Imagini ale paginilor
PDF
ePub

I took some draughts of classic lore,
Drawn very mild, at -rd College;
Yet I remember all that one

Could wish to hold in recollection;
The boys, the joys, the noise, the fun;
But not a single Conic Section.

I recollect those harsh affairs,

The morning bells, that gave us panics; I recollect the formal prayers,

That seemed like lessons in Mechanics; I recollect the drowsy way

In which the students listen'd to them, As clearly, in my wig, to-day,

As when a boy I slumber'd through them.

I recollect the tutors all

As freshly now, if I may say so,

As any chapter I recall,

In Homer or Ovidius Naso.

I recollect extremely well

"Old Hugh," the mildest of fanatics; I well remember Matthew Bell, But very faintly Mathematics.

I recollect the prizes paid

For lessons fathom'd to the bottom; Alas that pencil-marks should fade!) I recollect the chaps who got 'em,— The light equestrians who soar'd

O'er every passage reckon'd stony; And took the chalks,-but never scored A single honor to the pony!

Ah me! what changes Time has wrought, And how predictions have miscarried! A few have reach'd the goal they sought, And some are dead, and some are married!

And some in city journals war;

And some as politicians bicker; And some are pleading at the bar

For jury-verdicts, or for liquor!

And some on Trade and Commerce wait; And some in school with dunces battle; And some the gospel propagate ;

And some the choicest breeds of cattle; And some are living at their ease;

LAMONT, who, in his college days,

Thought e'en a cross a moral scandal, Has left his Puritanic ways,

And worships now with bell and candle; And MANN, who mourn'd the negro's fate,

And held the slave as most unlucky,
Now holds him, at the market rate,
On a plantation in Kentucky!

TOM KNOX-who swore in such a tone It fairly might be doubted whether It was really himself alone,

Or Knox and Erebus togetherHas grown a very alter'd man,

And, changing oaths for mild entreaty, Now recommends the Christian plan To savages in Otaheite!

Alas for young ambition's vow!

How envious Fate may overthrow it!— Poor HARVEY is in Congress now,

Who struggled long to be a poet; SMITH carves (quite well) memorial stones,

Who tried in vain to make the law go; HALL deals in hides; and "Pious Jones" Is dealing faro in Chicago!

And, sadder still, the brilliant HAYS,
Once honest, manly, and ambitious,
Has taken latterly to ways

Extremely profligate and vicious;
By slow degrees-I can't tell how-
He's reach'd at last the very groundsel,
And in New York he figures now,
A member of the Common Council!
JOHN G. SAXE.

THE BOYS.

HAS there any old fellow got mix'd with the boys?

If there has, take him out, without making a noise.

Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!

Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night!

And some were wreck'd in "the revul- We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says

sion ;"

Some serve the State for handsome fees, And one, I hear, upon compulsion!

we are more?

He's tipsy, young jackanapes!-show him

the door!

[ocr errors]

'Gray temples at twenty?"-Yes! white, But he shouted a song for the brave and if we please; the free,Where the snow-flakes fall thickest there's Just read on his medal, "My country," nothing can freeze! "of thee!"

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the You hear that boy laughing?-You think

mistake!

Look close, you will see not a sign of a flake!

We want some new garlands for those we have shed,

he's all fun;

But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;

The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,

And these are white roses in place of the And the poor man that knows him laughs

red.

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

"Mr. Mayor," my young one, how are you Then here's to our boyhood, its gold an to-night? its gray!

That's our "Member of Congress," we say The stars of its winter, the dews of its when we chaff;

May!

There's the "Reverend" What's his name? And when we have done with our life-last

-don't make me laugh!

That boy with the grave mathematical look

Made believe he had written a wonderful book,

And the ROYAL SOCIETY thought it was true!

So they chose him right in,-a good joke it was too!

There's a boy, we pretend, with a threedecker brain,

That could harness a team with a logical chain;

When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire,

We call'd him "The Justice," but now he's "The Squire."

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith,

Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith;

ing toys,

Dear Father, take care of thy children. THE BOYS.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

AULD LANG SYNE. SHOULD auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,
We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa ha'e run about the braes,

And pou'd the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary fitt
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.

We twa ha'e paidl'd in the burn,

Frae morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid ha'e roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,

We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And there's a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie's a hand o' thine!

And we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught,
For auld lang syne.

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak' a cup o' kindness yet,

[blocks in formation]

I walk, with noiseless feet, the round
Of uneventful years;

Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring
And reap the autumn ears.

She lives where all the golden year
Her summer roses blow;
The dusky children of the sun
Before her come and go.

There haply with her jewell'd hands
She smooths her silken gown,—
No more the homespun lap wherein
I shook the walnuts down.

The wild grapes wait us by the brook,
The brown nuts on the hill,
And still the May-day flowers make sweet
The woods of Follymill.

The lilies blossom in the pond,

The bird builds in the tree,

The dark pines sing on Ramoth hill
The slow song of the sea.

I wonder if she thinks of them, And how the old time seems,— If ever the pines of Ramoth wood Are sounding in her dreams.

I see her face, I hear her voice: Does she remember mine? And what to her is now the boy Who fed her father's kine?

What cares she that the orioles build
For other eyes than ours,—
That other hands with nuts are fill'd,
And other laps with flowers?

O playmate in the golden time!
Our mossy seat is green,
Its fringing violets blossom yet,
The old trees o'er it lean.

The winds so sweet with birch and fern
A sweeter memory blow;

And there in spring the veeries sing
The song of long ago.

And still the pines of Ramoth wood
Are moaning like the sea,-
The moaning of the sea of change
Between myself and thee!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

[graphic][merged small]

AT THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT A SWEET VISION BAW

AND THRICE FRE. TH

MORTING IDRE MT IT AGAIN The 10 item

« ÎnapoiContinuă »