8 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES r\ LAWRENCEVILLE VERSE A Collection of Verse by Boys of the Lawrenceville School Edited with an Introduction by John C. Cooper, Jr., L. 1905 LAWRENCEVILLE, NEW JERSEY 1910 Printed at Princeton University Press Princeton, N. J. This Collection is Most Respectfully Dedicated to DR. SIMON J. MCPHERSON, Head Master of the Lawrenceville School. 6 INTRODUCTION. Poetry is one of the casual arts. It flourishes where least expected; it is a continual source of surprise to the logician who would regulate the universe by fixed rules. Akin to Poetry is what we are pleased to call Verse. On the printed page Poetry and Verse appear in the same form. We recognize almost intuitively, however, the fact that they are not one and the same, that they differ in tone, in inspiration, in method of thought. Verse is always the less pretentious of the two. It does not aspire toward the heights that Poetry must reach to be really good. Though Verse differs in this respect from Poetry, it shares with it the characteristic first mentioned above, unexpectedness. It is this characteristic which we hope will be found the chief merit of this collection of Lawrenceville Verse, especially in the minds of those personally unacquainted with any of the great American preparatory schools. To the average person the American school-boy is an irresponsible animal, capable of no very serious endeavor beyond the athletic field, and especially unlikely to suffer from so serious an attack of authorship as to aspire to Verse. We hope that as far as Lawrenceville at least is concerned, this book may to some extent dispel the illusion. The Verse included in this collection is all the product of Lawrenceville boys of the last fifteen years. In the fall of 1895 Mr. Owen Johnson of the class of 1895, who was spending a year in graduate study, founded the ' 'Lawrenceville Literary Magazine" ; and it is from the numbers of this publication that the Verse in this book has been selected. The date that accompanies each piece indicates the time of its original pub lication in the "Lit". No attempt has been made to classify the pieces by subject matter or other wise; chronological arrangement seemed prefer able. It has been the endeavor of the editor to publish not only the best of the Verse, but also the most representative. For this reason all of the Class Odes are included in the volume. Some pieces have been retained purely for their subject matter, some for their technical clever ness, some for a chance expression more than usually pleasing, but the majority for the very simple reason that they are good Verse. The appreciative notice of the reader is called to the remarkable variety in themes as well as forms of treatment, and to the degree to which current events in the larger world have been reflected in the interest of the boy-poets represented here. The result we feel is entirely worth while. This is the year of our Centennial at Lawrence- ville, a time when every alumnus should feel proud of his School. We trust that in this little book may be found not only a worthy souvenir of the Centennial, but also evidence of the posi tion that Lawrenceville has taken and will take in the intellectual life of our country. We wish to take this opportunity to thank Mr. T. D. Swift for the use of his files of the "Lit", and Mr. D. V. Thompson and Mr. C. B. Newton for their very kind advice in the preparation of this collection. June, 1910. THE EDITOR. SUGGESTIONS FROM OVID. Ere the years like flowing water Pass and glide away, Ere the freshness of life's morning Showeth youth's decay, While the years are young around thee, Then thou mayest play. For thou never canst recall what has passed And a die badly thrown Is a chance ever gone, For thine own is alone what thou hast. The opportunities of life swept by, Indifferent there thou liest like a laggard still. Thou wert content to view the realms on high, And stand forever at the bottom of the hill. But when some kindly guide Advised thee of the way, Thou turnedst soon aside By worldly joys belied, And peevishly replied, "At some still later day." In sloth fulness, in luxury, in ease, In folly passedst thou the seasons of thy youth ; Thine only object was thyself to please The lowest aim and motive of man's life, in truth. By various paths thou mightst have scaled the height, And rested now at ease in all prosperity. Then thy fair name encircled by pure light Would have shown brightly down through all posterity. And when some aged year Shall count thee with her dead, And life's sad end draw near, Review with bitter tear, Look back 'mid doubt and fear, Thou'lt dare not look ahead. RICHARD ASHLEY RICE, 1896. November, 1895. THE OLD YEAR. A year of time ! What a reflectf ul phrase To us, reminded of our numbered years ! Does it recall another gone amiss ? A fruitless fight? Our courage swept in tears? Or, are we glad to look behind and see The rugged path of duty nobly trod ? The way oft marred with single combat scars, But each one further onward nearer God! EDWARD CHASE DOUGLAS, 1896. January, 1896. 10 AN EPILOGUE FROM HORACE. A grand memorial I've proudly raised, And for myself a monument I've built, More durable than bronze, and higher far Than the vast masses of the pyramids ; A fame that sinks not in the surging sea But stands serenely 'mid the raging storm ; A name untarnished in the span of years And unaffected by the flight of time. 'Tis not my destiny unknown to die, Nor from men's minds entirely pass away ; The greater part of me shall ever live, And bear me record through all History. With every year in which the great high priest, Attended by a vestal virgin pure, Ascends the temple steps to sacrifice, And calls on Jove to bless the Roman realm, My glory will continue to increase. Where'er a rolling river runs to sea Or Daunus, scant of water, rules his land, There long shall I remembered be, as one, Who from a humble birthright rose to claim The world's attention as the first who tuned Italia's fabled lyre to Grecian strain. Put on thy well-earned laurels now, my Muse, And gracious crown me with the Delphic wreath, Apollo's tribute to his worthy bard. RICHARD ASHLEY RICE, 1896. February, 1896. ii ON A GRAY DAY. How now doth Melancholy haunt the land, And hide behind her weeping shroud the sight Of dying day ! Behold her gloomy hand Hath cast abroad the veil of coming night. How stern the clouds o'erhang the restless mam, As oft Remorse o'er conscience-troubled sleep. How silent lies the mead through veering rain! All earth doth mourn that Heaven should so weep. OWEN JOHNSON, 1895. April, 1896. THE DAY. Now comes the day, with maiden blushes coy, And dimpled lips, to break the charmed sleep Of Nature's dreaming. From his waking joy In fickle mood she flies to azure deep, And chides his love with haughty state on high. Or else, from fleecy veil she peeps askance At him. At eve, relenting with a sigh, She turns and answers him in one fond glance. OWEN JOHNSON, 1895. April, 1896. 12 THE LAND OF SLEEP. (Ovid) Near the Cimmerian land is found Within a mountain deep, A hidden cave, the house and home Of sloth-producing sleep. / No crested cock there greets the dawn, Nor with unwelcome noise Do watchful dogs and wary geese Disturb one's dreamy joys. No beast, no flock, no wind-tossed tree, Nor human voice is there, To murmur harshly through the haze That fills the drowsy air. Dumb stillness occupies the place, And far from ray of sun, The river Lethe, 'neath a rock Has here its course begun. It ripples softly o'er smooth stones, And ere it onward creep, It whispers low a welcoming To the dull god of sleep. Of poppies and all other herbs Near by, there is no dearth; From their rich juice Nox gathers sleep And thus bedews the earth. No clumsy portal there to creak, No heavy hinge to grate, No door is there in all the place, Nor guardsman at the gate. Full in the midst of the dim cave An ebon couch is placed, All downy, dark, and raised on high, And with a rich robe graced. There lies the lazy god himself, His languid limbs relaxed, With empty dreams and seeming shapes His mind but lightly taxed. These round him stand, a spectre horde, Unnumbered as the grain In harvest field, or leaves in wood, Or sand beside the main. EDWARD CHASE DOUGLAS, 1896. May, 1896. '96 CLASS ODE. Thou God of might and mercy, Whose truth shall ever stand, The blessings of Whose bounty Are seen on every hand, To Thee we here assembled Present our parting praise For all the friends and friendships That crown these happy days. And we now fain would render Our thanks for lessons gained, For unforeseen awakenings And heights through work attained For scenes that memory brighten, For battles fought within These now are past; before us Are others to begin. Each heart that has endeavoured Thy holy will to please, Would humbly lay before Thee Its youthful victories, And we would boldly venture A blessed boon to claim, That for Thy glory ever May '96 win fame. When these dear ties are sundered, O may our record still Throughout our grand hereafter Ennoble Lawrenceville ! And though wide-scattered fortunes Be ours by destiny, In love for Alma Mater, May we united be ! WORDS AND MUSIC BY EDWARD CHASE DOUGLAS, 1896. July, 1896. OCTOBER The waves broke cold on the silent beach, White sands stretched far in endless reach. Then from the long green swells there rose A dripping sunlit head. And others quickly came beside. "Now safely here we may abide, The summer queens are gone away, We're sovereigns in our realm to-day, O Joy !" the mermaid said. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. October, 1896. 16 EGYPTIAN WAR SONG. Sebek Hetep rides in his brazen car, With foot behind, and horse before ; And the trumpet peals, and the chariot wheels Thunder the joyous music of war. And in his wake are stretched grim and cold The dead whom the under-world doth hold. Sebek Hetep rides in his brazen car, With his host behind, and the foe before; And with marshal tread and with standards spread, His army sweeps on as in days of yore. And in his wake are stretched grim and cold The dead whom the under-world doth hold. Sebek Hetep rides in his brazen car, With his foes behind and confusion before; And the terrified shout of panic and rout Is borne to his ears in a muffled roar. And in his wake are stretched grim and cold The dead whom the under-world doth hold. Sebek Hetep rides in his brazen car, To the Palace of Death on the farther shore; And from out of the gloom reach fingers of doom, Of them who carried his arms of yore. And in his wake are stretched grim and cold The dead whom the under- world doth hold. STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN, 1897. November, 1896. NOVEMBER. Bound with a crown of amber haze, With autumn leaves in giddy maze, November comes on whirring wing, With frosts that blast, and winds that sting But, ah ! Soon will the spring be here With choiring birds, and budding cheer. Let's not, then, weep o'er fallen leaves, But think of all the bursting sheaves Of happiness, and sunny skies, With which bright June delights our eyes. DONALD DEWITT, i November, 1896. 18 A MISSHOT. Twas late upon a summer's night, That sleepy Cupid winged his flight, Two arrows in his quiver left, Two hearts remained that day uncleft. A maid and I sat very near, He viewed us with a drowsy leer ; Then forth he drew his trusty bow And aimed his shaft full sure and slow. I felt it pierce my trembling heart, And then he drew the other dart. This time his glance was not so true; Alas ! the second struck me too. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. November, 1896. AGE. A curse to age, that final page Of weary life, The silent gloom of nearing doom, With shadows rife. The mortal wreck, scarce held in check From Death's grim strand; Each passing wave moans of the grave, On yonder sand. When friend and kin, long since have been But smouldering dust; We only stay out life's dull play, Because we must. Eternal night with whose dark might, We may not cope: Only afar beams bright the star Of Christian hope. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. February, 1897. 20 THE MONK. The solemn tribute of monastic chimes Proclaims the Sovereignty of night; The shadows deepen round the site Where cloisters stood in ancient times And issued forth the dreaded blight That reached to earth's remotest climes. A monk, whose wasted form and pallid face Conceal the youth his years imply, Regards the grandeur of the sky And beauty of a world too base For saints in it to live and die And mingle with its sordid race. His heart was burdened with a vague regret, A longing deep but not defined Of things renounced in happier mind And deeds wrought out beyond the let Of Papist oaths and vows that bind A man to place his soul in debt. Now darkness reigns o'er all the country side, The stars have marshalled their array, And brooding silence seems to chide The thoughtless tumult of the day. 'Tis evening, whence no morn shall rise To light a hope in hermit's eyes. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. March, 1897. 21 A PARABLE. One day a juggler of the Orient, With practiced eye and skilled, unerring hand, Girt by a crowd of idle passers by, Displayed his craft upon the burning sand. A flashing blade above his forehead tossed, Upheld with gleaming point a spinning plate, Whose dizzy wheels, broken by frequent dips, Foretold catastrophe, if checked too late. But even as it tottered at its worst, Threat'ning an early and inglorious fall, Some kindly fortune seemed to enter in And save it, to the wonderment of all. Not once, nor twice, nor thrice, but many times Did friendly fate seem thus to interpose, Until their wonder yielded place to thought, And in their minds the dawning truth arose. The seeming slips and errors were but feigned, Each one subservient to the juggler's will; And each quick rescue from destruction, was But added proof of his consummate skill. The crowd applauded, and an aged man, With flowing beard, and high, majestic mien, Spoke to his little son, who, by his side, Wide-eyed with wonder gazed upon the scene. 22 "Attend, my son, unto thy father's words. To him whose eye Wisdom permits to thread The endless maze of all-pervading Truth, A mighty lesson here lies open spread. "The juggler is but Allah, and the plate The lives and destinies of men below, Coursing through time for evil or for good, For glory or disgrace, for weal or woe. And like yon disc, that spinneth now so true, So may our lives, guided by Allah's hand, Soar to ambition's highest pinnacle, Or, tott'ring, crash in ruin to the sand. "Let this, then, be our motto. If in life Falling, His power can save us from things worse, Rising, His hand can lift us higher yet, The Wonder-worker of the Universe!" LYTTLETON Fox, April, 1897. '97 ODE. Time's shadows move along the sand, Life's tide rolls out to sea, And as we gather on the strand, We raise our hymn to Thee, To Thee, our God and Counsellor, Who, ever at our side, Past many a threatening breaker's roar Hast been our patient guide. The ships are drawn along the shore, With wide-spread, swelling sails, To take their outward way once more Into life's stormy gales. The little band that has so long Been one in brotherhood, Breaks up to join the countless throng That sail the boundless flood. Full many a sunny day has flown Beneath this pleasant sky, The happy hours that we have known Have passed too swiftly by. But when the storm clouds hide the heaven Though land be lost to view, Let every son of Ninety-Seven To her fair name be true. 24 And as our parting hymn we raise Whilst we are still a class, And give to God our humble praise For bounties in the past. We breath a fervent prayer that He May guide us in our quest, And bear us safe o'er stormy sea, Into the golden West. STEPHEN FRENCH W T HITMAN, 1897. June, 1897. MY SHIP. I stood on the shore of the great, deep sea, And its waters were rolling and singing to me A tale of a vessel, far out toward the West, Where the foam was tossing in wild unrest. A vessel weighed down with treasure and gold, A vessel freighted with wealth untold, A vessel of love, of gladness, of mirth, A barque bearing all the rich blessings of earth. The voice of the mighty sea died away, And I, with trembling, cried out: "Pray, Is this great ship that sails the sea, Is this fair merchantman bound for me?" And straightway, the answer soft and sweet, With the wash of the waves, from out the deep, Was borne to my ears in a murmur : "Yea, This ship of thine will come in some day." Blow freshly, blow strongly, ye west winds ; waft Quickly to me my fairy craft. Bring it in safety and beauty to me My phantom ship from over the sea ! DONALD DEWITT, 1899. October, 1897. 26 CONSTANCY. There's a small wee town on the English coast, But it's all the world to me, For there on the sands at the turn of the tide A lass looks out to sea. The mermaids laugh on the snowy crests, And wave me toward the shore ; I hear the sound of a silver voice That other men would draw. But a face returns that scans the main, The fairest that man can know ; In mind I list to a sweeter tone Than from siren lips may flow. In wrathful amaze that I steer away, They call from the perilous lee, And call yet again, for they never have heard Of the lass that stands by the sea. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. October, 1897. 27 LOST: A FRIEND. I met a girl oh ! long ago And ere I'd known her many days I dreamed, and now I know 'twas so, That veiled betwen her words and smiles There shone a warmer nature's glow. I found a friend not tried and true But fluttering just within my grasp. I strove by every art I knew To weld that friendship firm and fast, That I might claim it as my due. I lost a friend. Not hers the blame; To me a helping hand she'd given, When for the other I made claim And lost the first. For, as she said, She sought a friend and not a flame. GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN, i November, 1897. THE DEEPER NIGHT. ' ; !;i I ' , 'I I -" \ ' ' ; ; .. Two days on the deep, blue sea, Full two days out were we ; And all that time besides the rai) There stood a man. His face was pale, And ne'er looked he to east or west, But dropped his chin upon his breast, His eyes upon the sea The rippling, laughing sea. : .. X] ...'.-. II. I . - v I ' The playful waters lave, With many a spraying wave, The cold, rough sides of the dark old boat, And reach and cling to her rusty coat, As down they call to their depths so drear, The lone man, standing half in fear Above that easy grave, With none to see or save. III. The day with fading light In terror takes her flight; Dark clouds with threatening woe, Wild winds with moanings low, Roam o'er the seething, swirling tide ; And silently the ship beside Into the deeper night He slips from Heaven's sight. GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN, 1898. November, 1897. COME! HO FOR A BUMPER . AND HO FOR A SONG! Come ! Ho for a bumper and Ho for a song, And let us be merry and free, For Christmas and joy have come over the land, And jolly good fellows are we. ' "^. Then draw up your chairs by the blazing hearth And join in a toast with me To old Father Time who brings Christmas around, For jolly good fellows are we. Midst fragrant curls of filmy smoke, Like wreaths of mist from the sea, We'll roar out our rollicking Christmas songs, For jolly good fellows are we. Then Ho for a bumper and Ho for a song, And let us be merry and free, For Christmas and joy have come over the land, And jolly good fellows are we. LYTTLETON Fox, i! December, 1897. THE DEPARTURE OF MARY STUART FROM FRANCE. ["As her ship sailed out to sea, the young queen, scarcely able to see through her tears, leaned on the bulwark, gazing at the receding shores as long as she was able." History of England.] Well may those sad forebodings rise in thee, Unhappy queen! Well may'st thou strain thine eye To catch a glimpse of France from o'er the sea, Before it fades forever from thy sight. II. Behind thee is the tomb of one well loved ; Before, the ghastly shade of Darnley lurks. Grim Bothwell then, by naught of good e'er moved, Casts his dark shadow thwart thy thorny path. III. The Scotch, men say, seem ever fierce and cold To one long used to Southern fire and warmth. Far different Scotland's glens and mountains bold To plain and fruitful fields of fading France. IV. And oft in English prison thou shall see, In fancy fond, this outlined coast of France; And long to burst the prison bars, and, free, To roam abroad once more, where'er thou wilt. HENRY AVER TRUE, 1898. December, 1897. GENIUS. No Genius ever dragged a silent life, Inglorious from the cradle to the grave, Apart from manly thought and manly strife Unmindful of the glory he should crave. No Cromwell, when he heard the stirring din That marks the raging conflict far away, Would damp the ardor of his heart within And live secluded from the wordly fray. No Milton, in a quiet rustic town, Would dwell secluded as the ages roll, And, heedless of Ambition's call, would drown The noblest inspirations of his soul. Oft from the humblest, lowliest ranks of men Some of the noblest heroes upward press, And reach the summit after toil and pain, Where glory waits to herald their success. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. December, 1897. 33 LE CHANSON DU TIREUR D'ARMES. I. The sun is low, mes camarades, Upon the vine -clad hills ; For us the Sun of life is high, For ours is Youth that cannot die, That e'er our hearts, through Time doth fly, With brimming laughter fills. ii. x True friends are we, mes camarades, As ever Time hath made ; Yet truest friend to all, say I, Is that which neath each hilt doth lie, The keen and pliant blade. . III. When drunken knave, mes camarades, Doth speak my lady's name, My plumed chapeau aside I dash, My hand darts to my silken sash And quick mon cher ami doth flash To wipe away the stain. IV. And then, pardieu! mes camarades, 'Tis "a la garde, Monsieur! Allans!" In glittering sheen arrayed, With lightning stroke my flashing blade By lunge and parry quickly made, Death for the knave's affront hath paid, That all his kind may fear ! 34 V. What say ye then, mes camaradesf What mortal friend have ye so true That he will ever, by thy side, Through good or ill, whate'er betide, Fight for thy honor and thy pride As mon ami will do? ..",'; .. : ;';. ; : vi. | '. ' .' ' ;; ;'." The sun is low, mes camarades; Ere it from sight doth fade, Quick! fill your flagons to the brim! A toast I'd have you drink to him Whose lustre nought but blood can dim, M on cher ami, my blade ! LYTTLETON Fox, i March, 1898. 35 A BALLAD OF THE ROAD. Wen by de dusty road de leaves fall deep, An' de lonely trees make cobwebs on de sky, Wen all de world is f reezin' off to sleep, An' ev'ry little flower wants to die, Wen by de icy brook de grass turns brown, An' de hedge-hog is a hidin on de sly, Wen Summer's dead, an' buried in de groun', Den ev'ry tramper t'inks he oughter die. Oh, shroud me in de shadow o' de moon, Wen de sun's cold an' de wind's a whistlin* high; In de snow, near de screechin' o' de loon Der's wer a weary bummer oughter lie. L'Envoi. De lonely, weary bummer o' de road 'E laughs an' e* tramples on a toad Den e' knows its goin' to rain 'Fore 'e takes de road again, Wen de rooster in de barn 'as crowed, An' de bummer is a joggin' on de road. GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN, i March, 1898. MAROONED. A year ago they sailed away; And yet 'twas only yesterday, They wound the capstan in the bay, And turned to the open sea. They sang at the bar in husky notes, That turned a jeer in their savage throats. Oh, God! in memory still it floats, The requiem for me. NORMAN EDWARD NELSON, 1898. April, 1898. INVOCATION. The waves wash cold on the perilous lea And break in foam o'er the Sisters Three ; The swirling depths of vengeful green Give back the storm-cloud's threatening sheen. O God, preserve thy children from the fury of the sea ! The sea-gull, turning in his flight, Seeks shelter from the blasts of night; The rushing breakers' solemn roar Booms sullen on the rock-bound shore. O God, preserve thy children till the coming of the light ! LYTTLETON Fox, i< May, 1898. 37 '98 CLASS ODE. On these the fairest days and last, Midst scenes that tell of friendships fast, Oh God, be with us as we meet And stay each passing moment fleet. Now as our voices rise to Thee, Grant Thou that each full heart may be Purged pure from every trifling hate, Merged in the heart of Ninety-eight. Where'er the passing years may lead, Whate'er our doubts, whate'er our creed, Guard Thou this scattered little band Within the hollow of Thy hand. To whom the love of flag may call, To whom the lot of death may fall, Be Thou the stay ; and in Thy name May Ninety-eight be crowned with fame. By one last bond unite our hearts Ere now, upon our several charts, We seek to thread each lonely way Through pleasure's path, or honor's fray. These mem'ries that should never fade Guard Thou till dust in dust is laid ; And may true grief with grandeur swell Our cry, "Oh, Ninety-eight, Farewell!" GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN, 1898. June, 1898. 38 IN THE AFTERGLOW. The lake is still, and all the circling hills Are lighted up with sunset's gorgeous dyes. The sullen pines upon the mountain's brow, Now turned to flaming pyramids of fire, Transfigured, stand inverted in the flood. Through fleecy mirrored clouds, my birchen bark Skims swiftly on its light and arrowy way. The drops that from my flying paddle dash Are gems that flash a thousand rainbow hues To find their setting in the molten gold. The sun slips down; the western glory wanes; The hill-fires die ; the valleys darker grow ; A breeze springs up that stirs the glassy lake ; The gloomy pines breathe out a monotone ; And I sit thoughtful in the afterglow. DONALD DEWITT, 1899. October, 1898. 39 CHANGE. I saw a warrior at dawn of day Standing with folded arms upon the shore. I turned and watched him as I went my way This man of strife and war. In admiration bound, I stood to gaze Upon his massive form and noble mien ; Upon the scars that marred his swarthy face So noble and serene. "Oh man of war! Oh tower of strength!" I mused, "Thy mighty limbs the storms of life defy. Hardened to hardships, and to war well used, Could'st thou decay or die?" As sunset came, there wondered o'er the sands An old man, withered up and bent with years. Who leaned upon the cane within his hands, Oppressed by childish fears. And in this tottering, aged man I saw The warrior who in strength and grandeur stood, It could not be so many years before, Besides this very wood. 40 And thus must strength and beauty fade away; All that's lovely, all that's grand and high. Thus everything must wither and decay. We live our life to die. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900 October, 1898. WHEN ALL THE WORLD IS STILL. Softly fall the shades of night; The moon, with silvery beams of light, Climbs slowly o'er the mountain's height; And all the world is still. The Earth her mantle round her folds ; The bells the slumber hour have tolled; The watchman keeps his vigil bold; And all the world is still. * A wolf steals out in search of prey And through the forest wends his way; Nor does his voice raise loud his bay When all the world is still. Then this our prayer : "O ! by Thy might, Great God, watch o'er us through the night ; Protect and guard us till the light!" When all the world is still. WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899 October, 1898. 41 THE BALLAD OF "TEDDY'S TERRORS." As related by Round-up Rube, of Rattlesnake Gulch. "The Ballad of Teddy's Terrors'" is from the pen of a Lawrenceville graduate, Mr. S. F. Whitman, '97, Princeton 1901. It is of par ticular interest, not only because it was written by a Laurentian, but as it appeared in the initial number of the first daily paper printed in the English language in Santiago, Cuba. It was also published in the New York Herald. I. . There was a lovely regiment, whose men was strong and stout, Fer some they had diplomas and fer some was warrants out, And Wood he was their colonel bold, an' Teddy was his mate, And they called 'em "Teddy's Lambkins," fer their gentleness wus great. -'..-.-. II. Now, a good ole man named Shafter says to Teddy and to Wood : 'There's a joint called Santiago, where we ain't well understood, So, take yer lamb-like regiment, and if you are polite, I think yer gentle little ways'll set the matter right." ; - ' 42 III. So, when Teddy's toys got movin', and the sun wus on the fry, And the atmosphere was coaxin' them to lay right down and die, Some gents from Santiago, who wus mad' cause they wus there, Lay down behind some bushes to put bullets through their hair. IV. Now Teddy's happy Sunday School was movin' on its way, A-seekin' in its peaceful style some Dagos fer to slay; And the gents from Santiago, with aversion in their heart, Wus hidin' at the cross-roads fer to blow 'em all apart. v. V There's a Spanish comic paper that has give us sundry digs A-callin' of us cowards an' dishonest Yankee pigs; And I guess these folks had read it and had thought 'twould be immense Jest to paralyze them lambinkins they was run- nin' up agains'. 43 VI. So, when our boys had pretty near arrived where they wus at, And the time it was propitious to start that there combat, They let 'er fly, a-thinkin' they would make a dreadful tear, An' then rubber-necked to see if any Yankees wus still there. VII. Now, you can well imagine wot a dreadful start they had To see 'em still a-standing' there lookin' bold and bad, Fer when this gentle regiment had heard the bul lets fly, v . :V They had a vi'lent hankerin' to make them Span iards die. VIII. So, Teddy he came runnin' with his glasses on his nose, And when the Spanish saw his teeth you may believe they froze; And Wood wus there 'long with 'im, with his cheese-knife in his hand, While at their heels came yellin' all that peace ful, gentle band. 44 IX. They fought them bloody Spaniards at their own familiar game, And the gents from Santiago didn't like it quite the same Fer you plug your next-door neighbor with a rifle ball or two, An' he don't feel so robustuous as when he's a-pluggin' you. X. ' So, when the shells was hoppin', while the breech blocks clicked and smoked, An' the powder wouldn't blow away until a fel ler choked, That regiment of Yankee pigs wus gunnin' through the bush An' raisin' merry hell with that there Santiago push. XL Then Teddy seen 'em runnin', an' he give a mon strous bawl, And grabbed a red-hot rifle where a guy had left it fall, And fixin' of his spectacles more firmly on his face, He started to assasinate them all around the place. 45 XII. So, through the scrubby underbrush, from bay'n't plant to tree, Where the thorns would rip a feller's pants, a shockin' sight to see, He led his boys, a-dancin' on, a-shoutin' left and right, And not missin' many Spanish knobs that shoved themselves in sight. ' XIII. And when them Santiago gents wus finished to their cost, Then Teddy's boys, they took a look and found that they wus lost; And as their crewel enemies was freed from earthly pain, They all sat down to wait for friends to lead 'em back again. Moral. That's the tale of Teddy's Terrors and the val iant deed they done; But all tales, they should have morals, so o' course this tale has one. So paste this idea in yer cage, wot ever else you do, Per perhaps you'll thank me fer it yet before the game is through: The soldier boy that wears the blue is gentle- like and meek, But I doubt he'll mind the Bible if you soak him on the cheek; An' should you git him riled a bit, you want to have a care, Per if he ever starts to fight, he'll finish Gawd knows where! STEPHEN FRENCH WHITMAN, 1897. November, i< [Although this was not written while at Lawrenceville, we reprint it here with the headnote as it appeared in the Lit. It seemed far too good not to be preserved. Editor.] 47 THE SYLVAN DANCE. Dark shadows fall upon the woods, The silver moon comes forth, The bright stars rival in their light The streamers of the north. Upon a grassy forest glade The moon serene shines down And casts a mystic golden light Upon it and around. And lo, the jovial satyrs dance Within the golden light, And join the graceful forest nymphs Arrayed in robes of white. The scene now glows and sparkles bright, Soft music swells the air, And sweetly, gayly glide around The jovial and the fair. They whirl around the joyous throng; The nymphs and satyrs sing; And gay and mystic are the rites Within the magic ring. Now slower, slower grows the dance, The light begins to wane, The music softly fades, then swells And dies away agsin. 48 Oh, softly, softly strike the lute, The dance is growing slow, And sadly dim the shadows flit And slowly fades the glow. The sylvan bells have died away, The moonlight glade is cleared And all the gentle forest nymphs Have fled and disappeared. How quickly all bright visions come And quickly fade away; But leave their charm upon the heart Forever and for aye! LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. December, 1898. DRINKING SONG. Come fill a glass to-night, my boys, And drink to the world, care- free; O! Life for us is bright, my boys, And a merry company we. The foaming mug is nigh, my boys, And the hearth-fire lends its glow; The foaming mug is nigh, my boys, And the cider simmers slow. The wind without is cold, my boys, And the snow falls thick and fast. To-night the year is old, my boys, So drink to the old year past. Then fill your glasses high, my boys, While the cold wind outside blows ; The foaming mug is nigh, my boys, So drink, while the red wine flows ! WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899. December, 1898. THE YARN OF THE "ROARING RIP." O ! A bully ship was the Roaring Rip And a jolly crew had she. Her captain was a sailorman old, A child of the foaming sea. We sailed away on a sunny day, The water was blue and clear. The jolly tars had manned the spars, And our wives shed many a tear. Then a storm arose, and the wind she blows, So the sails was flapping wild ; The waves rose high and touched the sky As the water was some'at riled. So we lightens the ship, the Roaring Rip, And the cargo overboard goes, And we flies along with the breeze so strong That it lifts us off our toes. The bos'n, says he, "Let's pirates be And sail the Spanish main. We'll take the gold from many a hold And many a ship we'll claim." Now the scheme was good, so we said we would, And we ups with the jolly black flag, But the captain gay we stows away: 'Tis dead men what don't brag. Then we brings the guns which weighed some tons And we points 'em out to sea, And we loads 'em there, to the muzzle fair, Since we pours the lead in free. In the Roaring Rip we takes our trip, But nary a ship we found, Till a stormy night, with the bos'n tight, The ship she runs aground. Then we left her there, her bow in air, The bos'n we leaves behind As we rowed away at the break of day We seed her sides unbind. Now a phantom ship is the Roaring Rip And a ghostly crew has she, But the black flag flies for phantom eyes As she silently sails the sea. WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899. January, 1899. LULLABY. De san' man's comin' in yo' eyes Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! De stars is twinklin' in de skies. Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! De big white moon 'bove de hill Is shinin' on de ol' co'n mill, A-listenin' to de whip-po'-will. Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! De wolf's a-prowlin' in de night. Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! De ghosts is walkin' till de light. Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! But mammy's here, so don' yo' cry, Dey ain' a-gwine to make yo' die; She's gwine to watch yo', settin' by. Shet yo' eyes, ma baby ! WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899. February, 1899. 53 THE SPANISH GALLEON. The crimson sun in the golden west 'Neath the circling skies has sunk to rest. The falling shades of the southern night Are pressing hard the failing light, And the waters deep of the sunset seas Are gently swayed by the zephyr breeze. s \ Forth sailing slowly o'er the main, Flying the quartered flag of Spain, Moves a galleon, strong and old, Bearing her precious freight of gold. Her snow-white sails the breeze invite As they waft her into the deep'ning night. Over the waters her shining lights Move like a ghost through the heavy night ; Whilst from her deck comes voices gay, And music soft, as the sailors play For those who sing. And the cup goes round, For the Spanish galleon's homeward bound. * * * * * * * Gone are the blackened shades of night; Forth comes the sun ablaze with light. But gone is the galleon, strong and old; Gone is her precious load of gold ; For the Spanish galleon, homeward bound, 'Neath the southern deep her home has found. WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899. March, 1899. 54 THE TOAST. I raised the goblet in the air With its weight of solid gold. What is the wine that sparkles there Is it clear Champagne, or Madeira fair ? Or Burgundy, good and old ? "A toast, my friend, I drink to you !" And I lifted the goblet up. But the wine had lost its amber hue 'Twas merely a glitt'ring drop of dew, And the glass was a buttercup. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. March, 1899. 55 THE FISHER FLEET. Fifty barks sail down the bay, Down the bay from Gloucester town ; Fifty sails show white as wool In the western light as the sun goes down. Fifty schooners light and trim, Pushed their prows through the hissing foam ; Fifty skippers on their decks, Turn for a lingering look toward home. Fifty wives stand on the wharves, And watch them down the harbor go, Till they double Eastern Point, And pass the reef of Norman's Woe. When at last their tear-dimmed eyes, The distant sails no more can see, With saddened hearts they turn away, Filled with dread for the days to be. Storms will come with bitter winds ; And fogs are sudden and waves are deep. Hearts must break and homes be sad, When comes again the fisher fleet. DONALD DE WITT, 1899. April, 1899. j THE SPIRIT OF THE STORM. I come from the icy north, I come from the Boreal Pole, From the land of the lashing hail, Borne in the boisterous North Wind's flight, Far from Aurora's flashing light, Borne with my people, the snow flakes white, With a fleecy cloud for a sail. We struggled and strove, we fought with the heat, We humbled the pride of the sun, But my warriors bold, o'ercome in the fight Whirling and drifting adown in their flight Covered the earth in her trembling fright; At last the heat has won. Now back to the icy north, back to the Boreal Pole, To the land of the lashing hail. Borne in my flight by a hurricane's might, Back once more to the Northern Light, Back to my people, the snow flakes white, Soaring swiftly I sail. PRESTON DAVIE, 1900. April, 1899. 57 '99 CLASS ODE. O God, be with us on this day, Our Pilot and our Guide; Do Thou these parting moments stay Before our paths divide. Soon forth upon Life's surging sea Our courses we shall steer. Grant that our voyage safe may be, While Thou art ever near! We who so long have formed this band Are gathered on the shore ; Our ships are anchored near the strand Our hymns Thy aid implore. From breakers' roar and treacherous wind Keep us forever free, And guide at last our barks within The harbor, safe with Thee. Where'er our craft the drifting tide Shall bear upon the flood, Sweet shall the memory e'er abide Of this our brotherhood. We know not what our lives shall be O'er waters sweet or brine; But tear-dimmed eyes bespeak our plea ; "God speed thee, Ninety-nine!" WALTER FOOTE SELLERS, 1899. June, 1899. 58 ANDREE'S FATE. Beyond the spot where mortal man doth tread There is a place, so cold, so drear, so dead, That earth assumes the stillness of the grave, In the land of the Frozen Wave. Here Andree lies amidst the ice and snow, And all year round the winds his dirges blow; In Science' name his daring life he gave, In the land of the Frozen Wave. How hard it was for him to die alone, No loving friend to speak in soothing tone! All hail the men who die a death so brave, In the land of the Frozen Wave. The days will pass and years will come and go, But where he lies no man will ever know, His tomb a lofty berg or icy cave In the land of the Frozen Wave. CHARLES HUNTINGTON STARKWEATHER, JR., 1900. November, 1899. 59 THE MIRAGE. The sinking sunbeams glisten on the sands, The desert stretches wide in golden light, And far away the distant caravans Wind ever on, and disappear from sight, Where flocks of fleecy clouds are skimming past To sink and settle in the west at last. But lo ! the heavens seem to burst in flame, Wildly the hordes of Islam hasten on Shouting aloud their warlike prophet's name They sweep along beneath the setting sun, They pass with trampling steeds, and clang of arms, And earth re-echoes with their wild alarms. And now the red has mellowed into gold, Vast cities seem to stretch from sea to sea, In pomp and glory and in wealth untold A scene of oriental luxury. The dome-crowned mosques and palaces arise Mid palms and gardens green against the skies. Slowly the gold dissolves, the cities fall, The gilded scene now softly fades away ; Here stands a column or a shattered wall, While all the rest has vanished with the day. At last these very remnants disappear, And the lone desert spreads out dark and drear. 60 Thus, Oh, Arabia ! was thy sudden rise, Thy wealth, thy grandeur, and thy swift de cline ; And thou hast left few relics for our eyes; Yet one attests thy glory to mankind, The great Alhambra stands at this late hour The last and noblest relic of thy power. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. November, 1899. 5i THE IDOL. For himself man made an Idol Of glory, and power and wealth. In the sweat of his brow and the blood of his heart, He drank to his Idol's health. Of his honor, his toil, and his life-work He made it a sacrifice, And the Idol that he in his youth had framed Had cost him a ghastly price. At last his ambition was sated, Of his soul he had lost all trace. Gray haired and bent with worry and care He had taken his Idol's place. Then he looked at the world around him And he knew his Idol had lied. With a fruitless life and a broken heart He cursed his Idol and died. FRANK LORD WARRIN, JR., 1900. February, 1900. 62 'TIS BETTER SO. We wandered o'er the meadows fair We wandered o'er the lea, She with her loose and waving hair And grace so wild and free. Roll ever on ye little brook, And roll right merrily ! For we alone are all the world And she is all for me. They wandered o'er the meadows fair They wandered o'er the lea, And she had bound her flowing hair, And lost that grace so free. Roll sadly on ye little brook, And roll on wearily, For there are others in the world, And she's no more for me. And yet 'tis better so perhaps, For frank and brave is he. The eighteenth summer ever saps A grace so wild and free. So let them wander hand in hand A happy pair to see, And leave me lonely with my pipe, She's far too good for me. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. February, 1900. 63 FANATICS. Accursed they stand a lonely band From age to age; Long have they borne the brunt of Contempt and rage. They saw life through a crooked view ; This was the crime For which they bled, nor flinched, nor fled In every clime. They dared to fight for what was right As they believed, And shut their ears to all the jeers Which they received. Their bodies wet with blood and sweat, They did not swerve ; And Heaven knows they bore their blows With grit and nerve. They sowed the seeds of mighty deeds Both good and bad, And those that saw looked on in awe And called them mad. Too great a flood of such fierce blood Might wreck mankind, Yet they inspire the world with fire, Zeal unconfined. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. March, 1900. 64 THE LOST KING. An antiquary roaming midst the Persian sands Once chanced upon a bit of crumbling wall, Reared years and years before, by patient human hands, To one self-styled "The King and Lord of all." Rejoicing at this happy chance, he summoned men, And round that relic of the past King's fame He bade them dig a mighty trench and then Began to search the stones for this King's name. He read of untold wealth, of temples to the sun; He saw the speechless glories of the past; He read of fruitful years of peace, of battles won. Though lost the name, the deeds forever last. He wondered at the might of this great King of old; A stone from out the wall fell to the ground; Behind it lay a skull upon a heap of gold. He sought the name no more, the King was found. FRANK LORD WARRIN, JR., 1900. April, 1900. 65 MEMORY. Ah, Memory, come and take me in thy boat, Thy gilded shell upon the waves of time; And silently and calmly let us float Back to the past sublime, The shadowy past of poetry and rhyme; Come Memory! ik^ \ And verily thou art a magic queen, Ruling a kingdom vast and undefined; And thou canst show me faces I have seen, And open eyes now blind, And let me live the life that's left behind; Strange Memory ! ! For thou hast potent charms that seem to throw A glamour o'er the past before my sight, That softens, sweetens even grief and woe, And makes all pleasures bright, Until they glow with soft, delicious light; Sweet Memory! Thus drifting ever on from spot to spot, Bring up thy fading visions to my eyes, And scenes but half remembered, half forgot; Let shadowy figures rise That dreamlike fade and leave me but their sighs; Vague Memory ! 66 Why wilt thou ever whisper as we fly That all this is unreal and truth is stern? Why wilt thou ever mourn for times gone by, Times which cannot return ? And must I ever long and ever yearn, Sad Memory! Ay, truth is stern and all must fade away; Thy dreams and mystic visions must depart; So waft me back into the light of day. I know not whence thou art, But this I know, that thou wilt tear my heart, Oh Memory! LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. May, 1900. THE NORTH POLE. All dark and cold, mysterious, sublime, She sits upon the summit of the earth, Where she will be until the end of time And has been since its birth. A corselet of smooth ice, unbroken bright Covers her breast; and stretching everywhere Reflects and radiates in golden light Her locks of waving hair. The dark folds of her purple mantle float, Set with diamonds, wide and far And one bright diamond clasps it on her throat, The gleaming polar star. And siren-like she entices men to death, Brave mariners who fear not sea or sky, She breathes upon them with her icy breath Until they freeze and die. Destruction waits the men who seek to know Her secrets, or to look upon her face ; Except the dull, unthinking Esquimo, Her people and her race. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. June, 1900. 68 THE STORM BIRDS. When the storm clouds hang o'er the raging sea, And the black waves dash up angrily, Tossing their white waves to and fro, To sink again in the depths below ; When the thunder rolls and the winds rush by With a dismal moan, then the sea gulls fly Like a fleet of ships on the raging ocean Rising and falling with ceaseless motion; They tack to right and to left, then sail With their white wings fluttering in the gale ; For they love the storm and the ocean's roar With the ardor of warriors going to war, And their screams amid the lightning's flash And the howling wind and the thunder crash Ring like the piercing war-cry, clear 'Mid the din of the battle, far and near. Thus fly the sea gulls, and oft I think, As I watch them over the ocean's brink, That these wild vultures of storm and strife Are the souls of the Vikings gone from life ; Homeless and restless, and wild and free, They must ever roam o'er the boundless sea. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900. June, 1900. CLASS ODE (1900). The final hour of parting is at hand. We who so long have formed this little band Of friends and classmates, gather in a throng With reverent hearts to sing our farewell song. And as we stand assembled heart to heart We know that soon the time will come to part, And ere the echoes of our hymn are o'er The class of Naughty-naught will be no more. Thou God of love and friendship, through the past It was Thy care that made our friendship fast; Through four long years of pleasure toil and play, It was Thy hand that led us on our way. These scenes, the friends and comrades grown so dear, We owe to Thee, so be Thou ever near; Keep in our hearts the lessons Thou hast taught While we were yet the sons of Naughty-naught. These pleasant scenes will shortly fade away, Our school-life be a thing of yesterday ;- And we ourselves be scattered far and wide, Yet may the sacred memories e'er abide. 70 Within our deepest souls through good or ill Be Thou, O Lord, our Guide and Guardian still, That ever we, in word and deed and thought, Bring honor to the class of Naughty-naught. LEWIS WOODRUFF HORNBLOWER, 1900 June, 1900. HIGH IDEALS. What is it forms a man ? What is it moulds his life? What is it keeps him strong, And helps him meet the strife? 'Tis not the praise of men, 'Tis not the glory won, 'Tis not the strength of limb, That wins the true "Well done!" But 'tis the lofty aims By all true men possessed, In thought and word and deed That are to others blest. JOHN STEWART BURGESS, '01, October, 1900. TWILIGHT. The birds have sung their evening song. The fiery sun has set; But in the west a dying light The twilight lingers yet. An owl begins his doleful call, A weird and piteous cry. A cricket never ceasing chirps; The weeping willows sigh. One by one the stars appear, And waking blink their eyes. The moon glows brighter 'mid the clouds, As slow the daylight dies. 'Tis in the twilight hours we see The work of God's own hand, The beauty of his handiwork, Immeasurably grand. EDWARD GUSTAV KAROW, '01. November, 1900. EVENING PRAYER. The twilight's waning light is o'er ; The noises of the day, The murmurings of the sunset hour Have gently passed away. The creatures of the night still lie In woodland dens afar; No stealthy bird, nor prowling beast Does yet the stillness mar. The silence of the grave o'erspreads The world deprived of light; 'Tis but a momentary lull Before the wails of night. The winds are laid, and not a sound Disturbs the listless air ; The pious earth all reverently Is offering evening prayer. EDWARD GUSTAV KAROW, 1901, December, 1900. 73 WHIPPOORWILL. From wild, untrodden, wooded hills, When twilight's gloom is settling 'round, And joyous day its noises stills, And night is whispering her sound, There comes a faint low call, an ominous whist ling cry is heard ; J Tis piteous, solemn, sad, the mourning of this evening bird. It is some spirit wandering 'round, Restless, seeking where to lie, Turned to a bird to haunt the ground ; In solitude to mourn and cry. Like death a gloom reigns o'er the forest, every tree is still; Alone is heard the weird call of the witch-bird, Whippoorwill. EDWARD GUSTAV KAROW, 1901. March, 1901. 74 THE SHEPHERD'S LOVE SONG. Thine eyes are as the deep blue sky, Thy locks are like the sun's bright rays, Thy heart is true and sweet and pure, Thy love shall last through endlesss days. Oh, forest, blush with crimson leaf ; Ah, meadow, hide thy soft green grass ; Oh, streamlet, at thyself now laugh ; Ye all are cheap, by this fair lass. Be gone, ye stars ! Go hence, thou moon ! Thy gleam no more I ask; Enough the light of those fair eyes, Enough for every task. Be glad, ye sheep, oh, run and leap ; Rejoice, thou hound, so true and fast; Rejoice with me! Be glad! Rejoice! Thy mistress now has come at last ! JOHN STEWART BURGESS, 1901. March, 1901. 75 THE PESSIMIST. When the cotton-woods are sighing, And their cotton has been flying Through the air. When the cows are softly lowing And the warmest winds are blowing O'er the land. Something tells me, 'gainst my fearing, That 'tis summer I am hearing 'Round my house. Though the bluebirds all are singing And the oriole's nest is swinging In the tree; Though the little brook is purling And the flowers are uncurling In the fields : Yet I am not quite believing That the winter we are leaving, Which I love. Thus the summer comes in flowing, Although no one has the knowing How it came. STERLING MORTON, 1902. May, 1901. CLASS ODE (1901). Fast falls the ling'ring light of eve, On sweet remembrances we leave, On friendships tried and true. Come, let us sing our song of praise To Him who helped us in those days, Whose care we ever knew. O God, we have been led by Thee, And pray that ever we shall be Beneath Thy mighty hand. Do Thou by us for e'er abide, And mayst Thou ever be the Guide And Guardian of our land. Each one of us a faithful son, Has always been, of Naughty-One, And so we shall be still: We'll ever see the past sublime, The memory of the happy time, We spent in Lawrenceville. We pray Thee, God, be by our side, Be with us when our paths divide, And when our work is done. And bless to us the memories dear, Of these four golden years spent here In dear old Naughty-One. EDWARD GUSTAV KAROW, 1901. June, 1901. 77 A RHYMED ENDING And so goodbye above is my address. A slight demand I would that hand caress, With clos'd eyes, in sweet surmise that you Are near, perchance. Tis but a trance, 'tis true For what I've kissed, dissolves in mist and air, And melts and falls and leaves the walls all bare A sputt'ring light, a pen to write, and ink, Old Solitude, and me to brood and think My lonely thoughts, much out of sorts and blue, In silence deep, almost sleep of you. FREDERIC HOWELL BEHR, 1902. October, 1901. 02 CLASS ODE. The time of parting now has come, And casts o'er all a sombre gloom, That makes the world seem sad; Contrasted with the past so bright, The future looms up like a night, In deepest myst'ry clad. But come ! let's sing our hymn of praise, In gratitude for those glad days Which now are nearly through; And let us also chant the prayer, That God may ever watch with care O'er each of Naughty-Two. For all the favor to us shown, For all the friends that we have known, We sing this thankful song; And even more than all the rest, For Lawrenceville, so richly blessed, Our chorus we prolong. And when we've gone from out this home And start forth through the world to roam, Our place in life to fill, Oh Lord, watch o'er this school each hour Protect and guide her by Thy power And bless dear Lawrenceville . JOHN CADWALADER WALLER, 1902. June, 1902. 79 THE SPIRITS OF THE STORM. Softly we come, Clad in the humid air, Borne on the darkening cloud ; Thunder our drum, Our torch the lightning's flare; Deep mists our steeds enshroud. The air we cool; We still the wand' ring breeze, A deathly quiet make; We still the pool; We quiet all the trees. We make all nature quake. Then grandly on! The heralds of the fight, In all our gallant form; With rolling drum, With torches shining bright Outriders of the storm. FREDERICK MORGAN HARRIS, 1903. October, 1902. 80 VENICE, My gondola glides in the night Away from the music and song ; Like a watchful eye its light Gleams softly the ripples along. In the open, the wan moonlight Shines soft o'er the quiet sea; And makes a pathway bright From the rim of the sea to me. The gondola drifts to the shore, And the music has died away ; And echoes of voices of yore Join the whispers of reeds by the bay. They tell of a stately city, Of poverty, gems, and gold ; Where men without heart or pity Their honor for riches sold ; Of women graceful and fair, And of men, ere the break of day, For the sake of a curl of hair, W T ho were found, face down, in the bay. GUSTAVUS NORDHAL SNOW, 1905. December, 1902. 81 THE SONG OF THE MEADOW LARK. Although the earth is brown and drear, And snow-flakes fast are falling, Across the lonely barren fields There sounds a clear voice calling, Spring o' the year. Again the hopeful voice I hear, When loud-mouthed winds are blowing, And chill rains sweep across the land, Like silver music flowing, Spring o' the year. Up from the grasses, gray and sere, The song of joy is springing; And to the winter-weary heart This gladd'ning news is bringing, Spring o' the year. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. March, 1903. 82 NIGHT. The broad sun sank in the ruby west, Leaving the world in a golden glow ; The summer breeze dropped down to rest As the evening light sank low. The darkness fell, and night came on; Then ope'd her thousand eyes The stars which shine until the dawn, A light unto the skies. And the warp of night's robe was a moonbeam, 'Twas spangled with glowing light; And the woof was a comet's shimmering sheen Which glanced and glimmered bright. The moon was queenly and fair, And she loved each little flower, And kissed it with infinite care, In meadow, in garden and bower. Then slowly she climbed the sky, And floated into the night ; Then silvered the edge of a cloud on high As she drifted out of my sight. GUSTAVUS NORDHALL SNOW, 1905 April, 1903. 83 THE PINES. Tall and stately stand the pine-trees, Rising skyward straight and fair, Arching high their vaulted branches, Sleeping in the fragrant air ; Calm and peaceful in her grandeur, Nature reverently proclaims Him who made her wondrous beauty, Him who ruleth her domains, Here and there, like glints of sunshine Piercing through sad gloomy days, Little birds, with hearts o'erflowing, Chant their tuneful roundelays; Singing to the God who made them, Clear and sweet through silent wood, Radiant in the summer sunshine, Singing as the seraphs should. And the balsam wafts its fragrance, Fresh and pure as sweet spring flowers Fondled by the April sunshine, Nestling shy in woodland bowers. O'er the redolent pine-needles Shadowy fretwork laughs at play, Mimicking fair Nature's beauty, Gamboling as the branches sway. When at eve the night sun glimmers Through the swaying silvery boughs, Gaunt-like sceptres loom the pine-trees, Rearing high their moon-tipped brows ; Waiting, watching, sad and silent, Sighing in the soft sad light, Hush'd they stand like souls enchanted, Looming weird into the night. FRANCIS BOWES SAYRE, 1904. May, 1903. THE ROBIN. When the golden sun is rising On some day in leafy spring, If you wander in the garden You may hear the robin sing. Clearly sounds his joyous carol, Loud his cheerful song of praise For the beauty of the morning And the coming summer days. When the sun his course is ending, Sinking in the glowing west, And among the distant hilltops Slowly sinks to peaceful rest ; Like an evening benediction Peals the robin's simple hymn, While the length'ning shadows deepen And the world grows dark and dim, Then the stars, with timid glances, From the sky begin to peep, And the robin stops his singing, For the world is lost in sleep. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. May, 1903. 86 WHIP-POOR-WILL. The sun has sunk behind the hill And all the world lies calm and still ; A gray mist on the river floats, Like sails of many phantom boats ; The thrush has ceased her evening hymn, For all the woods are dark and dim ; Now, with his plaintive note and shrill, Begins the sad-toned whip-poor-will, Filling the night with his mournful cry, While up on high, In the starlit sky, The yellow moon drifts slowly by. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. May, 1903. THE QUEEN O' DREAMS. When the summer moon hangs in the sky, And the soft wind pulses low, And the rushes that grow by the riverside Wave gently to and fro. In the mystic light of the pale moon's rays From realms of the stars on high, Wrapped in a veil of silver mist The Queen o' Dreams drifts by. To the Country of Dreams she bears me off Afar through the silent night, Drifting and drifting away and away Under the gray moonlight. But how I come back from that distant land Where reigns the Queen o' Dreams I know not ; only I know that here I wake in the sun's bright beams. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. June, 1903. '03 CLASS ODE. Our time of parting now draws nigh, And with it comes the sad good-bye. We leave the walls we hold so dear, And pass on with the closing year. So let us sing our praise to thee, Our Lawrenceville and Oughty-three. May all the good deeds we have done, May all the honors we have won Cast their best influence o'er us now As we renew the solemn vow To love and ever cherish thee, Our Lawrenceville and Oughty-three. May all the school-day friendships here Continue long to bless and cheer. May youth and manhood prove us still True, loyal sons of Lawrenceville. Ay, loyal shall we ever be To Lawrenceville and Oughty-three. So raise the song to her we love ! Long may her banner float above Her noble sons, a loyal band, And may they e'er for honor stand. Then will the old School ever be Proud of her sons and Oughty-three. JAMES GAMBLE, 1903. June, 1903. 89 I > MID-AUGUST. In tangled heaps along the road The dying roses lie, And o'er the meadows gray with dust The breezes wander by. High in the quivering, cloudless sky The blazing sun burns bright ; The cattle browsing 'neath the trees Are hiding from his sight. Along the fences by the road The berry bushes stoop, And laden with their dusty loads, Across the roadway droop. Kind-hearted Summer, loath to go, Still lingers for a day Before she southward turns her face And southward takes her way. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. October, 1903. 90 I THE BOGEY MAN. Little one, hear, the wind is raging, Tossing the mighty trees about, On, through the dark the rain is sweeping Cling to me closely Cuddle up tight, For the Bogey Man is out. Little one, see, the fire is blazing, Queer little flames dance in and out, Weird-like shapes on the wall are leaping Cling to me closely, Cuddle up tight, For the Bogey Man is about. Little one, now the fire is fading, Up to the hearth the shadows troop, High on the roof the wind is struggling Little one, cuddle and Snuggle, and hark To the Bogey Man's wild whoop. Little one, here in my arms embraced, Though he do whatever he can, Rattle the windows or shriek down the chim ney Snuggle up closer, Cuddle up tight, You are safe from the Bogey Man. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. February, 1904. 91 > MARCH. Over the faded, wintry fields The wild March wind is sweeping, And up on high In the wind-torn sky The clouds are madly racing by Like the scud on the storm-lashed ocean. And the only way you can know that spring Is coming nigh, Is to look far off beyond the clouds At the tender blue of the half-hid sky. Earthward the tall trees bow their heads, Straining their mighty branches, When rushing by With raging cry The wind comes leaping from the sky And speeds away over the tree-tops. And the only way you can know that spring Is coming now, Is to hear the cheerful bluebird sing As he sways to and fro on some wind-tossed bough. Madly the dead leaves dance about To the tune the wind is playing, And whirling 'round Scarce on the ground They leap with a dry and rattling sound Like a dance of dead men's bodies. 92 And the way you can tell that spring will come, Though all seems bare, Is to search at the edge of the hillside woods For the pale blue flower which blossoms there. TERTIUS VAN DYKE, 1904. March, 1904. 93 THE MARSHES. The marshes drear to me are dear, With their wastes of waving reeds; Where the wild duck flies and the curlew cries, Through the hush of an April eve. Ah! to wend my way by the streams that stray, O'er the marshland's broad expanse; And to watch the sun, while the ripples run With scarlet blazon the sky ; While o'er the marsh rings weird, and harsh The cry of a heron wild. O ! how I love the skies above, And the two little ponds below; When both are bright with the sunset light, A wonder to behold. Then at last o'er the fen-land vast The peaceful night doth fall; And thro' the gloom comes the bittern's boom, As homeward I wend my way. Oh, some may rejoice at the thrush's voice, And some at the robin's song ; But better than all is the trumpet call Of the goose, and the plover's wail. The whispering trees some men may please, And some the windy hills; But the marshes drear to me are dear, With their wastes of waving reeds. HERBERT BENTON JONES, 1904. June, 1904. 94 CLASS ODE. To Naughty- four and all her memories dear, We'll sing one song before the closing year; And as we leave fore'er the well-loved fold, We'll sing once more for Lawrence, as of old. Our early lives here did we shape and form, Beneath God's guiding care we braved each storm ; And when life's higher 'missions we fulfil, May then the same hand guard and keep us still. Our school days now are o'er; yet back there steals Full many a mem'ry which the past unseals; Fair by-gone days and happy phantom scenes, Arise like shadowy visions in our dreams. And now we bid a last and fond farewell, To all we've known so long, and loved so well; And ere we pass the old-time threshold o'er, We'll breathe a prayer for dear old Naughty- four. FRANCIS BOWES SAYRE, 1904. June, 1904. 95 TO THE HEIR THAT IS BORN TO THE : RUSSIAN THRONE. Across the seas I pity thee Thy lot of life, O new-born lad, I pity that thy Soul shall be In robe of State so heavy-stifling clad. For looking forward I can see Naught but a weary way to tread, Shall bring a pain to eyes of thee Far in the depths where no sweet tear is shed. Haply a few short years shall come When thou mayst revel in thy youth, But then thy heart shall e'er be dumb Too wisdom-wise to know its own, forsooth! Thou shalt sit upon thy steed, Thy bowing peoples, mile and mile; Thy dying Youth with thee shall plead, And O the smile thy human lips shall smile ! Thy life is not thine own to give In sweet pursuit of human peace; Thy life is not thine own to live, Until thy heavy-beating heart shall cease. Thine acts are predetermined long Before thou wert to birthhood grown, And howe'er great and howe'er strong, Thou canst not sow but as the dead have sown. 96 As long as men are woman-born, As long as human hearts are wild, I pity thee, thou Babe Forlorn, So long I pity thee, O Princeling-child ! HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY. 1906. November, 1904. 97 ON THE LAST NIGHT OF THE YEAR. Be a jolly good fellow with me this night, O come be a jolly good fellow with me, Your cup I will fill and your pipe I will light, And never a question be asking of thee. Be a jolly good fellow with me this night And never a question of sorrow or sin, And never a thought for the time in its flight, And never a tear for the old "might have been." There's a night for the sage that is spended in toil, ' ; A night for the lover with hurrying feet; But snatch me this night, ere the destinies foil, And give it to folly, and let it be sweet ! Let us ring out the lines that are cast for our parts And draw the poor swords with which players must fight, O who shall see through the fine lace to our hearts If we but sing gayly and lightly to-night? O throw off the hood of the grave man and wise,. O take up the motley and wear it with me, List to my jest of the year as it dies, O hearken my want of the wine and of thee. HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. December, 1904. 98 AT A SPRING. Mayhap Diana, bending low, Had touched her lips to this cool spring, Aweary of her silver bow And all her woodland wandering. .^ Mayhap above this mossy brink Young Bacchus, flushed with glow divine, Had calmed his heart by this fair drink, Forgetting for an hour his wine. Mayhap this shaded water heard The limpid lute of Orpheus, And its smooth breast was vaguely stirred By the sounds melodious. Mayhap, as I am dreaming now, Some other lad of other time Had bended here with fervid brow And traced his dream of love or rhyme. Ah ! ye wan shades who tarried here From din and fret of long ago, How real your presence and how dear With all its varied weal and woe ! HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. February, 1905. 99 \ IN A COPY OF "ROBIN HOOD." Through the glades of Sherwood the frightened deer still tread, The sunshine falls as brightly from the druid oaks o'erhead; But, somehow, from the forest the old wild joy has fled, And Robin, merry Robin, Robin Hood is dead. Robin Hood, the merry yeoman ; Robin Hood, the sheriff's bane O the worship I have offered on my youth's most pleasant fane! the royal bouts and lusty, with the quarterstaff and bow, When his eye and arm were truest, since my heart would have it so. It was always May in England, everything was young and fair. But I found the book of Wisdom, and Time turned its pages o'er, And I read his undeceiving May and Robin were no more. Thou liast lost thy May and Yeoman, O thou England; and to thee 1 may turn no more for heaven, as I would have heaven be. 100 I may turn no more to England, and I know not where to turn, For my heart still beats an outlaw; O, my heart, it will not learn! HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. March, 1905. 1 01 THE GATE OF SUMMER. Beauty sleeps, while slowly keeps The vigil of the weary hours. Beauty sleeps ; as silent reaps The passing burden of the flowers. Beauty sleeps in guise sore changed, Beauty weeps with love estranged; Beauty may not, may not die. Beauty may not, though she hie For a season far away. Beauty sleeps, but not for aye Beauty may not die. Tell me, red rose; tell me, white Whither go thou in the night? Tell me, white rose; tell me red Whither wait the season's dead? Is it hither, is it thither, Blow the roses pale that wither, Is it fairyland or heaven Where the shapes of beauty wait? Is it some far land of dreaming, Where the semblance of our seeming From the eyes of Beauty gleaming, Bears the aftermath of fate? 102 We will find it bye and bye, love ; We will find it, you and I, love; We will find it when we die, love When we pass through summer's gate. HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. May, 1905. MOONLIGHT ON THE WATER. Hast ever seen the shimmering path On the water gleaming bright, Where the summer moon with lavish hand Hath strewed her precious light ? Where the ripples play at hide and seek Down that magic silver lane, And the glorious, shining way, seems leading As to some goddess' fane? JOHN COBB COOPER, JR., 1905. May, 1905. 103 '05 CLASS ODE. Now sadness falls upon us, For, classmates soon we part, To leave for aye behind us Days dear to ev'ry heart. When slowly sink the shadows, Commencement Day is o'er ; With farewells sadly spoken Our school days are no more. In closest love and friendship We've dwelt for many a day; For Thou hast led us, Father, Through pleasure, toil, and play. So, God of Friendship, keep us Along life's weary road; The journey o'er, then lead us Into Thy safe abode. Now comes the parting hour, Our last sad hymn is done, And school days close about us A new life has begun. But on life's path of toiling, While upward, on we strive, One thought shall be before us "God keep thee, Oughty-five!" JOHN COBB COOPER, JR., 1905. Commencement, 1905. 104 CHILDREN'S VOICES. Children's voices rise to me In a simple little melody, Hushed and sweet and low. O I do know What sort of man in heart can render so His art in a song for little children ; For I could easier write On very utmost height Of tragedy, Than render so My art in a song for little children A simple, trusting melody, Hushed and sweet and low. HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. December, 1905. 105 THE SCHOOL CHIMES. Far o'er the land, in tones harmonious-golden, The chimes, full-throated, boom their tides of song; .' -v ; :. - i On, on the notes, in hollow echoes holden, Shake out their worth of purity along. 'Tis not save metal stout and honest molden, Can from its breast pour tones so sweet and strong. O may our School's entrusted reputation Be wrought as pure in future-coming days, That all her sons may gain in preservation, As chimes long linger with their mellow praise : Then Lawrenceville shall give such consecration As music gives, ennobling as it stays. HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. February, 1906. 106 LULLABY. Go to sleep, ma honey, nevah min', Jes' shet dem eyes an' den yo'll sho'ly fin' While Mammy's settin' by Yo' nevah need to cry, Go to sleep, ma honey, nevah min'. Dem stahs in heben is sho'ly shinin' bright, An' spooks is walkin' 'round thro' all de night, Yo' mustn' hab no feah, Jes' dry dat big ol' teah, Den sleep, ma chile, an' sleep wid all yo' might. GEORGE GAUL, 1906. March, 1906. 107 NAPOLEON BEFORE THE SPHINX. Like the uprolling of some vast curtain Was raised the darkness of that Eastern night, And silently beneath the watching stars Appeared the stage, for Tragedy prepared. Motionless and illimitable An arena for action unconfined And teaching of time's lesson unto man. An awful step is Man beneath the gods, Which he may not, except through Death, ascend. Upon the mortal who presumes too much Fate lays the hand of dim finality; And heaven's law curtails the human reach By an unseen, yet cruelly present line. The mightiest of his race, yet puny still, Stood rev'rently before Time's conqueror. Emotion quicked his eye, his soul grew great, . And in equality he sought that face On which the price of victory is writ. Erected by some prophet of the past Prometheus-like the Sphinx uprears her head, And o'er the burning sand wherein she lies, Awaits his coming who can read her soul. The wheeling of an age brings forth but one May seize the scope of full eternity. To him the Sphinx bears warning of defeat ; Read ye who can, and him who reads, obey ! 108 He sought that face and dared to read that price ; He understood yet undertook the task Whose sole reward is fearful solitude * And therein was he great, and therein small. Understanding, complete and mutual, Is rare on earth ; interpretation Of great thoughts rare as the thinking of them. 'Tis like a sea of mist where-through arise Some few vast peaks which face though far apart, And from one height a voice in accents slow Makes sound, which, on-rolling o'er the cloud, Meets each high mount in turn, but ne'er descends To lesser hills which lie below the mist. Because the Sphinx had seen the wax and wane Of century, of cycle and of age ; Because beneath her feet had passed the reign Of clan, of priesthood, and of emperor, She watched with moveless eye the eagle's flight. Nor mourned her own immovability. The distance from that Island to that Stage Is but the swing of Fate's big pendulum; The measure of the miles is greater far Than is the distance from vict'ry to Defeat. 109 Unplumed the eagle from his prison-rock In solitude gazed Eastward toward the Sphinx, And in loneliness of life's decay Exemplified the letter of the law. HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. April, 1906. no '06 CLASS ODE. Clouds coursed swiftly down their track, Lusty West winds blew them back: High above the windy wrack Clear and bright the sun shown through them, All the world lies wide and far, Wasted deserts, oceans hollow; Though it be for bloody war, Let us follow, let us follow. Time and Distance lie in wait, Hov'ring ever o'er us; Let no heart nor hope abate All mankind has gone before us. Love and Knowledge, hand in hand, Shining far like golden fleeces, Bide forever in that land Where content and human peace is. Follow ! though the dragon's breath Be like poison heated, None that boldly went to death Were in dying ever cheated. Be it unto good or ill, Eager as Spring's lightest swallow, Blessed be Alma Lawrenceville, Let us follow, Brothers, follow! HORACE HOTCHKISS HOLLEY, 1906. June, 1906. in A TOAST TO '07. "It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles, And see the great Achilles whom we knew. 3 Tennyson's Ulysses. A moment close each well-worn book ; The time draws near when we must part. Beyond the studied page we look, And search, with inner gaze the heart. My comrades, lo ! a feast is spread, With snowy cloth and sparkling bowl ; The bread is white, the wine is red, A shining grail before each soul! Up, up my comrades, lift on high The Wine of High Endeavor! A toast to those who never die, To those who live forever! Who quaffs with these this blood red wine? Who bravely treads the way of life? Who claims a fellowship divine With heroes of the mighty strife? He who wastes not his years in play, Who, selling not his soul for gold, Sees, far beyond this fleeting day, The endless time, youth never old. 112 To those who wrought by sword and pen, By life or tongue or gracious deed; Who chose, above the praise of men, Above the call of gain or greed, The narrow pathway of the Right That path which leads through waste and drought, To scale, at last, a weary height, The cross-crowned Calvary of Truth ! Our brows the laurel wreath may twine, O'er us the cypress soon may moan, Our days the darkest toil may grime, Or we may find the peace of home. What bodes our fate? With raptured feet On fields of asphodel we tread; We hold high converse, heavenly sweet, We dwell with the immortal dead! ROBERT DULL ELDER, 1907. May, 1907. 113 THE PRINCE AND THE MAID. A prince once sued for a maiden's hand, And he offered her riches and jewels and land, He bowed down low on his bended knee, As meek and humble as he could be, And he pressed his suit most gallantly, Even as you or I. The maiden blushed a rosy red, But she gently shook her pretty head. 'Your land and riches and jewels are naught But a bait by which only fools are caught; For love," said she, "can ne'er be bought." Even as you or I. The prince turned about and went his way, But he came again the very next day ; And he dressed himself as an artist bold, Who had neither lands nor jewels nor gold, But he offered her homage and love untold, Even as you or I. So he won the hand of this winsome maid. And, she'd live an artist's life, she said; And when his title he did betray, The loving girl could not say him nay; And they married at last so the story books say Even as you or I. CLARK Fox HUNN, 1907. June, 1907. 114 CLASS ODE 1907. Lawrence, to thee is our parting song; We, who must leave thee, bid sad farewell ; Through thy loved halls, 'midst the gathered throng, Anthem and echo the story tell. Dawns the last morning the new born day, Tinting the clouds with its crimson hue, Lingers to list to our humble lay Requiem of hours we would fain renew. Harmonies vague o'er our heartstrings sweep, Breathing a portent of nobler days ; Out of the shadows doth purpose leap, Stirred by the faint, half-uttered lays. Waked is the soul from its visions bright, Dreaming the mem'ries of youth's brief hour Waked to the dawn of a clearer light, Strong in the promise of manhood's power. Thou, who hast called us, whose hand hath led, Urging us onward to life anew Watch o'er us, guide us, our cause bestead, Keep us still thine, ever loyal and true. Those we must leave be thy constant care, Friends, who were faithful in good or ill Watch over all in this haven fair, Guard and protect her, our Lawrenceville. CLARK Fox HUNN, 1907. Commencement, 1907. V US 1908 CLASS ODE. Lawrenceville, friend of our youthful years, Guide of our footsteps, a helper in sorrow; Thou who didst banish our wavering fears, Giving us hope for the dawn of the morrow; Now we must part, but we part not forever, Thou in our hearts for the future shall dwell ; Though we journey afar, we shall never, Never forget thee, our Lawrence, farewell! If in Life's battles as victors we flourish, Crowned with success, still awaiting the fight, We in our hearts will devotedly nourish Thoughts of thy wisdom which guided us right. Thou, Alma Mater, hast watched o'er our life, Given us courage and armed us with truth; Trained us in wisdom, prepared for the strife By building upon the foundations of youth. Through all our days may thy memory cling, Rich in its vision^ of promise and love, Fresh as the breath of the opening spring, Clear as the heaven which arches above. Now we must part, but we part not forever; Dear in our hearts to the end thou shalt dwell, Rising or falling in life we shall never, Never forget thee, our Lawrence, farewell! CARLTON PORTER REX, 1909. June, 1908. 116 ACROSTIC. October wrapped in chilly blasts Comes like Midas o'er the earth Touching with golden touch the meads ; Or with more show his magic casts, Bright decks each tree in wondrous weeds, Emerald, topaz and ruby lasts Resplendent as in autumn birth. CARLTON PORTER REX, 1909. October, 1908. 117 1909 CLASS ODE. Farewell to thee, Alma Mater, beloved, Friend of our youth, our protector, our guide ; As in the past, be near us in the future, Helping us stem life's tempestuous tide. Thou, Alma Mater, hast taught us the lesson How to be manly, straightforward and strong; We, thy true sons, in the future shall ever Deeply revere thee and cherish thee long. Now we look back, Alma Mater, and thank thee, Thank Thee for friends who are loyal and strong ; Friends in the past, the present, the future, Friends who shall dwell in our memory long. Riches may come for a moment and vanish, Sorrow draw 'nigh which we cannot forfend : Pleasures are transient; friendship, however, Ripens with age and will last to the end. When in the world we shall shoulder our burdens, Treading the numberless pathways of life, Aye shall we love thee, our dear Alma Mater, Thou who hast fitted us well for the strife ; And if in life we gain glory or honor God grant we may, none but He can foresee We shall recall thy first teachings, and justly Trace the true source of each triumph to thee. CARLTON PORTER REX, 1909. June, 1909. 118 FAME. What may it be, what value claim ? A flicker that belies a flame Outgleams athwart some untrod space And dies upon its light'ning race, While fainting echoes laud the brain That joins the unsought dust again. What may it be ? Men call it fame. What mockery ! 'tis but a name, 'Twill fade beneath the blast of time, As orchids in a frozen clime, Tho' it be scratched with bleeding hand Upon the pinnacle of sand. EVERETT GLASS, 1910. February, 1910. iiy THE PURPLE COW. Upon the milky way of heaven There stood a purple cow. With dreamy eye and forehead high She made a tragic bow. A wondrous star of palest blue Lay on her spongy nose, And through the night it cast a light About her scanty clothes. Her stately head she bended low And smiled a dewy smile, Then bellowed loud to some far cloud In a most lonesome style. The moon waxed faintly at her cry And slowly dripped away, And every star tripped from afar To see the purple fay. EVERETT GLASS, 1910. February, 1910. 120 THE MERMAN'S GRAVE. Where doth the merman bold repose When long life draweth to a close ? Is his grave overgrown with flow'rs, Which vie in forming perfumed bowers, 'Neath which the fairies come and play As twilight cool pursues the day O'er purple hills and far away ? Ah no ! Ah no ! Far down in some vast ocean cave, Tis there the merman finds a grave ; Where thunder of the mighty deep Disturbeth not his silent sleep. And has he friends who come to see If he in peaceful resting be? Do they come with measured tread To kneel in sadness o'er his head ? And do they bring red roses rare In passing beauty fresh and fair To strew about him everywhere ? Ah no ! Ah no ! His dreary darksome death retreat Ne'er feels the tread of friendly feet ; And no sweet roses red and rare E'er see the Merking lying there. EVERETT GLASS, 1910. March, 1910. 121 1910 ODE. Upon thy forehead, as a crown, Fair Lawrenceville, may thy renown With deeds of centuries emblaze The radiant glory of thy praise ! May we who are thy children blest Enhance the splendor of thy crest With thoughts that shall forever be Full worthy of thy majesty! We leave the chapel's hallowed walls, On which the love of Heaven falls, With heritage more rich than gold, The heritage of honor old. May echoes of our youthful song Strike golden harps that shall prolong Through chapel arches high above The memory of our lasting love! Great God, we ask thy blessing here Upon our home and comrades dear, As we set out upon that sea Which wafts us to eternity. EVERETT GLASS, 1910. June, 1910. 122 INDEX PAGE Age 20 Andrew's Fate 59 At a Spring 99 Acrostic 117 Ballad of the Road 36 Ballad of Teddy's Terrors, The 42 Bogey Man, The 91 Class Ode, 1896 15 " " i897 24 1898 38 1899 58 1900 70 1901 77 1902 79 " " 1903 89 1904 95 1905 104 1906 in " 1907 US 1908 116 1909 1 18 1910 . . : 122 Change 40 Children's Voices 105 Chimes, Lawrenceville, The 106 123 Come ! Ho For a Bumper, and Ho for a Song 30 Constancy 27 Day, The 12 Deeper Night, The 29 Departure of Mary Stuart for France 31 Drinking Song 50 Egyptian War Song 17 Epilogue from Horace, An n Evening Prayer 73 Fame 1 19 Fanatics 64 Fisher Fleet, The 56 Gate of Summer, The 102 Genius 33 Heir That's Born to the Russian Throne, To the, . 96 High Ideals 71 Idol, The 62 In The Afterglow 39 Invocation 37 In a Copy of Robin Hood 100 Land of Sleep, The 13 Le Chanson du Tireur D'Armes 34 Lost : A Friend 28 Lost King, The 65 Lullaby 53 Lullaby 107 March 92 Marooned 37 Marshes, The 94 Memory 66 Merman's Grave, The 121 Mid-August 90 Mirage, The 60 124 Misshot, A 19 Monk, The 21 Moonlight on the Water 103 My Ship 26 Napoleon Before the Sphinx 108 Night 83' North Pole, The 68 November 18 October 16 Old Year, The 10 On a Gray Day 12 On the Last Night of the Year 98 Parable, A 22 Pessimist, The 76 Pines, The 84 Prince and the Maid, The 114 Purple Cow, The 120 Queen O' Dreams, The 88 Rhymed Ending, A 78 Robin, The 86 Shepherd's Love Song, The 75 Song of the Meadow-Lark 82 Spanish Galleon, The 54 Spirit of the Storm, The 57 Spirits of the Storm, The 80 Storm Birds, The 69 Suggestions from Ovid 9 Sylvan Dance, The 48 'Tis better So 63 Toast, The 55 Toast to '07, A 112 Twilight 72 Venice 81 125 When All The World is Still 41 Whippoorwill 74 Whippoorwill, The 87 Yarn of the "Roaring Rip", The 51 126 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-42m-8,'49 (85573)444 THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES UCSOUTHERNREGONALLBRARYFACUTV A 001343654 8