Poems Class of 29 (1851-1889) | Page 2

week begins,?When they stray in the way?Of the BOYS OF '29.
If a jolly set is trolling?The last /Der Freischutz/ airs,?Or a "cannon bullet" rolling?Comes bouncing down the stairs,?The tutors, looking out,?Sigh, "Alas! there is no doubt,?'T is the noise of the Boys?Of the CLASS OF '29."
Four happy years together,?By storm and sunshine tried,?In changing wind and weather,?They rough it side by side,?Till they hear their Mother cry,?"You are fledged, and you must fly,"?And the bell tolls the knell?Of the days of '29.
Since then, in peace or trouble,?Full many a year has rolled,?And life has counted double?The days that then we told;?Yet we'll end as we've begun,?For though scattered, we are one,?While each year sees us here,?Round the board of '29.
Though fate may throw between us?The mountains or the sea,?No time shall ever wean us,?No distance set us free;?But around the yearly board,?When the flaming pledge is poured,?It shall claim every name?On the roll of '29.
To yonder peaceful ocean?That glows with sunset fires,?Shall reach the warm emotion?This welcome day inspires,?Beyond the ridges cold?Where a brother toils for gold,?Till it shine through the mine?Round the Boy of '29.
If one whom fate has broken?Shall lift a moistened eye,?We'll say, before he 's spoken--?"Old Classmate, don't you cry!?Here, take the purse I hold,?There 's a tear upon the gold--?It was mine-it is thine--?A'n't we BOYS OF '29?"
As nearer still and nearer?The fatal stars appear,?The living shall be dearer?With each encircling year,?Till a few old men shall say,?"We remember 't is the day--?Let it pass with a glass?For the CLASS OF '29."
As one by one is falling?Beneath the leaves or snows,?Each memory still recalling,?The broken ring shall close,?Till the nightwinds softly pass?O'er the green and growing grass,?Where it waves on the graves?Of the BOYS OF '29!
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
1852
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.
Where, oh where are life's lilies and roses,?Nursed in the golden dawn's smile??Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses,?On the old banks of the Nile.
Where are the Marys, and Anns, and Elizas,?Loving and lovely of yore??Look in the columns of old Advertisers,--?Married and dead by the score.
Where the gray colts and the ten-year-old fillies,?Saturday's triumph and joy??Gone, like our friend --Greek-- Achilles,?Homer's ferocious old boy.
Die-away dreams of ecstatic emotion,?Hopes like young eagles at play,?Vows of unheard-of and endless devotion,?How ye have faded away!
Yet, through the ebbing of Time's mighty river?Leave our young blossoms to die,?Let him roll smooth in his current forever,?Till the last pebble is dry.
AN IMPROMPTU
Not premeditated
1853
THE clock has struck noon; ere it thrice tell the hours?We shall meet round the table that blushes with flowers,?And I shall blush deeper with shame-driven blood?That I came to the banquet and brought not a bud.
Who cares that his verse is a beggar in art?If you see through its rags the full throb of his heart??Who asks if his comrade is battered and tanned?When he feels his warm soul in the clasp of his hand?
No! be it an epic, or be it a line,?The Boys will all love it because it is mine;?I sung their last song on the morn of the day?That tore from their lives the last blossom of May.
It is not the sunset that glows in the wine,?But the smile that beams over it, makes it divine;?I scatter these drops, and behold, as they fall,?The day-star of memory shines through them all!
And these are the last; they are drops that I stole?From a wine-press that crushes the life from the soul,?But they ran through my heart and they sprang to my brain?Till our twentieth sweet summer was smiling again!
THE OLD MAN DREAMS
1854
OH for one hour of youthful joy!?Give back my twentieth spring!?I'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy,?Than reign, a gray-beard king.
Off with the spoils of wrinkled age!?Away with Learning's crown!?Tear out life's Wisdom-written page,?And dash its trophies down!
One moment let my life-blood stream?From boyhood's fount of flame!?Give me one giddy, reeling dream?Of life all love and fame
My listening angel heard the prayer,?And, calmly smiling, said,?"If I but touch thy silvered hair?Thy hasty wish hath sped.
"But is there nothing in thy track,?To bid thee fondly stay,?While the swift seasons hurry back?To find the wished-for day? "
"Ah, truest soul of womankind!?Without thee what were life??One bliss I cannot leave behind:?I'll take--my--precious--wife!"
The angel took a sapphire pen?And wrote in rainbow dew,?/The man would be a boy again,?And be a husband too!/
"And is there nothing yet unsaid,?Before the change appears??Remember, all their gifts have fled?With those dissolving years."
"Why, yes;" for memory would recall?My fond paternal joys;?"I could not bear to leave them all?I'll take--my--girl--and--boys."
The smiling angel dropped his pen,--?"Why, this will never do;?The man would be a boy again,?And be a father too!"
And so I laughed,--my laughter woke?The household with its noise,--?And wrote my dream, when