University of Virginia Library


76

III.

There was among our various-tempered crowd,
A graduate; who, having last year plowed
The utmost furrow of scholastic lore,
Now boarded with his father, as before.
His course was hard, but he had mastered all:
Aquatics, billiards, flirting, and base-ball;
And now, once more to rural science turned,
Was leisurely unlearning what he'd learned.
The death-theme made him sad and serious-eyed,
About a college comrade who had died;
And with a sudden, strong sigh-lengthened breath,
He gave this boyish paragraph of death:

[THE DEAD STUDENT.]

'Twas mighty slow to make it seem as if poor Brown was dead;
'Twas only just the day he died, he had to take his bed;
The day before, he played first-base, and ran McFarland down;
And then to slip away so sly—'twas not at all like Brown.
'Twas hard for my own life to leave that fellow's life behind;
'Tis work, sometimes, to get a man well laid out in your mind!
It wouldn't have shook me very much, long after all was o'er,
To hear a whoop, and see the man go rushing past my door!
Poor Brown!—so white and newly still within his room he lay!
I called upon him, as it were, at noon the second day.
A-rushing into Brownie's room seemed awkward-like, and queer;
We hadn't spoken back and forth for something like a year.
We never pulled together square a single night or day:
Whate'er direction I might start, Brown went the other way;
(Excepting in our love affairs; we picked a dozen bones
About a girl Smith tried to get, who fin'lly married Jones.)
He worked against me in our class, before my very eyes;
He opened up and scooped me square out of the Junior prize;

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I never wanted any place, clean from the last to first,
But Brown was sure to have a friend who wanted it the worst;
In the last campus rush, we came to strictly business blows,
And with the eye he left undimmed, I viewed his damaged nose;
In short, I came at last to feel—I own it with dismay—
That life would be worth living for, if Brown were out the way.
He lay within his dingy room, as white as drifted snow—
Things all around were wondrous neat—the women fixed them so;
'Twas plain he had no hand in that, and naught about it knew;
To 've seen the order lying round, it would have made him blue!
A bright bouquet of girlish flowers smiled on the scene of death,
And through the open window came a sweet geranium-breath;

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Close-caged, a small canary bird, with glossy, yellow throat,
Tripped drearily from perch to perch, and never sung a note;
With hair unusually combed, sat poor McFarland near,
Alternately perusing Greek, and wrestling with a tear;
A homely little girl of six, for some old kindness' sake,
Sat sobbing in a corner near, as if her heart would break;
The books looked pale and wretched-like, almost as if they knew,
And seemed to be a-whispering their titles to the view;
His rod and gun were in their place; and high where all could see,
Gleamed jauntily the boating-cup he won last year from me;
I lifted up the solemn sheet; the honest, manly face
Had signs of study and of toil that death could not erase;
As western skies at twilight mark where late the sun has been,
Brown's face showed yet the mind and soul that late had burned within.
He looked so grandly helpless there upon that lonely bed—
Ah me! these manly foes are foes no more when they are dead!
“Old boy,” said I, “'twas half my fault; this heart makes late amends.”
I grasped the white cold hand in mine—and Brown and I were friends.