 | The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware |  |
349
IMPRESSIONS ON ENTERING COLLEGE. PORTRAIT OF HIS EARLY FRIEND, JOHN E. ABBOT.
Thus months rolled on, and academic halls
Received me to their venerable shade.
What awe befell me, when beneath my foot
Echoed those walks and chambers, consecrate
To mind, and hallowed by the memory
Of older times, and memorable men!
There roamed the bashful rustic, friendless, lone,
Unnoticed. Every form that crossed his path
Was new, and each to his enthusiast eye
His far superior. These were sons of light,
Favorites of Science, votaries of the Muse,
For whom the laurel puts its honors forth,
And Fame prepares her pedestal, and Earth
Waits with her myriads through all future years
To take instruction from their reverend lips.
He shrunk aside,—for what, alas! was he,
Amid the throng of Learning's hopeful sons?
His spirit sickened, and the thought of home,
Where he was cherished, and could feel himself
To that recluse and unambitious walk
Not all inadequate, weighed on his frame.
He panted to return—longed to resign
His hope of lettered honors—and repose,
Not all alone, upon the hearth he loved.
Received me to their venerable shade.
What awe befell me, when beneath my foot
Echoed those walks and chambers, consecrate
To mind, and hallowed by the memory
Of older times, and memorable men!
There roamed the bashful rustic, friendless, lone,
Unnoticed. Every form that crossed his path
Was new, and each to his enthusiast eye
His far superior. These were sons of light,
Favorites of Science, votaries of the Muse,
For whom the laurel puts its honors forth,
And Fame prepares her pedestal, and Earth
Waits with her myriads through all future years
To take instruction from their reverend lips.
He shrunk aside,—for what, alas! was he,
Amid the throng of Learning's hopeful sons?
His spirit sickened, and the thought of home,
Where he was cherished, and could feel himself
To that recluse and unambitious walk
Not all inadequate, weighed on his frame.
He panted to return—longed to resign
His hope of lettered honors—and repose,
Not all alone, upon the hearth he loved.
Then—like an angel who can read the soul,
Appointed to come down and cheer the weak—
The generous, the devoted Reginald,
My elder, my superior, but through love
And lowly self-abandonment my friend,
Beheld me droop, interpreted my thought,
Read the deep trouble of my wandering eye,
And knew the language of my hectic cheek.
He spoke to me—he drew my arm in his—
With cheerful tones encouraged me—revived
My palsied energy—breathed hope, life, strength,
And emulation; with a brother's arm,
And love like that a gentle sister feels,
He led me onward, now no more alone.
How blest the passage of those halcyon days,
When mind with mind communed, and heart with heart,
As, freed from care, in learning's shady walks,
We culled the idle fancies of the hour;
Or, in our higher moments, talked of truth,
Of science, virtue, and philosophy—
The powers of nature and the soul—the world's
Strange history—man's illustrious works
And wayward fate! Then all the ages past
Came in review to help us prophesy
Of those to come, and judge of that which is.
These were rich hours. We had them not alone.
The sages of all time were summoned up
To talk with us, and thoughts grew large,
And manhood swelled within us as we drank
Their glorious accents in. And thence we turned
To watch the dawn of an Augustan age
Opening around us, destined to outshine
The Roman glory. Quick our bosoms throbbed,
And with keen eyes we traced the rising light,
And ardently foretold the coming day.
Earth heaved with the commotion—nations groaned;
Mind sprang to life and exercise—the bounds
Of ancient knowledge every where gave way—
New truths, new lights, new wonders grew and spread;
And from the very horrors of the field,
Which teemed with blood and crime, leaped forth to life
The science that adorns, the arts that bless.
Genius awoke in every land; a voice,
Loud as the cry which from the cloisters rang,
And armed all Europe for the sacred war,
Spoke to the earnest heart of generous youth,
And bade them join this new crusade for man.
We heard the voice—our bosoms gave response.
We spoke strong words of gratulation deep,
That we were born to witness and partake
The high excitement of the teeming age.
We longed to know the issue of events,
And what this toiling energy of mind,
With Heaven co-working, should bring forth to bless
The waiting earth. How glowed our prophet words!
How eagerly we sketched our plans! How pure,
How large, benevolent, and resolute,
The track of useful glory he portrayed!
And with enthusiast eye, and thrilling voice,
That trembled with the emotion of the soul,
He breathed his hopes aloud, and none could doubt,
Who heard him pour his burning spirit forth,
That he had will to make his visions truth,
And only death could rob him of the power.
Appointed to come down and cheer the weak—
The generous, the devoted Reginald,
My elder, my superior, but through love
And lowly self-abandonment my friend,
350
Read the deep trouble of my wandering eye,
And knew the language of my hectic cheek.
He spoke to me—he drew my arm in his—
With cheerful tones encouraged me—revived
My palsied energy—breathed hope, life, strength,
And emulation; with a brother's arm,
And love like that a gentle sister feels,
He led me onward, now no more alone.
How blest the passage of those halcyon days,
When mind with mind communed, and heart with heart,
As, freed from care, in learning's shady walks,
We culled the idle fancies of the hour;
Or, in our higher moments, talked of truth,
Of science, virtue, and philosophy—
The powers of nature and the soul—the world's
Strange history—man's illustrious works
And wayward fate! Then all the ages past
Came in review to help us prophesy
Of those to come, and judge of that which is.
These were rich hours. We had them not alone.
The sages of all time were summoned up
To talk with us, and thoughts grew large,
And manhood swelled within us as we drank
Their glorious accents in. And thence we turned
To watch the dawn of an Augustan age
Opening around us, destined to outshine
The Roman glory. Quick our bosoms throbbed,
And with keen eyes we traced the rising light,
And ardently foretold the coming day.
Earth heaved with the commotion—nations groaned;
Mind sprang to life and exercise—the bounds
Of ancient knowledge every where gave way—
351
And from the very horrors of the field,
Which teemed with blood and crime, leaped forth to life
The science that adorns, the arts that bless.
Genius awoke in every land; a voice,
Loud as the cry which from the cloisters rang,
And armed all Europe for the sacred war,
Spoke to the earnest heart of generous youth,
And bade them join this new crusade for man.
We heard the voice—our bosoms gave response.
We spoke strong words of gratulation deep,
That we were born to witness and partake
The high excitement of the teeming age.
We longed to know the issue of events,
And what this toiling energy of mind,
With Heaven co-working, should bring forth to bless
The waiting earth. How glowed our prophet words!
How eagerly we sketched our plans! How pure,
How large, benevolent, and resolute,
The track of useful glory he portrayed!
And with enthusiast eye, and thrilling voice,
That trembled with the emotion of the soul,
He breathed his hopes aloud, and none could doubt,
Who heard him pour his burning spirit forth,
That he had will to make his visions truth,
And only death could rob him of the power.
I had not thought him mortal. For he seemed
So fitted for some chosen work on earth,
That, in my rash fatuity, I thought,
God cannot spare him from this suffering sphere;
Life shall be long to him, and crowned at length,
In the calm evening of a gray old age,
With heaven's bright chaplet of successful toil,
And earth's of reverend honor. So I dreamed;
And all my future projects, plans, and hopes
Twined with his presence. . . . . . .
So fitted for some chosen work on earth,
That, in my rash fatuity, I thought,
God cannot spare him from this suffering sphere;
Life shall be long to him, and crowned at length,
In the calm evening of a gray old age,
With heaven's bright chaplet of successful toil,
352
And all my future projects, plans, and hopes
Twined with his presence. . . . . . .
Tell me, you that can,
The colored language that shall paint his soul.
Give me the words, that I may draw him true,
And lovely as he was to those he loved.
Gentleness sat upon his even brow,
And from his eye beamed meek benignity;
While its peculiar, almost tearful gaze,
Went to the soul of all it fell upon.
If we might think some spirit, purified
From evil stains, robed once again in flesh,
And sent on messages of love to men,
Such we might deem my friend; so pure; so calm;
So unregardful of the petty cares
And small impertinences that annoy
All other men; so thoughtless of himself;
So bent on others' good; so seemingly
Unconscious of the tempting things of earth,
And musing ever on some purer scenes.
How quietly, yet forcibly, he stood!
Humble, yet bold; not eloquent, indeed,
But something better; winning, clear, and sweet;
Where his fond flock looked up to hear and learn.
No thunder from his voice, and from his eye
No lightning; but the gentle breath of spring
Recalling flowers to life,—the summer shower
Softly refreshing the luxuriant herb,—
The placid sun, whose penetrating beams,
Steadfast and gradual, lead the season on,—
The quiet dew, that nourishes unseen,—
These are the holy images that tell
The style and efficacy of his work;
While from the sacred rostrum he came down
To cheer the humble, and reclaim the bad,
And as a friend, from house to house to spread
Improvement, consolation, joy, reproof,
And turn his parish walks to walks of heaven.
The colored language that shall paint his soul.
Give me the words, that I may draw him true,
And lovely as he was to those he loved.
Gentleness sat upon his even brow,
And from his eye beamed meek benignity;
While its peculiar, almost tearful gaze,
Went to the soul of all it fell upon.
If we might think some spirit, purified
From evil stains, robed once again in flesh,
And sent on messages of love to men,
Such we might deem my friend; so pure; so calm;
So unregardful of the petty cares
And small impertinences that annoy
All other men; so thoughtless of himself;
So bent on others' good; so seemingly
Unconscious of the tempting things of earth,
And musing ever on some purer scenes.
How quietly, yet forcibly, he stood!
Humble, yet bold; not eloquent, indeed,
But something better; winning, clear, and sweet;
Where his fond flock looked up to hear and learn.
No thunder from his voice, and from his eye
No lightning; but the gentle breath of spring
Recalling flowers to life,—the summer shower
Softly refreshing the luxuriant herb,—
The placid sun, whose penetrating beams,
Steadfast and gradual, lead the season on,—
The quiet dew, that nourishes unseen,—
These are the holy images that tell
353
While from the sacred rostrum he came down
To cheer the humble, and reclaim the bad,
And as a friend, from house to house to spread
Improvement, consolation, joy, reproof,
And turn his parish walks to walks of heaven.
What was my joy to sit beneath his voice,
To witness the intense, devoted love
Which bound his people to him, hear their words,
And see their tears of gratitude and praise,
And watch the growth of goodness from his toil!
O Heaven! that I should see it all, and live
To see its end, its mournful end so soon!
A few short months in manhood's early prime,
He labored, faltered;—and my broken heart
Felt that yon grave had buried in its womb
The strongest tie that bound me to the world.
To witness the intense, devoted love
Which bound his people to him, hear their words,
And see their tears of gratitude and praise,
And watch the growth of goodness from his toil!
O Heaven! that I should see it all, and live
To see its end, its mournful end so soon!
A few short months in manhood's early prime,
He labored, faltered;—and my broken heart
Felt that yon grave had buried in its womb
The strongest tie that bound me to the world.
So pass the friendships of this earth away;
So shades and sorrows fall upon the path
That beamed the brightest. But the shades of grief
Rest not forever on the darkened soul;
Time gently scatters them; and deathless hope
Throws back the curtain of the fearful tomb,
And shows its tenants robed in radiant day.
The heart no more is troubled; anchored fast
On this strong hope, it sits in peace,
Serenely waiting—wisdom harshly learned,
Perchance, but needful, known in words to all,
But husbanded and real to the few,
Who, willingly submissive, at the feet
Of stern affliction sit. And blessed are they
Who bear that sweet serenity of mind
Taught by the consciousness that every good
Of earth is fleeting, save the one high worth,
Which, being kindred to the worth of heaven,
Partakes its immortality, and glows
Brighter and better when all else decays.
These ne'er shall know with hopeless pang to mourn
A true friend's loss. Hope triumphs; dust and death
Sever them not; for earth, to them, and heaven
Are one; and in communion of the soul,
In all that truly makes th' immortal mind,
In thoughts, affections, wishes, they are joined
Inseparably; till hoary Time, at length,
The great restorer, lifts his awful veil,
And ushers them to glory, face to face.
So shades and sorrows fall upon the path
That beamed the brightest. But the shades of grief
Rest not forever on the darkened soul;
Time gently scatters them; and deathless hope
Throws back the curtain of the fearful tomb,
And shows its tenants robed in radiant day.
The heart no more is troubled; anchored fast
On this strong hope, it sits in peace,
Serenely waiting—wisdom harshly learned,
Perchance, but needful, known in words to all,
But husbanded and real to the few,
Who, willingly submissive, at the feet
Of stern affliction sit. And blessed are they
Who bear that sweet serenity of mind
Taught by the consciousness that every good
354
Which, being kindred to the worth of heaven,
Partakes its immortality, and glows
Brighter and better when all else decays.
These ne'er shall know with hopeless pang to mourn
A true friend's loss. Hope triumphs; dust and death
Sever them not; for earth, to them, and heaven
Are one; and in communion of the soul,
In all that truly makes th' immortal mind,
In thoughts, affections, wishes, they are joined
Inseparably; till hoary Time, at length,
The great restorer, lifts his awful veil,
And ushers them to glory, face to face.
| The miscellaneous writings of Henry Ware | |