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

in his eyes,
"You have passed, and are
classed
With the Boys of '29."
Not long are they in making
The college halls their own,
Instead of

standing shaking,
Too bashful to be known;
But they kick the
Seniors' shins
Ere the second 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