THE HAPPY TEACHER BY MELVILLE B. ANDERSON GIFT OF erf I 3 THE HAPPY TEACHER THE HAPPY TEACHER BY MELVILLE B. ANDERSON NEW YORK B. W. HUEBSCH 1910 Copyright, 1910, BY B. W. HUEBSCH TO THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO WERE MY STUDENTS AND THROUGH WHOM I WAS A LEARNER MDCCCLXXVII MCMX AUTHOR S NOTE THIS poem was read before the Phi Beta Kappa Society at Leland Stanford Junior University, May 21, 1910, at which time the author com menced emeritus. THE HAPPY TEACHER WHO is the Happy Teacher? Represent In his dimensions like himself, O Muse, His very effigy, his lineament Essential: yet, as painters ever use, Portray the happy guide of noble youth Ideally, that is with inward truth! Thus without due premeditance Invoking with rash utterance The Muse (presumptuous son of Earth, Daring to summon as a slave The Goddess of celestial birth! ), I head my pinnace to the wave; But, look you! not a zephyr blows To clear us from the lee of prose: [9] THE HAPPY TEACHER "Be brisk there, hearties, man the oar, And make a shift to pull off shore! " Lo! scarcely under steerage-way, I feel a presence at the prow, A thrilling voice commands me "Stay! " We drop the oars, our heads we bow. "Follow," the Goddess bids, "the trace Of him who utter d nothing base; Let Wordsworth be thy pilot, for He sang the Happy Warrior." "Be it far from thee to advise Me emulate that lofty song, Muse! What verse-craft could dis guise My fragile foil d against his strong? Ah! cap and bells should crown th* em prise. 1 cannot string Ulysses bow, My grasp too weak, my reach too low." [10] HOW TO FOLLOW WORDSWORTH The Muse s answer how rehearse In rime thus unheroic? Terse And stern to this effect she spake: "What boots it weigh the form of verse? Doth not the soul the body make? Deep counsel with thy Spirit take! Thence streams the right afflatus, storm Of living utterance: for form (Her voice was edged with some disdain) If any poet there remain Yet uninform d with instinct, well, Let him aspire to doggerel! " The message, if a little tart Tonic the more, I take to heart; With trembling hand I string the lyre, And, prompted by that sneer, aspire: Touchstone will chuckle, if he hark it, "Right butterwomen s rank to market! " Beginning, plunge we if you please, As Horace bids, in medias res, THE HAPPY TEACHER Words signifying Quite at random, As easy writers understand em; And if we treat, not as we ought to, Of what the Happy Teacher 11 not do, The Muse may later bid us pen her A rime less negative in tenor. He will not break the bruised reed Which feebly lifts its little spire; Nor will he quench the smoking flax Where Genius yet may burst to fire; The hungry he ll not underfeed, Weak appetite not overtax. He will not strive to loose or bind The bands that starr d Orion wove; Precept may shake, not sever these Ethereal cables knit with love: Sweet influences of the mind Immortal as the Pleiades. [12] FUNDAMENTALS Counter to Mother Nature s course Task not the heart, nor cudgel brain Genial propensity to quell; Thou lt have thy labor for thy pain: Inevitable thy remorse, O sire of Richard Feverel! His basic principle thus flows When set to music; but to those Who treat the soul as a machine, Small reason in the rime is seen. Their schools and systems, all and some, Seem founded on the axiom That gear of clock-work can direct The engine of the intellect. They deem, like alchemists of old, To find in their retorts the gold, Blind to the true transmuting stone, Only to Nature s bantlings known. The spirit bloweth and is still: Come, harness it to turn our mill! [13] THE HAPPY TEACHER No teacher, but mechanic tool, Who, when the angel moves aright The waters of Bethesda s pool, Would thermograph them by some rule Of Reaumur or Fahrenheit. Our happy Guide, of Socrates Athletic school, distrusts degrees. > Why dub the graduated ass Whose ne plus ultra is to pass, Honorificabilitudinitas ? O runner, fling aside the crutch! Is his monition; overmuch Our Capuan schools abound in aids, Diplomas, titles, badges, grades: Why titillate with bait so slight The hungry edge of appetite? Why tempt the torpid? Fat of rib Is fat of wit: shut up the crib! When from the mint the gold of Burns, FRIPPERY Crisp with the guinea-stamp, returns, The gold s the gold, we understand, Yet how the better for the brand? When did promotion come to knowledge From furbelows an 1 ounce at college? Amid the courtiers glittering Stood rusty Franklin less a king? To boys leave bagatelles! Pray, what Avail d the doctor s hood to Watt? If, pamper d like an Oxford don, The cause that made him lean forgone, And dubb d D. D., how more divine Had been the Poet Florentine? Shall starry Galileo trail Initials like the comet s tail? What proud abbreviation beats In splendor the curt name of Keats? How choicelier had Horace writ Could he have sign d his odes D. Litt ? And what diploma, pray, invent For Master William Shakespeare, Gent. ? [15] THE HAPPY TEACHER Commensals of the Table Round, Careless they sit about the board With bread of angels whitely spread, Churl, Seneschal, and Knight and Lord; Invisibly the best is crown d: Where Arthur sits, there is the head. Ah! wouldst thou yeoman service do In that Republic where the great, Through strength in large endeavor spent, Achieve the Freedom of the State, Put childish things away, pursue "The things that are more excel lent." No flowery phraser is our hero, Like Seneca (they say) to Nero; Teaches to be a self -commander, As Aristotle, Alexander. [16] MANHOOD He suckles (for the teacher good Begins at least with babyhood! ) With milk of humankindness Byron; And, like Thessalians coach d by Chiron (That pedagogue quadrupedantic), His young barbarians grow less frantic, Their college yells and track events Well intersperst with wit and sense; While football stars, those padded giants, To letters condescend, and science. Unbought, unmortgaged, unsubdued To the commercial age s mood, He nourishes ambition higher Than that of Carthage and of Tyre; Nor presbyter nor pontiff he In temple of Publicity; Withholds from king of street and pit The tax that pays the hypocrite; Impracticable to refuse To truck and trim for revenues; [17] THE HAPPY TEACHER And setting little store by knowledge Of arts to advertise his college. Seldom his heart upon his sleeve He wears: not careful to relieve That organ of its perilous stuff By cuppings, innocent enough, Of frequent, brief communication To Athenaeum or The Nation, As who should say, "The deuce is in t Unless I air myself in print! " Leaves unperturb d the spirits vext That squeak and gibber through the text Shakespearean, such matters nice Best left to Furness, Wright, and Dyce. Why prod our precious square of sense, Not senselesse of the bob, from thence To shed upon confusion still No light, but darkness visible? "Let bends adornings stand," he cries, [18] "THE BRAN OF SCHOLARSHIP" "An arm- gaunt steed, runaway es eyes, To his owne scandle, be it so; Woo t drinke up Esill? Goodness, no! Who rashly hawk from handsaw plucks Gets finger-bitten: crux is crux." "Ah! hold not to the hungry lip For bread the bran of scholarship, Nor to the thirsty spirit thus Commend the cup of Tantalus, And out upon those doctors who What wiser Shakespeare does, undo! * Budge doctors of the stoic fur, Who with their paltry glosses blur The authentic writing on the wall, The soul s fair parchment so bescrawl With futile warrant, fool s behest, That scripture turns to palimpsest. And indignation fires the verse When bungling meddlers, learning s curse, [19] THE HAPPY TEACHER Refashion youth s diviner feature In the smug image of the teacher. " A stronger breath was in that strain, But now I pluck the string again, Recalling Milton s patience scanty With wolves within the fold, how Dante Turn d upside down the pride of place Of Clement and of Boniface. Those Pastors "Stop! " the Goddess cried, "Thy wit to madness is allied! Why shouldst thou fare so far afield? Does not the time example yield? The elder poets why invoke To lift our spiritual yoke? Sir Philip put the case aright: Fool, look within thy heart and write! And wouldst thou be a satirist Of prejudices that persist [20] DISCOMMODITY OF SATIRE In education, dying hard, Presume not to escape unscarr d. Shalt see the friend become the foe; Thy fame a football, to and fro Bandied; no longer free to live The scholar s life contemplative, Thou must exchange for rancorous strife The sweet amenities of life, And in the arena force perforce Must battle amid bawlings hoarse; Perchance beneath calumnious stain Must die, best effort spent in vain, For when was ever satire found To rail the seal from off the bond? Dost thou conceit thee to be steel d To bear the brunt of such a field? Friend, let me whisper to thee that Thou rt not the bard to bell the cat, For none has rim d me such an opus Since Chaucer stinted of Sir Thopas: [21] THE HAPPY TEACHER False cadences and meter cramp, Allusion smelling of the lamp: Thy Muse should be a stocking blue! Now, as I point the path, pursue. * Then to my song the Goddess lent Numbers and nobler argument: [22 n WHO is the Happy Teacher one would choose To mould the plastic mind? began the Muse. One first, to speak with Bacon, who, a brave Iconoclast of idols of the cave, Well knows the mind s insidious perils, knows To front undauntedly the inward foes; Who, since the young his prime attention claim, To make himself mature directs his aim; WTien most his commerce is with chil dren, then Efficient most among his fellow-men; Scornful of badges, decorations, toys [23] THE HAPPY TEACHER That prove men oft more puerile than boys; And smiling at each shibboleth and fad That show again much learning maketh mad. Wide as his commerce with his fellows, so World-wide his intercourse with those who know, Sages and bards of many lands: these three For choice, Greece, England, Italy; The calm free soul of Goethe; and in France Montaigne, who smiles away intolerance; Nor schooling mean at home here had he won From Franklin, Hawthorne, Whitman, Emerson. Happily born to manners, though but rude, [24] "THE HARVEST OF A QUIET EYE" Sincere, he nourishes in solitude Instincts undreamt of in our social state Which civilizes but to enervate. Deep in the wilderness he steels his nerve The wild-brook s temper, strenuous to serve At call. Forsaking academic ease Reads vagrantly in Nature s libraries, A wandering scholar; from the evening sky Reaping "the harvest of a quiet eye. * Surprising beauty finds an open door Into his senses, custom-blunt before; And with the quicken d vision of the brain, Genius beholds within the forest-fane Wing d acolytes with ministry divine Light UD the candelabra of the pine. What though courageous, yet no man of blood, [25] THE HAPPY TEACHER He murders not the natives of the wood, Begrudging to no life beneath the sun Its harmless day: a fowler without gun, A fisher innocent of rod and hook, Friends with the citizens of bush and brook. From close communion with the forest clan Return d, he better serves his fellow-man; Imbues the young whom he instructs to bless, With holy pity, tender thoughtfulness: With reverence they look to him, and love, As having bread to eat they know not of. That art itself is nature, Shakespeare, who Deriv d his sovran art from Nature, knew. And so by Nature tutor d and by Art, Our Master, catholic in taste and heart, [26] "THE ART ITSELF IS NATURE" Admires the virtue of the Greek no less Perchance, than Mediaeval holiness; A fugue of Bach, the forest wind or bird, Sad Beethoven, and singing river, heard With equal passion; truth and beauty he Sees blent in exquisite economy; Sees oak and obelisk and painted cliff All historied with speaking hieroglyph; Cell, feeler, hoof, claw, cunning hand en- scroll The legend beautiful that ends in soul. Such readings prompt his genius to stir Receptive hearts, a large interpreter Of letters, gathering from brae and brook Some pregnant comment bearing on the book, The book, notation of the music heard First from the mother s tender lip, the Word: The word, a document wherein survives [27] THE HAPPY TEACHER The record of a myriad myriad lives; The word, the true foundation of the school, Logician s and philosopher s sole tool, The matrix of the idea, which, having not, We fail to level with the Hottentot: If there be any yet conceited wise In their own generation, who despise The word, be they to alien tongue con- fin d, To learn the weakness of the wordless mind I The word, the pigment of the poet s art, The word, that speaks the fulness of the heart, The winged word, like arrow to the goal, Stinging to action the lethargic soul, The current word, the idiom of the street, The coin of quick exchange with all we meet; [28] "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS" The fitting word, high culture s final test; The pungent word of graphic tale and jest, The flavoring lemon in the punch of wit, So apt, and yet so easy not to hit! But why should we, inheriting the tongue That Lincoln spake, the word that Shel ley sung, The word that out of Milton s mintage sprang, Debase the coinage with the dross of slang, Whose pinchbeck lustre all is second hand, Not coin but counters, current with the band Of slavish spirits, to those chains resign d That cramp the imperial stature of the mind! [29] THE HAPPY TEACHER I sing the word beginning once with God, Milestone of backward road from man to clod, The word " whose fountain who shall tell?" and whence Pours Homer s ample flood of eloquence; The ballad word which, sung by crowder blind, Thrill d like a trumpet noble Sidney s mind; The homely word of Paston Letters old, Wherein men pray, blaspheme, make love, and scold, Limning the features, as in sculpture rude, That witness to our common brother hood; The liquid word whose music Chaucer woke In that vernacular of English folk; [30] I SING THE WORD" The living word, redeeming still from death "The spacious times of great Elizabeth": Wipe but the dust from parchment and from roll, The word leaps forth to life, a thing of soul, Working such wonders as, when rust and damp Were rubb d away, the Genius of the Lamp. Hail then the word: the talisman, the key, Divining wand and open sesame, Blood pulsing through one mental lin eage, Seal of one plastic spirit s heritage! The word, the fossil dead? Nay, these outlive Organic life, of lease so fugitive: [31] THE HAPPY TEACHER And as from fossil teeth, forgot of Time, For Cuvier woke the monsters of the prime, Awakes, at runic HempPs charm, the tongue The Etrurian shades forgot when Time was young. Thus Nature, Wisdom, Poetry combine In words to touch the soul to issues fine. And as perspective art the landscape shows, The Master s pencil round the lesson throws Color, relief of distance, atmosphere. His virtuous euphrasy can purge and clear The inner vision for effect and cause; He points Imagination s lens, and draws [32] THE PLAY-HOUSE Into concernment close the past, the far: Turn but the glass, the near becomes a start The customary grows miraculous, While Plutarch s heroes eat and drink with us. A mighty Play-House is the Universe Wherein we all our little parts rehearse: For footlights, planets, suns the chan deliers; The overture, the music of the spheres; The curtain is the all-concealing night: It rises, and the scene is infinite; Actors, spectators we; intrigues unfold Significant; we in the Deed behold A lineage unsubjected to the tomb Stretch out, like Banquo s, to the crack of doom; Incident, burgeoning from incident, Into the vast economy is blent; [33] THE HAPPY TEACHER The villain foils the hero, and the theme Draws to a climax; is the Author s scheme Comic or tragical? We can but know The tragic moment of our present woe, Dimly forebode some dread catastrophe; Till, pity and terror purging us, we see Perchance with eye prophetic; hear the chime Heralding from the horologe the Time Foretold by seer and poet: life no more An aimless struggle in the dark; no war, No fetters but for selfishness; with awe Hear proclamation of the reign of Law, Deeming we faintly hear from far above The golden wedding-bells of Law and Love. So seeing, hearing, would he not, our Youth, "Live resolute in wholeness, beauty, truth"? [34] KATHARSIS And in what after-apathy could choose A scene less haloed with ideal hues? So let each see and live, in view of All Until the Author lets the curtain fall! [35] m SHE paus d, and holding forth the lyre, Bended her flashing eye on mine. "Dear Muse, far from thee to require My song to follow: more condign Were punishment on me for this, Than fell on blinded Thamyris! " So pray d I. "When thy voice outspake That prophecy, my heart was stirr d; Do thou again the chords awake, Let mellower music now be heard. Against the night that glooms the Pole Auroral banners are unfurl d: Fixt be the waverings, my soul Stares blankly on the changing world. The curtain of the coming age Be parted for a moment! Purge The inward eye to view a stage Where Love shall be the dramaturge. [36] Reeling and dizzy here below A starless sky, we look above For light in vain: how can we know That Law shall ever mate with Love? With microscope we dimly scan One universe, with telescope The other, spying out for man What satisfying grounds of hope? For man here, like the burrowing mole With level aims and inchlong views, What vista of the mighty whole May be without the heavenly Muse? Tell, is the Happy Teacher blind To toil for human betterment? For Hope what warrant may he find?" To my petition gave consent The Goddess, with a kindly smile: And though the rime indignant rang With hoarse invective for awhile, Yet sweetlier afterward she sang: [37] IV "O BREASTS, where are ye, of all life the source?" Thus, with poor Faust, while Trade pur sues her course, I hear the unborn generations groan, Who, crying out for bread, receive a stone. No longer underneath the forest thatch Flow waters (but the smoker has his match! ); A sewer in the shrunken river s bed Festers (what then? the hungry press is fed: I venture no allusion, speaking thus, Comparison would be malodorous), Or else the torrent, mocking human toil, Sweeps to the sea the harvest and the soil. [38] TREASON TO POSTERITY Has Earth no vengeance, have the Heav ens no curse For him who by destruction fills his purse? Let actuaries calculate the worth Of him who, dying, poorer leaves the earth: Carve the hard face, that coming man may see The cruel features of his enemy! Hark! by the noble soul distinctly heard, Out of those marble lips escapes the Word That sacrifice of self for those unborn Is worship which the gods will never scorn. Who makes the world his oyster, leaves it dead And done with, soon as ever he has fed, Who sucks the juice and chucks away the shell, Should find no fellowship except in Hell [39] THE HAPPY TEACHER Where Dante found the traitors winter ing, Congenial spirits for the Lumber King. Ofttimes our Master, haunted by the theme Of our unnatural imsocial scheme, With corded brow forwent his wonted cheer, Foreboding Revolution drawing near: Cast to the melting-pot in vision saw The time-worn brazen tablets of the law; Religion s reverend landmarks overborne; The metes and bounds of mine and thine uptorn; Fai*- arts of man s long, long endeavor, melt In one black hell-broth. This, he deeply felt, Is fault of those who throng the drawing- room THE MELTING-POT" Of Empress Grundy, and applaud her doom On all who dare to think; the fault of those Who batten upon superstition, foes Of all experiment; of those who exalt Their fortunes upon ruin d hopes; the fault Of great industrial captains, skill d to roll Up dividends by scaling down the soul; Of statesmen strenuous to make the most Of public taste for moral tea and toast; Of Aarons with lawn sleeves wherein to laugh When bows the world before the Golden Calf; Of priests who point the penitent rich a road Around the Needle s Eye, the poor a code THE HAPPY TEACHER Of iron, rubricated Thou Shalt Not: These fan the flame beneath the melting- pot! Beyond such cataclysm, by faith he saw Freedom arisen, born of Inward Law, It is unlawful, bard and prophet say, That he who knows, should other law obey! An age draws on of equal chance for all, Knowledge and gentle manners general, When Science lengthens life, a peaceful death The lot of every being drawing breath, The sting of death gone with the ghost of sin; Few courts of law, because the law within Prescribes the golden rule of equal rights, And Freedom quells destructive appe tites; In wiser mating man and woman blent A GLIMPSE OF THE FUTURE Harmonious like voice and instrument; Age when emancipated womankind No more a serpent in the garden find, No angel brandishing a sword of fire Above the Paradise of Heart s Desire; When common purposes, affection high Alone shall consecrate the nuptial tie; And parenthood shall know but one dis grace, To breed a child not bettering the race. Such vision through the gate of horn he saw, Exulting in the true Utopia. " What, " some will ask, "what of the life to come?" He, like the kings of modern thought is dumb, Never affirming what he cannot know, Still less denying, for he hopes it so. To theologic warfare calls a truce, THE HAPPY TEACHER A different Bannockburn demands its Bruce, Blares forth to us another trumpet-call; Pn harder quest must go Sir Percival, ; By consecration to the race attest He guards the Holy Grail within his breast. No follower and no flatterer of the crowd, Not foremost in the synagogue is bow d Our Teacher, giving alms unseen of men, Shouts not upon the housetop his Amen! Yet when Hosannah to the Lord on High, With voice of many waters people cry, Than he, none feels the common impulse more: But, praying, goes within, and shuts the door. Deep in the heart he keeps a Holy Shrine: There looks he, not in vain, for the Di vine. [44] ENTHEOS As one who owns a little plot of ground, Owns underneath as far as drill can sound, And downward howsoever far he go, Comes on fresh veins upwelling from be low, While farther down, conceal d from hu man sight, Are springs of power and riches infinite: Thus underneath our little minds we hold, Deep under deep, resources manifold, And man (all men, beneath their surface selves) Antaeus-like, grows stronger as he delves; If any one a deeper stratum tap, We term him Genius; could you mine and sap And tunnel till the deep of deeps you trod, What then? You syllable sublimely, God! Thence, in the solitude, an effluence U5] THE HAPPY TEACHER Streams up from fountains far beneath the sense, Monitions, from the roots of Being sent, Of issues growing to Divine Event, Impermanence becoming permanent. [46] SUCH was the gospel, the good news Prophetical that sang the Muse; While yet the chords were sounding on, I lookt, and lo! the Muse was gone. So left, I cannot fitly word The mood whereto my heart was stirred; For who am I that I take up The lyre the Heavenly Muse let drop? No harmony could I command, The strings would snap beneath my hand. Wanting the Muse, these verses show it, One may be rimer, never Poet; Nor do the wise the proverb scorn That poets are not made, but born; Nor yet that other commonplace, How bards their birthright oft disgrace! [47] THE HAPPY TEACHER To voices strange the Goddess grants The burden of her utterance: Half -frenzied voices, Blake or Smart, Their lucid madness passing art; Weak Coleridge or weak Rousseau; Sick Heine, Leopardi, Poe; Decadent Villon or Verlaine; Witness wild Byron s wondering strain, "And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?" Her burden trembling in his voice, The saddest poet may rejoice; But when the Muse has passed along, The sweetest harp is left unstrung. So Peter, James, and John of yore Saw God transfigured: fishermen Poor, humble, had they been before, And after seem d the like again; Beheld no more the raiment bright That in such hour the Master wore, U8] PALINODE Heard talking with him on the height Moses, Elijah, nevermore: But oh! the wonder and the awe Of what that once they heard and saw! Before the wonder cease to thrill (Hark to the cadence sounding still! ) Friends, pardon, while in minor mode, The rimer hums his Palinode. Alas! it is the Poet s shame That what he dream d, he ne er be came. "I see, approve the good, the worse I follow, " So the famous verse Doth moralize Medea s woes; And so our Portia, but in prose, "Were it as easy do the best As know it, " wherefore quote the rest? A modern instance, what we knew And lov d, we mostly fail d to do. A truant, I in Nature s school [49] THE HAPPY TEACHER Made no exception to the rule That thought no master-key to act is, Nor precept magnet to right practise; Could not through all my course con trol The needle wavering from the Pole; Unlike the Priest who, poets say, "Allur d to Heaven and led the way! " To melancholy thought a truce! The Poet finds a better use In Parable, and finer grace. Recall the Athenian torch-race, The race of the lampadephore: The start was from the fire-god s door; The goal, Acropolis; the night Moonless; the runners took their light From the Promethean altar: then Between the craning files of men, Along the glittering portico (But softly, softly here, because [50] LAMPADEPHORIA Of certain whiffs and gusty flaws! ), Through street, through Agora they go Racing, intent to keep the torch Symbolic, burning to the last; And while the foremost nears the hill, The hindmost, not the least in skill, Is striding by the Painted Porch, The flame defending with the finger, And curbs himself, appears to linger Reluctant, lest he run too fast: For, should the cresset, flickering dim, Be puft out by a counterblast, Runner, however fleet of limb, Halts, Nemesis o ertaking him! A band of seven, avoiding this, Run up the steep Acropolis, Steadily mounting high and higher; The Propylaea reflect the fire Until the polisht statues bright [51] THE HAPPY TEACHER Gleam out like specters through the night. "Ah! could one name the sevenfold crew! " "Look! now there are but five in view!" The others? ask the treacherous wind! "Now four, now three, and now but two!" But look again! One far behind Who crept by wall, and nurst his breath, Safeguarding still the flame from death, Now darts from hiding, grasps the chance, Gains on the foremost, who (perchance Already clutching for the meed Which not so lightly Nike grants! ) Was flagging when supreme the need To run, to run! and with a burst Of speed, behold, the last, now first, [52] "THAT S FOR REMEMBRANCE" Flashes along with lamp not dull, Enters the Gateway beautiful, And stands: to him award the crown. Moral? What boot to write it down? The race not always to the swift! To him who guards of gifts the gift, The fire, the fire Promethean The pitying Titan flung to man, The sacred torch, the mystic sign Of that within we call divine, Until the shining goal is won, To him the guerdon be, "Well done! " Oh! could some brave lampadephore Of tougher sinew, stouter soul, Swift flaming forward where I swerv d, Have borne my cresset to the goal, Amid the paean s wild uproar What praise had such as I deserv d? [58] THE HAPPY TEACHER Few trace the record dim beneath The statue of the victor set, Where on the very plinth they write The name of one men best forget, Who, though the winner of no wreath, Once held the sacred torch alight. Explicit [54] YC \FA23 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY