The wild-winged hour that we fain would capture Falls as from heaven that its light feet clomb, So brief, so soft, and so full the rapture Was felt that soothed me with sense of home. To sleep, to swim, and to dream, for ever — Such joy the vision of man saw never; For here too soon will a dark day sever The sea-bird's wing from the sea-wave's foam. A dream, and more than a dream, and dimmer Must fade as leaves when the woods wax hoary; 1889. A WELCOME. ONCE again (I must attempt it, though my pen the topic shuns) Cambridge waking from her slumber welcomes as before her sons: As before I have to hymn them, having hymned them many times, Having tried each different metre and exhausted all my rhymes; Having wooed the weary Muses and attempted to entice Each poetic trope to serve me when I wished to give advice: Now, again, when chill October sheds her colours on the leaves, When the farmer counts his losses, having stacked or sold his sheaves, Counts them well and duly grumbles over all his wasted crops, How the price of food increases while the price of produce drops, Now with undiminished ardour must I dip my pen again, And indite a joyous greeting to our latest batch of men. Giddy actors, gallant oarsmen who disturbed the sedgy Cam, Men of blade-work, not of book-work, though they scorned not their exam. : Handsome Roger, doughty Trevor, who with undefeated pluck Strove at each successive Putney, vainly strove against the luck. Broad and beefy College oarsmen with their bumpers and their bumps, Batsmen too and tricky bowlers who preferred the ground in lumps. Many a slim and lively runner, many a Titan who pursued Runs in summer, goals in winter, football-cricketdouble-blued. Friends henceforth and fellow-soldiers, comrades in the fights we wage, New-found sons of ancient Cambridge, men in everything but age, Oh, be welcome! oh, be welcome! here are prizes to be won, Great traditions to be cherished, deeds of honour to be done. ... R. C. LEHMANN. FROM "THE ROAD WE CAME." Read at the Reunion of the Class of 1877, Yale, in 1902. How fast the deeds of old now reappear! Again we strive upon the eager field, And know the old heart-sickness when we yield, The wild, uplifting, glad joy when we hear Once more the parched throat and the heaving breast, The maddening, gladdening struggle for the goal, The mental sinking that comes with our rest, After the bloom is gone, assail the soul. Oh, short the road into the purple past Where we were crowned with youth! Would that our youth might last! L. FRANK TOOKER. A BALLADE OF THE GAME. TIER upon tier, through the stands are strewn Banners aloft in the breezes blown, - Joy of battle and brawn of stone, Backward the Crimson they bend and bear; Into the strife again, do or die; Till the shouts to tatters the stillness tear : Yale, old Yale, and a victory! Two long years o'er our flag have flown, — Now the time of our time is known, Queen of Violets, reigning there, Spirit of strength in a violet eye, Lend us the power of thy whispered prayer: "Yale, old Yale, and a victory!" ANONYMOUS. THE STRENUOUS LIFE. Read at the Harvard Club Dinner, New York, 1900. I WENT down East to a football match; great game; I'll go again. There played a chap they called McBride, who had the strength of ten, And divers more, whose names I miss, but they seemed to be all good men. Thirty men or thereabouts competed there that day. Thirty thousand anxious souls observed their urgent play. All Harvard went prepared to yell; all Harvard stayed to pray. Bless me, how those lusty youths toiled round that leather sphere, Lined up, rushed, tackled, bucked, and strove with ardour most severe, While earnest lads in moving tones besought the crowd to cheer! Governors, senators, ministers, judges, presidents of banks, College presidents, mothers of families, matrons and maids, on ranks Of benches steeple-high, sat round and watched those football cranks. |