 | Sicut Patribus and other verse |  |
54
CAMBRIDGE
Dear city, round whose marshy rim the Charles
Passes his steel-blue sickle in slow glee,
And, circling ever, slips at last through snarls
Of piers and bridges to the expectant sea.
Passes his steel-blue sickle in slow glee,
And, circling ever, slips at last through snarls
Of piers and bridges to the expectant sea.
To thee is turned the “soft Venetian side”
Of Boston. On thy myriad roofs the slopes
Of Arlington look down; between, a tide
Scholastic ebbs and flows, sun-smit with hopes.
Of Boston. On thy myriad roofs the slopes
Of Arlington look down; between, a tide
Scholastic ebbs and flows, sun-smit with hopes.
Needs must they love thee who may call thee home,
Whose centuried past their grateful reverence claims;
Thy sister city of the golden dome
Points to no fairer scroll of noble names.
Whose centuried past their grateful reverence claims;
Thy sister city of the golden dome
Points to no fairer scroll of noble names.
Here roamed “the Scholar Gypsy” long ago;
Here gently ruled our “New World Philhellene;”
Here came the wanderer from the Pays de Vaud;
And here New England's Sibyl passed between
Here gently ruled our “New World Philhellene;”
Here came the wanderer from the Pays de Vaud;
And here New England's Sibyl passed between
The gates of birth. Here, where the lilacs hedge
The winding road, the Gentle Singer told
The Legend Golden; and the murmuring sedge
Of his loved Charles still with his name makes bold.
The winding road, the Gentle Singer told
The Legend Golden; and the murmuring sedge
Of his loved Charles still with his name makes bold.
55
Here, where the Elmwood thickets lift their pyres
Of green, a later summons came, and he,
Our best and noblest, whose each word inspires,
Slipped from life's moorings on a shoreless sea.
Of green, a later summons came, and he,
Our best and noblest, whose each word inspires,
Slipped from life's moorings on a shoreless sea.
Ah me! the men that were and are not now.
The seasons come and pass and bear away
One after other, as from autumn bough
Is swept at whiles the fruitage of its May.
The seasons come and pass and bear away
One after other, as from autumn bough
Is swept at whiles the fruitage of its May.
O City of the Scholar! Wider spread
Each year thy green elm shades, but ever keep
In quick remembrance these thy children, sped
To some far country through strange fields of sleep.
Each year thy green elm shades, but ever keep
In quick remembrance these thy children, sped
To some far country through strange fields of sleep.
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