A Williams Anthology | Page 4

provide
A fresh
coronal wreath to encircle thy hair.
Athenoeum, 1875.
[Footnote 1: The Melpomene of Horace was, I suppose, the Greek
muse of singing, not the muse of tragedy, nor a general muse.]
[Footnote 2: Died 1880.]
THE SCULPTOR TO HIS STATUE
JOHN J. INGALLS '55[1]

"Thou silent, pallid dream, in marble stone!
No rare, sweet phantasie
which my divine
And all unearthly-mingled soul has thrown

Around a glowing form, art thou, where shine,
As garlands wove
about a kindled shrine,
The beauties of a godlike art and more

Etherial thought fashioned to high design,
But a remembrance of that
unknown shore
Where youth and love eterne on spirit pinions soar.
"O'er the hushed vales and gulfy hills of Greece
Night brooded on her
darkly jewelled wing,
Binding in drowsy chains of dewy peace

Sweet birds, white flocks and every living thing,
And lapsing streams
which to the forest sing.
Beneath that pillared fane which guards the
place
Where spirits twain sleep in the charmed ring,
I slept after the
banquet, and the rays
Of a past heaven flashed on my soul's
astonished gaze.
"The emerald isles that sail a silver sea,
Caverned by plumy groves of
sunny palm,
Broke on my startled vision suddenly;
When as but
quickly parted, sweet and calm,
That long forgot yet ever haunting
psalm
Floated from lips that flew to greet me home.
A meteor
flamed; I woke in rude alarm;
Above me orbed the temple's sullen
dome;
Around me swam the early morning's starless gloom.
"Of that fair dream thou art the memory,
My genius, in its wildest
fancy, bound
And petrified to immortality!
A holy presence seems
to hover round
The deep, perpetual loveliness, as crowned
With
angel radiance, and plumed for flight,
Thy pinioned sandals spurn the
flowerless ground,
Striving to gain that far Olympian height

Towards which in rapturous awe upturns thy longing sight.
"Why are thy parted lips so dumb and cold?
Else with my eager arms
about thee thrown
And folded in thy soft embrace, had rolled
The
Lethean tide of love, in which, unknown
And all unheeded in their
state, had flown
The future and the past, merged in that sea
The
present, whose far deeps are felt alone
By the pale diver, reaching

breathlessly
Through pearled and coral caves concealed from mortal
eye.
"Oh, shape divine! Such madd'ning grace must have
A soul, a
consciousness of love and life
Though tombed in pallor, with no
epitaph
But silence! What mighty spell with power rife
Can wake
thee into Being's passion strife?
Yet if there be such, let it rest
unsought;
For every boon thou couldst from breath derive
I would
not wrest from thee that higher lot,
The need of deathlessness, thou
pale, embodied thought!
"Great poet souls and people yet unborn
Shall lay their speechless
homage at thy feet,
And still thy life be in its rosy dawn,
Whose eve
eternity alone shall greet.
While I, to whom thy changeless smile
were sweet
As heaven, long mingled with earth's vilest mould,

Shall be forgot! What wealth of fame can mete
The loss of love?
None, none! Thy fate is cold,
But oh, what starry treasures might it
not unfold!"
He ceased. A lambent halo seemed to play
About her head, as
lightnings round the moon;
Her marble tresses streamed in golden
spray--
A tremor throbbed along her limbs of stone,
And sky-hued
veins with life's warm pulses shone.
One thought of wordless love
beamed from her eyes,
Then, gently floating from her shining throne

'Mid blushing smiles half drowned in tearful sighs,
She faded
slowly heavenward through the sunset skies.
Quarterly, 1853.
[Footnote 1: Died 1900.]
OPPORTUNITY
JOHN J. INGALLS '55
Master of human destinies am I;
Fame, love, and fortune on my

footsteps wait.
Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate
Deserts and seas
remote, and, passing by
Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late,
I
knock unbidden once on every gate.
If sleeping, wake; if feasting, rise
before
I turn away; it is the hour of fate,
And they who follow me
reach every state
Mortals desire, and conquer every foe
Save death;
but those who doubt or hesitate,
Condemned to failure, penury, and
woe,
Seek me in vain and uselessly implore;
I answer not, and I
return no more.
The date of first appearance of this sonnet is not known to the editors.
It is extracted here from Professor A.L. Perry's
Williamstown and
Williams College, (1899), and of it Dr. Perry remarks "Ingalls also
wrote a notable sonnet on 'Opportunity,' which will no doubt survive,
for it has a fine form and considerable literary merit, though godless in
every line."
AUTUMN
JAMES A. GARFIELD '56[1]
Old Autumn thou art here! upon the Earth
And in the heavens, the
signs of death are hung;
For o'er the Earth's brown breast stalks pale
decay,
And 'mong the lowering clouds the wild winds wail,
And,
sighing sadly, chant the solemn dirge
O'er summer's fairest flowers,
all faded now.
The Winter god, descending from the skies,
Has
reached the mountain tops, and decked their brows
With glittering
frosty crowns, and breathed his breath
Among the trumpet pines, that
herald forth
His coming.
Before the driving blast
The mountain oak bows down his hoary head,

And flings his withered locks to the rough gales
That fiercely roar
among the branches