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"/give thefe Books for the founding of a College in this Colony'VERSES, ETC.,
COMPOSED BY
MARY ELIOT (DTJTTON) GEAVES.
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TnE earth is full of poetry, the air
Is living with its spirit, and the waves Dance to the music of its melodies, And sparkle in its brightness.
There's not a spot in this wide realm,
Oh! spirit pure and bright, But pays its incense to thy shrine, Or feels thy potent might.
There's not a bright-hued flower that lifts
Its chalice to the light, There's not a sunlit wave that gleams, Reflecting hues how bright;
There's not a warbler in the grover That breathes one note of song,. Telling of happiness and love To the breeze that floats along ~
There's not a star that gild's the sky,.
When evening shadows dose, There's not a snow-eap't mountain high,. Or a rivulet that flows4
There's not a morn dispensing light, Or one work of the Hand Divine,
There's not an eve that shuts the eye, But its magic beauty's thine.
Thy spirit bright is ever forth,
And whispers in the still night air;
It wanders to some far off isle,
And sleeps on beds of flowrets there.
It walks amid the moonlit vale,
With radiance crowns the frowning height,
And oft, when evening shades prevail, Sheds all around its halo bright.
The flower, the wave, the bird, the star, The breeze, and streamlet bright,
All waft some incense from thy shrine, For potent is thy might.
% JpiflM 4 ft* Jwajginatiott.
(Read in the Litchfield Scattergood Society.)
'Tvvas the night before New-Year's, alone in my den, With my spectacles on, I sat holding my pen; There was business on hand, for I'd promis'd I would A poem indite for our first Scattergood; And I thought if I only could start the first line, Then something would follow that surely would shine;5
So, quick through the brain went, hither and yon,
Such unrhymable names as Edward and John ;
So chiming and rhyming and snowing and blowing,
Caressing and blessing and sewing and knowing;
That when to arrange them I thought to begin,
I found, to my sorrow, they would not work in,
And while musing I sat, on some great thought intent,
I glanced at the clock, saw the night was far spent;
My paper before me had not the first stain,
And empty of thought was my poor weary brain;
In my trouble I called on the muses for aid;
You may think it was bold, but I was not afraid;
Alas! they had gone to our friend, Mrs. C.,
I believe had an invite with her to take tea,
And being much urged, half concluded, with reason,
To tarry with her for the rest of the season ;
Then I felt o'er my senses beginning to creep,
A very strange feeling, resembling sleep,
But 'twas not, as I soon will endeavor to show,
I was there on the spot, so I surely must know;
A singular change I perceived in my chair,
And it slowly began to arise in the air,—
By some very strange process became a balloon,
And I thought I was taking a trip to the moon !
But that I soon found was only a notion,
For, swift as an arrow, I sped to the ocean,
Like an arrow, in sooth, for when the day dawned,
I looked down from my perch on a smooth shaven lawn,
Surrounded with hedges of holly and yew;
'Twas a home in old England that greeted my view;
I found that our friend, Mrs. S., dwelt just there,
Then I thought I only coyld light on the stair,6
In a very few words wish a Happy New Year,
And tell how her friends were all missing her here,
It would be very nice, but I could not that day,
With a jump and a bound I was hastened away.
I'll pause here to furnish some information,
That surely will benefit those of the nation.
Who may in the future contemplate such flights,
That like fashionable tourist you'll all the sights;
I could give but one glance at some old castle walls,
And one lingering look at those time-honored Halls,
When away we sped, swift as the lightning might glance,
And the next place I looked on was beautiful France.
O'er a street in gay Paris my car stopped a minute,
But to give a description of all that is in it,
Would soon weary you, and wear out my pen,
And you would not have half the novelties then.
It seemed I'd arrived on a grand holiday,
For the people were dressed out in gorgeous array,
The ladies with feathers and spangles, bedight,—
The gentlemen powdered, perfumed, and polite j
But I must be brief, and just hasten to mention,
That one in the multitude drew my attention,
So modest her mien, so tall and so fair,
And something familiar I caught in her air;
She looked 'mid those ladies with flowers and posies,
Like a lily surrounded with gaudy peonies;
She could not move on, it seemed, for the press,
And a very large gentleman stood on her dress;
Then, in French, a sweet voice said, " Sir, may I trouble you ?''
I knew in a moment 'twas dear Lizzie W—.
You may know that I had a desire to kiss her,
And say how the Scattergood ladies all miss her;1
Bat before I could ask where her husband could be,
Or e'en attract her attention to me,
And while casting one long lingering look back,
My car, like its friends on the Naugatuck track,
Turned sideways, and then, with a retrograde motion,
Went jarring and jolting away to the ocean.
Many hours went by ere I greeted the strand
That I love above all others, my own native land.
It was night when I left it, and now it was morn,—
And it seemed that new beauties awoke with the dawn.
Oh! to gaze on that prospect I never should tire ;
The first morning rays gilded housetop and spire.
Each city and village alight with its glow,
All impurities hid 'neath a mantle of snow.
Soon I saw in the distance the village of L—,
A spot where I hope all my life-time to dwell,
Cold and bleak though it be, loving hearts make it warm,
When we gather together we heed not the storm ;
We heap up the coal, and we pile on the wood,
When the ladies arrive at our own Scattergood.
Bat this you will think is a tedious digression ;
My story, I fear, is too long for this session,
So I'll hasten to close, ere your patience I tire,
And you look on my page with expressions of ire.
In a few words I'll say, that I reached my own door,
My balloon sailed away and left me on the floor;
My fire was out, and the taper burned low,
Through a crack in the window had drifted the snow,
And there lay my paper, in just the same spot,
Without up stroke, or down stroke, or even a blot,
To show an original Poem begun,
And I fear that my task would have never been done,8
Had I sat with my pen in my fingers all night, And never have taken an aerial flight. So I trust, my dear iriends, I shall not receive censure, That I chose for my theme my nocturnal adventure.
itatjhfs £ujgjgestttt in n Jous*.
It was a lovely place—
There flowers of every hue, Pleased, with their forms of grace, And charmed the senses too.
The lily, tall and fair,—
Roses in flush of bloom, Dark crimson for the maiden's hair, And pale ones for her tomb.
Sweet buds of mignonnette, Carnation's varied flower, So fragrant, you would ne'er regret, Spending with them an hour.
Dahlies in stately rows,
Tulips and flowerets gay, And violets that such sweets disclose, 'Twould make you dream of May.
Others there were, foreign and rare, Whose beauty charmed the eye, One called, I think, the Maiden's Hair, With hues like azure sky.9
And one I saw that stood alone,
Unnoticed oft, I ween, It had no beauty of its own, Save leaves of darkest green.
Pausing, I to the gardener turned,
To ask what that might be, He said, for he my thought discerned, " Crush it and you will see."
Then plucked from the long woody stem,
Some leaves with jealous care, I gently pressed and smelled of them, But found no fragrance there.
" Nay, crush them," my companion said,
" Much harshness they will need," As proved within my palm they laid, I found 'twas so indeed.
Perfumes of Araby it seem'd
"Were floating in the air, Blossoms were lovely, but I deem None could with this compare.
And as its fragrance I enjoyed,
This thought came to my mind, Even a flower may be employed Some lesson new to find.
Bid not these leaves, so withered now,
That fragrance still impart Sweeter than on the parent bough, Remind me of the heart ?10
Crushed with affliction's fires, 'twill prove
A strength before unknown; A depth of love will be revealed That ne'er before was shown.
Faith will on Jesus fix its eye,
And hope will brighter shine, With a radiance borrowed from the sky, A radiance divine.
Sreamfajg ofl
Sometimes on earth to mortal sight, There comes a vision pure and bright, Not on the busy whirl of day, That chases fancy far away,— But in the night-time, calm and still, When holy thoughts the bosom fill; To some we know it has been given, The bliss to sleep and dream of Heaven.
The jasper gates are open thrown; Falls on the ear sweet music's tone; The Lamb, arrayed in robes of light Too glorious for mortal sight,— And there, with eyes that never slumber, A multitude that none can number, Wash'd from all taint of earth and sin, Ere this bright realm they enter in; Oh! that to me it might be given, The bliss to sleep and dream of Heaven.11
But, comes to me a thought of sadness, How could I leave this scene of gladness, How wake to weary days again, To weary days and nights of pain ; Within this frame so worn and spent, To find the spirit still is pent, Nor can it soar to realms on high, Till Jesus calls me to the sky; Perhaps 'tis best it is not given, The bliss to sleep and dream of Heaven.
l^atlt in
No more for me when winter's reign is o'er,
And the glad spring comes with reviving touch,
Calling from out the earth, long pent in gloom,
The fresh green shoots, and pale though fragrant flowers
Then will new verdure cover all the earth ;
And then my friends with joyful heart will greet
The yearly miracle of life from death,—
But ah! those beauties will not meet my eye,
The fiat has gone forth, and I must die.
No more for me will come, with lavish hand, The fervid summer, with its wealth of blooms, And air surcharged with fragrance from the heart, Of well-filled orchards, and from dewy beds Of roses, violets, and mignonnette; No more, as in remembered days, shall I Awake with carolling of early birds ;12
But sweeter music I shall hear on high, For ah! my days are numbered, I must die.
And never more for me the autumn woods Will wear their livery of brightest hues ; There will be tempting clusters of the vine, And wealth of crimson-streaked and golden fruit Ripen for other eyes when mine are closed*, Then will the last pale flowers exhale their sweets, And fall in showers the many-colored leaves, Withered and faded on the ground they'll lie, Fit emblem of my fate, for I must die.
For me the pleasant summer time is passed, And autumn, with its rich and golden hues; Ere long stern winter will resume his reign, And with a pure white mantle drape the earth. Fearing his icy breath, the birds have flown, And bloom no more in garden bed bright flowers ; Naught save a few pale sprigs of mignonnette. Beneath the winter snows I too must lie ; But Jesus lives—I do not fear to die.
$idorg owr fmfft.
Oh ! gloomy Death ! what art thou doing here,
With aspect bowed ? And what dost bring to me with looks so drear ? "See! 'tis thy shroud !"13
Oh! dismal Death! wait yet a little while,
For friends are dear, All nature wears for me a pleasant smile; " Nay; see thy bier !"
Forbidding Death ! me from thy chilling grasp
My friends would save; Wilt thou not loose from me thine icy clasp ? " Nay ! see thy grave!"
Oh ! Death ! no more I'll look on thee with gloom,
No longer fear; No longer dread the shroud, the bier, the tomb ; My Saviour's near!
And He will take away thy sting, Oh Death I
Victory complete ! And make me utter, with my failing breath,
"To die is sweet!"
-» <•> «-
Jpeutt in geliewnfl.
{Sung at her funeral by the Choirs in Litchfield and New Haven.) Tune—" Baxerma.
Thy words, my Saviour, give me peace,
They bring me near to thee ; From doubts and fears grant sweet release, And bid all sorrow flee.14
And when He said, " come wanderer come," Why stay without the fold ?
Did I not choose my happy home ? Was I not there enrolled—
With those who love thy kingdom best, With those that love thy word,
With those, the happy and the blest, The followers of the Lord ?
And now I come, sick, suffering, sore, My love my only plea ;
My Saviour will not ask for more, And He will succor me.
And when upon the River's brink I faint, with Death's alarms,
I then shall feel—and shall not shrink His everlasting arms.
($0 Jur Pflftor,
About Ten Days before her Death.
Pray not that I may live, For never—never more, Will health through all my pulses spring, As in the days of yore.15
Life is a poor—poor boon,
When racked with pain we lie, With wasting form and failing breath ; 'Tis a relief to die.
I lose a few short years,
But then how great the gain; Jesus will wipe away my tears, And take away my pain ;
From sin will set me free,
And clothed in spotless dress Reserved I know in Heaven for me,— A robe of righteousness.
This is no more my home,
I sojourn for a day, Waiting until the summons come, Calling me hence away;
Ah ! then I shall rejoice;
Welcome the sound will be; The accents of my Saviour's voice— " Weary one—come to me !"VERSES, ETC.,
COMPOSED BY
HENRY MELZAR DUTTON.
Sifleg^ ^rajgrnarf.
A stream— That from a time-rent precipice Falls to a fathomless abyss, "Whose depths of awful mystery By vapory clouds are shrouded o'er, Through which ascends the muffled roar Of waves that dash eternally, In some vast subterranean sea— And mortals listen to the sound, Echoed by shuddering rocks around, And strive in vain, with streaming eyes, To pierce the veil that o'er it lies ; Yet on that cloud there rests a bow, That spans the troubled waste below, With. Heaven's own lovely tints, that bloom In dazzling freshness o'er the gloom, And deck it, like a fadeless wreath, About the awful brows of death.17
%\\m Written in an ^Ibum.
A momentary thought may bloom forever, And through eternity its fragrance last;
A want may give a sorrow, which shall never Be from the sad and bleeding spirit cast.
Earth has no charm so potent as to sever The chain that links our memories to the past;
Then watch each thought, and guard each new end#vor; Think of the value of each hour thou hast.
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Sit* gmraet WintL
I looked from yonder tufted height,
As the sunset's crimson tinge Glow'd on its castellated cliffs, And moved like a fairy fringe.
A waveless sea of golden green,
Lay widening in the west, Where cloudy Isles, of Iris hue, Embosomed, lay at rest.
Whatever charms the soul in dreams,
Seem'd mirrored in the sky, As haloed o'er with purple light, The sun sank from on high.18
And I said, as I saw the glowing west,
With his dying radiance shine, Let my life in a cloud of glory sink,— Let my last end be like thine.
'Tis best, at the hallowed sunset hour,
To think of the great of earth, Whose names each generation wakes To a new and glorious birth.
1 passed by yonder gray old wall,
With its turrets, ivy hung, Just as a flood of farewell light, Athwart the graves was flung.
vSoft fell the radiance on the flowers,
Which with closing petals lay, Telling the flight of the winged hours, By their birth and swift decay,
And soft, on the hemlocks that shade the wall,
Like sentinels, dark and stern, And-soft on the graves, whose mossy walls, ■ The living their fate may learn.
And I said, though men forget my name,
Let me rest in hope and faith, Till the last dread trump's mysterious blast, Shall sound the knell of death.
"lis best, at the hallowed evening hour, That one chastened thought be given, To those whose light is the light of God, Whose thoughts are the thoughts of Heaven.19
jjitsentatimt Jtortg.
{Class of 1857.) Air—" Ellen Bayne."
Burthened with fragrance,
Breezes float by; Laden with gladness, Hours o'er us fly; Drown we our sorrow In music and mirth, This meeting may be
Our last one on earth. Pleasant seem our College days, Dimmed by memory's golden haze, Be this last their brightest phase, Brothers of Yale!
Elms arching o'er us, Glorious and green, Mellow the sunlight, Hallow the scene; Fond arms of shadow,
'Round us they throw, And tell of the future,
Whispering low. May your sunset shadows fall,
Lengthening on each College wall, When the grave shall fold us all, Elm trees of Yale.20
Brightly the future
Smiles on us now; A vast summer ocean, Tempting the prow; Leave we our dream-life,
Breaking the spell, Clasp we our armor,
Brothers! Farewell. O'er that future, glimmering far,
Hope may shroud her guiding star, But our friendship nought shall mar, Classmates of Yale I