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