exception that the Censor is a being before whom all other members bow down. His motto is noblesse oblige, so while he is as unassertive as a Rolls Royce with blinds, yet in order to put at perfect ease those about him who otherwise would tremble in The Presence, he often affects a jocular, elbow-in-rib familiarity with even the newest member that he may radiate that joyousness which comes to some mortals only as the result of alcoholic stimulation. For the Censor's position is indeed a lofty and difficult one, as he is responsible for the morals of the Club and its members, and it is his high privilege to admonish the erring and uplift the weak while dealing severely with those who wilfully disregard his admonitions, who criticize his fault- less prose and revile his random rhymes. It must be ad- mitted that this matter of position, of caste if you will, is largely one of viewpoint. The Mayflower descendant looks out from the screened and curtained panes of the Worcester Club upon the happy children of Palestine or Armenia as, reclining with Oriental hauteur in the rattling Ford or the antique Packard, they careen in noisy joyance along the erstwhile sacred precincts of the Rue d' Elm, and is quite serene. While he and many of his fellows trace their ancestry to that purple past which antedates the Emancipation Proclamation, these swarthy sons of the East, upon whom forty or more centuries have looked down, do not fully comprehend the vagaries of American Aristocracy, of the Sangazures and the Veneer- ings, and are singularly inappreciative. By their fruits shall ye know them and here have been gathered some specimen products of that superior clan known as the Censors. These songs have generally figured as part of the Censors' reports given from time to time. Very few antedate 1907, because of lack of available mate- rial. Many reports are missing. For Mr. Barton's popular song, of which many copies had been printed, the most diligent search was made. While its haunting chorus lin- gered in our memories, the stanzas were more elusive. The printer's devil was howling at the door for more copy when a brilliant idea struck the first Censor, which was uttered forthwith to the last Censor in the presence, however, of a Harsh Critic. The suggestion was made that as we had most of the poem its restoration would be easy. "A very simple matter!" said the first Censor. "Was it not Cuvier who from a single bone built up a complete skeleton? I have no doubt we can readily supply the few missing lines. Here are the remains. We have three of the vertebrae, the tail, part of the right wing, one dorsal fin, as it were, and several poetic feet which, it is true, have fallen arches and are, I admit, covered with literary bun- ions. But shall we despair? Never! Let us restore the Barton mastodon — I mean, masterpiece — at once!" Thereupon the two Censors set to work and shortly the first fruits of their joint genius was the following: "There's a club house that I know of on the shore of Lake Quinsig, O, how aged and decrepit, has false teeth and wears a wig! Then I know that if I only on a Lake View car could be, When we got to the Asylum, there's where they'd deposit me ! ' ' The two Censors gazed in poetic rapture at each other. "Isn't it fine?" they murmured. "Litter rot!" snorted the Harsh Critic. "You have no imagination," said the first Censor, "besides, the Lake View car does pass the Asylum and usually stops." "You should get off there!" urged the Harsh Critic. There is no knowing what would have hap- pened had not the debate been interrupted, for there ap- peared in the offing or hove in sight the familiar figure of the skipper of the Boat Club's flagship, the "Prickly Heat," holding aloft in his starboard flipper a sea-stained paper which proved to be the missing poem, and which is here presented with a number of others. Kind reader, be indulgent. As plays are written only to be played; songs are made only to be sung. So if you are inclined to be censorious, remember that is the sole privilege of the Censor; so grasp the book firmly open before you in the left hand, go far into the country and when beyond gun shot, dismiss the chauffeur, and still holding the book firmly in front of you at the proper distance with the left hand, beat time vigorously with the right and then sing the songs through, beginning with the first and so on through the book. Sing with head erect and in as loud a voice as possible. It is good for the lungs. But be sure to beat time. It is admirable exercise and is the only way you can do it. In this way and in this way only will you be able to determine just how good or how bad these songs are. Should you observe any one approaching, you will, of course, govern yourself accordingly. They may be hiding their weapons. Unless you find yourself outnumbered, turn boldly towards the intruder and sing at him before he gets very near, and if you persist you will find he will soon turn and run, but if he does not run, then you had better; he may be an officer who does not understand music. Should you survive this experience, it is to be hoped that you will applaud these lyric gems. You may have found that your rendition of them charmed the intruder away and perhaps saved your life. But should you find your soul unattuned to these happy and melodious outpourings of the Bards of the Boat Club as rendered by you, do not mention the fact in cultured circles, for several members have derived the greatest satisfaction and enjoyment from hearing themselves sing them, and your remark, strictly speaking, would not be de rigeur! 1 QUINSIGAMOND From the Censor's Report By Henry Harmon Chamberlin August 27, 1906 Air, "Maryland, My Maryland" Ere we toddle up to town, Homeward bound, Quinsigamond ; Fill the stein and drink her down Bumpers round, Quinsigamond! Sound her praises on the air, As her fathers found her Still we find her wond'rous fair When we gather round her. Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. Dear to each beholder ! Bumpers round and drink her down ! May she ne'er grow older ! Lapse of ages cannot change All your joys, Quinsigamond ! Old and young we're all the same, All your boys, Quinsigamond ! Comrades, here 'tis merry, merry cheer Any kind of weather ; And when the foam is on the beer We'll be boys together! Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. Dear to each beholder! Bumpers round and drink her down ! May she ne'er grow older ! When the sunset lingers o'er Spruce and pine, Quinsigamond, All along your silent shore Memories twine, Quinsigamond ! Welcome ! welcome to our strand, Time at twilight mellows ! Here you'll find us heart and hand Still the same good fellows ! Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. Dear to each beholder ! Bumpers round and drink her down ! May she ne'er grow older ! Sixty years ago to-night Thou wast born, Quinsigamond! Old and young put care to flight Till the morn, Quinsigamond! All who love thee honor thee Mid their wildest banter! Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. Phantom and Atalanta! Here's to thee, old Q. B. C. Dear to each beholder! Bumpers round and drink her down ! May she ne'er grow older! All you boys of yesterday, All you glad old comers O'er whose heads have flown away Half a hundred summers! All whose lives have grown more vast, Gone awhile before us, Friends, companions of the past Join to swell the chorus ! Here's to thee, etc. Note: The fourth stanza, originally written for the fiftieth anniversary, has been rewritten for the sexagenary . 2 THE DEAR OLD Q. B. C. From the Censor's Report by George Sumner Barton, September 27, 1909 Air, "Mandalay" There's a clubhouse that I know of on the shore of Lake Quinsig, Where it's cosy and it's homelike, best of all it's not too big; And I love to go there evenings, where I'm always sure to find A warm welcome and a respite from the irksome daily grind. Chorus Oh! the dear old Q. B. C, it is there I like to be, Where each fellow knows each other and we're one great family, Yes! We're one great family, which is what appeals to me, And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. When the worries of my business have confused my tired brain, And I'm fretful and I'm nervous and I'm suf'ring mental pain, Then I know that if I only on a Lake View car could be All my troubles soon would vanish at the dear old Q. B. C. Chorus Oh ! the dear old Q. B. C, it is there I like to be, Where each fellow knows each other and we're one great family, Yes! We're one great family, which is what appeals to me, And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. I am sick of wasting evenings at the other clubs in town, Where you see so many strangers who all greet you with a frown ; Though they all have "little parties," they're as un- like as can be To a quiet little evening at the dear old Q. B. C. Chorus Oh! the dear old O. B. C, it is there I like to be, Where each fellow knows each other and we're one great family, Yes ! We're one great family, which is what appeals to me, And I love to spend an evening at the dear old Q. B. C. Ship me down to the old Boat Club, where the best is like the worst, Where the old and young are brothers, and there's no one who is first; Where the moonbeams kiss the waters, and there's music in the air, There's no place that I know of that with it can quite compare. Chorus 3 O, QUINSIG'S BANKS From the Censor's Report by Frank Farnum Dresser, August 28, 1911 Air, "Auld Lang Syne" O, Ouinsig's banks are fresh and fair, And Tatnuck's woods are green. What is my husband doing there While I'm a summer queen? While I'm a summer queen, dear girls, While I'm a summer queen, What is my husband doing there, While I'ma summer queen? Ah, Men! 4 My Worcester, My Quinsigamond From the Censor's Report, July 22, 1912, written and composed by Eben Francis Thompson When first our fathers westward ranged, a sturdy pil- grim band, Some of their stoutest pioneers sought out the Nip- muck land, And when they viewed Quinsigamond, found hill and vale so fair, They halted by her leafy shores and set their dwellings there. Chorus My Worcester, My Quinsigamond ! My homeland fair to see ! Round thee cling recollections fond ; My heart e'er turns to thee. Though other climes and places Sweet memories may recall, Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces I love best of all. Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces I love best of all ! Quinsigamond ! in triumph oft thy sons in days of old Bore swiftly o'er thy silver tide their ensign blue and gold; Then 'neath thy rooftree gathering, they joined, all strife at end, In song and feast and cheer, where friend pledged fel- lowship with friend. Chorus My Worcester, My Quinsigamond ! Thou dear old Q. B. C. Round thee cling recollections fond ; My heart e'er turns to thee. Though other climes and places Sweet memories may recall, Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces I love best of all. Thy dear, familiar scenes and faces I love best of all! Quinsigamond, thy children we, joint heirs to all thy fame, Will strive to emulate the sires, uphold thy honored name! We hail you, comrades living, as in the days of yore, Then pause to greet in memory sweet, the friends who've gone before. Chorus Quinsigamond, the Indian name of the Lake, was also applied to the ancient town of Worcester. The Nipmuck land was the Indian designation for a large part of Worcester County according to Lincoln N. Kinnicutt and other authorities. 5 LET US GATHER From the Censor's Report, by Fordyce Turner Blake, July 24, 1916 Air, "Bagdad" Let us gather at the Boat Club, Place of mirth and of delight, Where the old ones and the young ones Celebrate from morn till night. We can never quite forget it For we love it so And we can get together No matter what the weather If to the Q. B. C. we only go. 6 I'VE BEEN ROWING Air, "I've Been Working on the Railroad" I've been rowing o'er the water all the livelong day I've been paddling in the water just to pass the time away. Don't you hear the steward calling, "Dinner's ready at the Club!" Don't you hear the waiter bawling, "Come on, and get your grub!" DOWN TO THE LAKE Air, "And When I Die" Down to the Lake I love to go And o'er the silvery waters row, Then join the boys in song and glee, Down at the dear old Q. B. C. 8 A DREAM OF THE LONG AGO Air, "Absinthe Frappe" From the Censor's Report, by Eben Francis Thompson, September 24, 1917 There is a place we know where we all like to be, At Lake Quinsigamond ; 'tis called the Q. B. C. For there good fellowship and best of cheer abound; A lovelier spot than this, I wot, will ne'er be found. Chorus On an afternoon in the month of June, Quit your worries and drive to the Lake ; Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat Or at tennis a hand you will take. Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim And a rest from your play or the row ; Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 'Twas a dream of the long ago ! I sit and dream as swiftly glides my boat away, Adown the stream where laurels gleam by Half Moon Bay; Where the lupine purples yonder bank as on we go To the inlet where the fragrant water lilies blow. Chorus On an afternoon in the month of June, Quit your worries and drive to the Lake; Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat Or at tennis a hand you will take. Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim And a rest from your play or the row ; Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 'Twas a dream of the long ago ! Quinsigamond, oft when I pass thy leafy shores, I catch the rhythmic of sweep Atalanta's oars; And oft thy sparkling moonlit waves, enrapt, I view, As o'er thy tide in silence glides the Phantom Crew! Chorus On an afternoon in the month of June, Quit your worries and drive to the Lake ; Soon you'll be afloat in canoe or boat Or at tennis a hand you will take. Next you have a swim by the Lake's cool brim And a rest from your play or the row ; Then, a stein you take — and at once — you wake! 'Twas a dream of the long ago ! The Phantom Crew was the original organization of the Quinsigamond Boat Club and most of the members of the Atalanta Boat Club became fine members of the Q. B. C. 9 THE GREAT BIG WAR CANOE By Henry Waldo Doe February, 1891 Air, "My Mary Ann" Oh, have you seen the new boat? The great big war canoe, Dick Greene brought down from Canada last fall? She's big as all out-doors, and she takes a mighty crew. But they can't get headway on the craft at all. There's Dick and Mac and Alex, there's Barton, Ran- let, too, And Rockwood, Bates and Waldo in the sham ; There's eleven fellows in it, and they make a great to-do ; Not one of them can paddle worth a d — mn. Chorus She's a keel boat, she's a lap-streak She's an elephant, she's a sham ! You should see the boat when they're all afloat, Not one of them can paddle worth a d — mn! 10 THAT CLUB HOUSE Air, "The Little, Old, Red Shawl," With Variations O, that clubhouse by the shore, I would be there ever- more, For there is where I take my exercise, my exercise ! O, give me my rocking chair on the club piazza, where I can rock and row and some day win first prize ! And win first prize! O, that clubhouse where I dine, simple fare, sans vint- age wine ; I love it for it keeps me fit and fine ! So fit and fine ! I get rugged, tough and strong, pushing lemonade along, For it gives strength to this good right arm of mine! This arm of mine ! O, that clubhouse by the Lake ! Where my exercise I take, Playing Bridge — without Suspension — or one break! One single break ! If you'd have a form like mine, at the Boat Club often dine, But for goodness sake, don't go out on the Lake! Up- on the Lake! There's water there ! Beware ! Beware ! ! BEWARE ! ! ! It has been observed that Boat Club athletics of late years have been becoming more and more sessile and prandial. AT . Lake Qainsigamond, , . . . Worcester. FKII>AY, JULY 28, 1865. First Race — " Quinsigaraiond" and " Union" Crews of Worcester. Quinsigamond. Pine Shell, built by Reed, 43 feet in length. Rowed by John G. Heywood (stroke,) Edwin Brown, Stedman Clark, Edward B. Hamilton, (bow). Uniform — Corn-colored Handkerchiefs, White Shiits, and Dark Blue Pants. Union. — New, Cedar Shell, built by Mackay, 43 feet in length. Rowed by Timothy R. Green, (stroke), Henry J. Temple, James L. Anthony, L. D. Thayer, (bow). Uni- form' — Handkkerchiefs Magenta, trimmed with white, White Shirts and White Pants. Second Race — University Boats. Harvard. — Frederick Crowninshield, (stroke), Edward T. WiUinson, VVilliam Blaikie, Edward N Fenno, Ed- ward H. Clark. Charles H. McBurney, (bow). Uniform — Crimson Handkerchiefs, White Shirts, and Blue Pants. Yale — Wilbur R Bacon, (stroke), Edward B. Bennett, Louis Stoskopf, Isaac Pierson, Edmund Coffin, William W. Scran ton, (bow). Uniform — Blue Silk Handkerchiefs, Flesh Colored Shirts, and \\ hite Drawers. Judges — William Woods, for Yale ; R. H. Derby, for Harvard. 11 DOWN BY THE LAKE From the Censor's Report by Eben Francis Thomp- son, August 27, 1917 Air, "Rebecca" Down by the Lake stand the Q. B. C. quarters, Down by the Lake where the sun loves to shine ; Happy the hours as we sped o'er the waters; Happiest when the Quinsig crew was first to cross the line. Chorus For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned Hamilton, too, With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant crew; Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, it was fine When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue FIRST across the line! Down by Quinsigamond of ttimes I wander, Down by the Lake where the sun loves to shine ; Over the past then pensively I ponder — Till I think of that day when we were first to cross the line! Chorus For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned Hamilton, too, With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant crew; Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, it was fine When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue FIRST across the line! Happy the days passed in thy sight, Quinsigamond ! Happy thy nights when the moon loves to shine! Sunlight or moonlight or twilight, Quinsigamond! Brightest was that hour when we were first to cross the line. Chorus For it was — John Heywood — Edwin Brown — and Ned Hamilton, too, With — young — Sted — Clark made up that gallant crew; Year ONE— EIGHT— SIX— FIVE— I tell you, boys, it was fine When the Quinsig crew bore the gold and blue FIRST across the line ! In the Citizens' Regatta of 1865, the Club colors, corn color (old gold) and blue, were first borne to vic- tory by a crew consisting of John G. Heywood (stroke), Edwin Brown, Stedman Clark and Edward B. Hamilton (bow). 12 GOOD OLD WORCESTER TOWN Words and Music by Hamilton Brooks Wood 1917 You can sing your ditties of your modern cities, But I know one good New England town, All the girls are pretty in this little city; People there have no care or frown. Go to any other town and stay there a while You'll come back to good old Worcester wearing a smile. When you go to other climes It's then you'll want to be once more In dear old Chorus Worcester, that's the town I long for, That's where I want to be Friends there are dear to me, Friends of sincerity. I want to be there And to mingle with the boys that I used to know. It's a city of prosperity, Everybody has the coin and spends it free In Worcester, that old New England city, Good old Worcester town. Westerners all tell us we are mighty jealous Of people whom as friends we acquire May be something in it; takes more than minute Which out West is all they require; But when you can really get right under their skin New Englanders will stand by you thro' thick and thro' thin. That's the way with Worcester friends, And it's the best way after all In good old Boat Club Chorus Down at the Boat Club, that's the place I long for, That's where I want to be. Friends there are dear to me, Friends of sincerity. I want to Be there, and to mingle with the Boys that I used to know. At the Boat Club any Saturday, You'll see Ben or Havie raking in the clay At Quinsig, the only athletes' club in good old Worces- ter town. 13 AMERICA My country! 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died ! Land of the Pilgrims' pride! From every mountain side Let freedom ring! Our fathers' God ! to thee, Author of liberty, To thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King! 14 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER Oh, say, can you see by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, and bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ! Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? 029 726 825 9