Three paths there be where Learning's favored sons, Trained in the schools which hold her favored ones, Follow their several stars with separate aim; Each has its honors, each its special claim....
Say not the Poet dies! Though in the dust he lies, He cannot forfeit his melodious breath, Unsphered by envious death! Life drops the voiceless myriads from its roll; Their fate he cannot share,...
Welcome, thrice welcome is thy silvery gleam, Thou long-imprisoned stream! Welcome the tinkle of thy crystal beads As plashing raindrops to the flowery meads, As summer's breath to Avon's whispering reeds!...
Twice had the mellowing sun of autumn crowned The hundredth circle of his yearly round, When, as we meet to-day, our fathers met: That joyous gathering who can e'er forget,...
Dear friends, left darkling in the long eclipse That veils the noonday, - you whose finger-tips A meaning in these ridgy leaves can find Where ours go stumbling, senseless, helpless, blind....
A prologue? Well, of course the ladies know, - I have my doubts. No matter, - here we go! What is a Prologue? Let our Tutor teach: Pro means beforehand; logos stands for speech....
Where, oh where are the visions of morning, Fresh as the dews of our prime? Gone, like tenants that quit without warning, Down the back entry of time. ...
"Qui vive?" The sentry's musket rings, The channelled bayonet gleams; High o'er him, like a raven's wings The broad tricolored banner flings Its shadow, rustling as it swings...
You know "The Teacups," that congenial set Which round the Teapot you have often met; The grave DICTATOR, him you knew of old, - Knew as the shepherd of another fold...
I saw the curl of his waving lash, And the glance of his knowing eye, And I knew that he thought he was cutting a dash, As his steed went thundering by.
And what shall be the song to-night, If song there needs must be? If every year that brings us here Must steal an hour from me? Say, shall it ring a merry peal, Or heave a mourning sigh...
From the first gleam of morning to the gray Of peaceful evening, lo, a life unrolled! In woven pictures all its changes told, Its lights, its shadows, every flitting ray,...
New England, we love thee; no time can erase From the hearts of thy children the smile on thy face. 'T is the mother's fond look of affection and pride, As she gives her fair son to the arms of his bride. ...
"Who claims our Shakespeare from that realm unknown, Beyond the storm-vexed islands of the deep, Where Genoa's roving mariner was blown? Her twofold Saint's-day let our England keep;...
Like the tribes of Israel, Fed on quails and manna, Sherman and his glorious band Journeyed through the rebel land, Fed from Heaven's all-bounteous hand, Marching on Savannah! ...