Before the Curfew

멊Project Gutenberg EBook The Poetical Works of O. W. Holmes, Volume 10. Before the Curfew?#24 in our series by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
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Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Volume 10.
Before the Curfew
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Release Date: January, 2005 [Etext #7397]?[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]?[Most recently updated: April 22, 2003]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
? START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF O. W. HOLMES, V10 ***
This eBook was produced by David Widger [[email protected] ]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
1893
(Printed in three volumes)
CONTENTS:
BEFORE THE CURFEW
AT MY FIRESIDE?AT THE SATURDAY CLUB?OUR DEAD SINGER. H. W. L.?TWO POEMS TO HARRIET BEECHER STOWE ON HER SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.
I. AT THE SUMMIT?II. THE WORLD'S HOMAGE?A WELCOME TO DR. BENJAMIN APTHORP GOULD?TO FREDERICK HENRY HEDGE ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY?TO JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL?TO JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON HIS EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY?PRELUDE TO A VOLUME PRINTED IN RAISED LETTERS?FOR THE BLIND?BOSTON TO FLORENCE?AT THE UNITARIAN FESTIVAL, MARCH 8, 1882?POEM FOR THE TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTIETH ANNIVERSARY OF THE FOUNDING OF
HARVARD COLLEGE?POST-PRANDIAL: PHI BETA KAPPA, 1881?THE FLANEUR: DURING THE TRANSIT OF VENUS, 1882?AVE?KING'S CHAPEL READ AT THE TWO HUNDREDTH ANNIVERSARY?HYMN FOR THE SAME OCCASION?HYMN.--THE WORD OF PROMISE?HYMN READ AT THE DEDICATION OF THE OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES HOSPITAL AT HUDSON, WISCONSIN, JUNE 7, 1887?ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT GARFIELD?THE GOLDEN FLOWER?HAIL, COLUMBIA!?POEM FOR THE DEDICATION OF THE FOUNTAIN AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON, PRESENTED
BY GEORGE CHILDS, OF PHILADELPHIA?TO THE POETS WHO ONLY READ AND LISTEN?FOR THE DEDICATION OF THE NEW CITY LIBRARY?FOR THE WINDOW IN ST. MARGARET'S?JAMES RUSSELL LO WELL: 1819-1891
BEFORE THE CURFEW
AT MY FIRESIDE
ALONE, beneath the darkened sky,?With saddened heart and unstrung lyre,?I heap the spoils of years gone by,?And leave them with a long-drawn sigh,?Like drift-wood brands that glimmering lie,?Before the ashes hide the fire.
Let not these slow declining days?The rosy light of dawn outlast;?Still round my lonely hearth it plays,?And gilds the east with borrowed rays,?While memory's mirrored sunset blaze?Flames on the windows of the past.
March 1, 1888.
AT THE SATURDAY CLUB?THIS is our place of meeting; opposite?That towered and pillared building: look at it;?King's Chapel in the Second George's day,?Rebellion stole its regal name away,--?Stone Chapel sounded better; but at last?The poisoned name of our provincial past?Had lost its ancient venom; then once more?Stone Chapel was King's Chapel as before.?(So let rechristened North Street, when it can,?Bring back the days of Marlborough and Queen Anne!)?Next the old church your wandering eye will meet--?A granite pile that stares upon the street--?Our civic temple; slanderous tongues have said?Its shape was modelled from St. Botolph's head,?Lofty, but narrow; jealous passers-by?Say Boston always held her head too high.?Turn half-way round, and let your look survey?The white facade that gleams across the way,--?The many-windowed building, tall and wide,?The palace-inn that shows its northern side?In grateful shadow when the sunbeams beat?The granite wall in summer's scorching heat.?This is the place; whether its name you spell?Tavern, or caravansera, or hotel.?Would I could steal its echoes! you should find?Such store of vanished pleasures brought to mind?Such feasts! the laughs of many a jocund hour?That shook the mortar from King George's tower;?Such guests! What famous names its record boasts,?Whose owners wander in the mob of ghosts!?Such stories! Every beam and plank is filled?With juicy wit the joyous talkers spilled,?Ready to ooze, as once the mountain pine?The floors are laid with oozed its turpentine!
A month had flitted since The Club had met;?The day came round; I found the table set,?The waiters lounging round the marble stairs,?Empty as yet the double row of chairs.?I was a full half hour before the rest,?Alone, the banquet-chamber's single guest.?So from the table's side a chair I took,?And having neither company nor book?To keep me waking, by