Few be those sorrows; clear and bright THE DEPARTURE. SEPTEMBER 1, 1809. Farewell! a word that must be, and hath been; - farewell! BYRON. And must I leave, in truth, thy classic halls, So soon forego? Fain would I breathe thine air, Still in these groves; but other duty calls: The hour is come, and lo! the curtain falls On life's prime act. The steed, that must convey Thy lingering son, to distant scenes away, Stands harnessed at the gate; he champs the bit, Throws high his bridled head, with frequent neigh, And paws, impatient of his lord's delay; Nor longer now the adverse fates permit. Then farewell, Harvard ! — whereso'er I stray, Thy spirit be my guide, enlightened, free, True nurse of virtue, knowledge, liberty! THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION. SEPTEMBER 8, 1836. And doth not a meeting like this make amends MOORE. Among the thousands I was one, Unchanged, like star, or ocean still, That pours its rays, or waves, as bright, Felt first the flood, and hailed the light; Soars upward, with resistless might, Ye lofty domes, ye ancient halls! Glad I revisit your loved walls, The muse's home, fair virtue's seat ; Where oft my youth, in converse meet Of kindred souls, the fountains sought Of knowledge pure, communion sweet, In happy interchange of lasting thought. How high our young ambition soared! Such lofty hopes we dared proclaim, Nor seemed they weak or vain to youth's fond mind. Alas how changed! how swift the flight Of trackless time, since thirty years Have vanished, like a star by night, That sparkles, shoots, and disappears. The dreams of youth, its hopes, its fears, Its fancied joys, and triumphs rife, Are gone; nor more such prospect cheers The stern realities of later life. Yet manhood, and approaching age Have joys that sooth, and hopes that soar, And sobered by experience more. In hues of youth to grateful memory dear. But hopes, that firmer grasp their hold, I feel, while swells the parting song, 'Tis not in vain that now I breathe Thy classic air amid these glades; That here, these sacred groves beneath, Thy spirit all my soul invades. 'Tis night but night in vain her shades Spreads round us here; these ancient halls The genius of the spot pervades, Bright as the rays that stream from yonder walls. Radiant as now, with living light Still, Harvard! may thy glories shine : Be virtue, honour, freedom, right, And faith's pure dictates ever thine: Draw still, from learning's richest mine, Time's choicest treasure, knowledge, wrought Laborious, at truth's inmost shrine, By minds untrammelled, with deep wisdom fraught. CONCLUSION. TO THE READER. "Is this too much? stern critic! say not so :" Reader! thy thought, which prompts thee to bestow Hath pleasure given, unmixed with touch of pain. |