 | Farm legends |  |
113
BROTHERS AND FRIENDS.
[Reunion of Αδελφοι και φιλοι Society, June 16, 1875.]
Would I might utter all my heart can feel!
But there are thoughts weak words will not reveal;
The rarest fruitage is the last to fall;
The strongest language hath no words at all.
But there are thoughts weak words will not reveal;
The rarest fruitage is the last to fall;
The strongest language hath no words at all.
When first the uncouth student comes in sight—
A sturdy plant, just struggling toward the light—
And timidly invades his classic home,
And gazes at the high-perched college dome,
Striving, through eyes with a vague yearning dim,
To spy some future glory there for him,
A child in thought, a man in strong desire,
A clod of clay, vexed by a restless fire,
A sturdy plant, just struggling toward the light—
And timidly invades his classic home,
And gazes at the high-perched college dome,
Striving, through eyes with a vague yearning dim,
To spy some future glory there for him,
A child in thought, a man in strong desire,
A clod of clay, vexed by a restless fire,
When, homesick, heart-sick, tired, and desolate,
He leans himself 'gainst Learning's iron gate,
While all the future frowns upon his track,
And all the past conspires to pull him back;
When, with tired resolution in his looks,
He bends above the cabalistic books,
And strives, with knitted forehead throbbing hot,
To learn what older students have forgot;
And wonders how the Romans and the Greeks
Could cry aloud and spare their jaws and cheeks;
And wants the Algebraic author put
On an equation, tied there, head and foot,
Which then, with all Reduction's boasted strength,
May be expanded to prodigious length;
When he reflects, with rueful, pain-worn phiz,
What a sad, melancholy dog he is,
And how much less unhappy and forlorn
Are all those students who are not yet born;
When Inexperience like a worm is twined
Around the clumsy fingers of his mind,
And Discipline, a stranger yet unknown,
Struts grandly by and leaves him all alone;
What cheers him better than to feel and see
Some other one as badly off as he?
Or the sincere advice and kindly aid
Of those well versed in Study's curious trade?
What help such solace and improvement lends
As the hand-grasp of Brothers and of Friends?
He leans himself 'gainst Learning's iron gate,
While all the future frowns upon his track,
And all the past conspires to pull him back;
When, with tired resolution in his looks,
He bends above the cabalistic books,
And strives, with knitted forehead throbbing hot,
To learn what older students have forgot;
And wonders how the Romans and the Greeks
Could cry aloud and spare their jaws and cheeks;
And wants the Algebraic author put
On an equation, tied there, head and foot,
114
May be expanded to prodigious length;
When he reflects, with rueful, pain-worn phiz,
What a sad, melancholy dog he is,
And how much less unhappy and forlorn
Are all those students who are not yet born;
When Inexperience like a worm is twined
Around the clumsy fingers of his mind,
And Discipline, a stranger yet unknown,
Struts grandly by and leaves him all alone;
What cheers him better than to feel and see
Some other one as badly off as he?
Or the sincere advice and kindly aid
Of those well versed in Study's curious trade?
What help such solace and improvement lends
As the hand-grasp of Brothers and of Friends?
When, with a wildly ominous halloo,
The frisky Freshman shuffles into view,
And shouts aloud the war-cry of his clan,
And makes friends with the devil like a man;
When, looking upward at the other classes,
He dubs them as three tandem-teams of asses,
And, scarcely knowing what he does it for,
Vows against them unmitigated war,
And aims to show them that though they may tread
In stately, grand procession o'er his head,
The animated pathway that they scorn,
May sometimes bristle with a hidden thorn;
When, with a vigilance that to nothing yields,
He scans the fruitage of the neighboring fields,
And in the solemn night-time doth entwine
Affection's fingers round the melon-vine;
When the tired wagon from its sheltering shed
To strange, uncouth localities is led,
And, with the night for a dissecting-room,
Is analyzed amid the friendly gloom;
When the hushed rooster, cheated of his cry,
From his spoiled perch bids this vain world good-bye
When, in the chapel, an unwilling guest,
And living sacrifice, a cow doth rest;
When from the tower, the bell's notes, pealing down,
Rouse up the fireman from the sleeping town,
Who, rushing to the scene, with duty fired,
Finds his well-meant assistance unrequired,
And, creeping homeward, steadily doth play
Upon the third commandment all the way;
When are fired off, with mirth-directed aims,
At the staid Alma Mater, various games,
As feline juveniles themselves regale
In the lithe folds of the maternal tail,
And when these antics have gone far enough,
Comes from her paw a well-considered cuff,
What more to soothe the chastened spirit tends
Than sympathy from Brothers and from Friends?
The frisky Freshman shuffles into view,
And shouts aloud the war-cry of his clan,
And makes friends with the devil like a man;
When, looking upward at the other classes,
He dubs them as three tandem-teams of asses,
And, scarcely knowing what he does it for,
Vows against them unmitigated war,
And aims to show them that though they may tread
In stately, grand procession o'er his head,
The animated pathway that they scorn,
May sometimes bristle with a hidden thorn;
When, with a vigilance that to nothing yields,
He scans the fruitage of the neighboring fields,
And in the solemn night-time doth entwine
Affection's fingers round the melon-vine;
When the tired wagon from its sheltering shed
To strange, uncouth localities is led,
And, with the night for a dissecting-room,
Is analyzed amid the friendly gloom;
When the hushed rooster, cheated of his cry,
From his spoiled perch bids this vain world good-bye
115
And living sacrifice, a cow doth rest;
When from the tower, the bell's notes, pealing down,
Rouse up the fireman from the sleeping town,
Who, rushing to the scene, with duty fired,
Finds his well-meant assistance unrequired,
And, creeping homeward, steadily doth play
Upon the third commandment all the way;
When are fired off, with mirth-directed aims,
At the staid Alma Mater, various games,
As feline juveniles themselves regale
In the lithe folds of the maternal tail,
And when these antics have gone far enough,
Comes from her paw a well-considered cuff,
What more to soothe the chastened spirit tends
Than sympathy from Brothers and from Friends?
When the deep Sophomore has just begun
The study of his merits, one by one,
And found that he, a bright scholastic blade,
Is fearfully and wonderfully made;
Discovers how much greater is his share
Of genius than he was at first aware;
When, with a ken beyond his tender age,
He sweeps o'er History's closely printed page,
Conjecturing how this world so long endured,
With his co-operation unsecured;
When, with his geometrical survey
Trigonometrically brought in play,
He scans two points, with firm, unmoved design
To join them sooner than by one straight line;
When he, with oratoric hand astir,
Rolls back the tide of ages—as it were;
When Cicero he decides for reading fit,
And tolerates happy Horace for his wit;
When he across Zoölogy takes sight,
To see what creatures were created right,
And looks the plants that heaven has fashioned through,
To see if they were rightly finished, too;
When he his aid to any cause can lend,
In readiness, on short notice, to ascend
From any well-worn point, secure and soon,
In his small oratorical balloon,
Expecting, when his high trip's end appears,
Descent upon a parachute of cheers;
When he decides, beneath a load of care,
What whiskered monogram his face shall wear;
When, from his mind's high shoulders cropping out,
Linguistic feathers constantly do sprout,
Which, ere they meet the cool outsider's scoff,
Require a quiet, friendly picking-off;
What better to this healthy process lends,
Than the critiques of Brothers and of Friends?
The study of his merits, one by one,
And found that he, a bright scholastic blade,
Is fearfully and wonderfully made;
Discovers how much greater is his share
Of genius than he was at first aware;
When, with a ken beyond his tender age,
He sweeps o'er History's closely printed page,
Conjecturing how this world so long endured,
With his co-operation unsecured;
When, with his geometrical survey
Trigonometrically brought in play,
He scans two points, with firm, unmoved design
To join them sooner than by one straight line;
When he, with oratoric hand astir,
Rolls back the tide of ages—as it were;
When Cicero he decides for reading fit,
And tolerates happy Horace for his wit;
When he across Zoölogy takes sight,
To see what creatures were created right,
And looks the plants that heaven has fashioned through,
To see if they were rightly finished, too;
116
In readiness, on short notice, to ascend
From any well-worn point, secure and soon,
In his small oratorical balloon,
Expecting, when his high trip's end appears,
Descent upon a parachute of cheers;
When he decides, beneath a load of care,
What whiskered monogram his face shall wear;
When, from his mind's high shoulders cropping out,
Linguistic feathers constantly do sprout,
Which, ere they meet the cool outsider's scoff,
Require a quiet, friendly picking-off;
What better to this healthy process lends,
Than the critiques of Brothers and of Friends?
When the spruce Junior, not disposed to shirk,
Begins to get down fairly to his work,
Strives to run foremost in the college race,
Or at least fill a creditable place;
When he bears, o'er the rough and hard highway,
The heat and burden of the college day,
And hastes—his mental lungs all out of breath—
As if it were a race of life and death;
When with some little doubt his brain is fraught,
That he's not quite so brilliant as he thought,
And he would strengthen his lame talent still,
By wrapping 'round the bandage of his will;
When, undergoing the reaction drear
That follows up the Sophomoric year,
He finds each task much harder than before,
And tarries long at every phrase's door,
And pauses o'er his dull oration's page,
Then tears it into pieces in a rage;
When, had he fifty ink-stands, he could throw
Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe;
And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom,
In his heart's world there's yet sufficient room
For Cupid to come blundering through the dark,
And make his sensibilities a mark,
And, viewing each the other from afar,
Learning and Love frown dolefully, and spar;
What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends
Like the support of Brothers and of Friends?
Begins to get down fairly to his work,
Strives to run foremost in the college race,
Or at least fill a creditable place;
When he bears, o'er the rough and hard highway,
The heat and burden of the college day,
And hastes—his mental lungs all out of breath—
As if it were a race of life and death;
When with some little doubt his brain is fraught,
That he's not quite so brilliant as he thought,
And he would strengthen his lame talent still,
By wrapping 'round the bandage of his will;
When, undergoing the reaction drear
That follows up the Sophomoric year,
He finds each task much harder than before,
And tarries long at every phrase's door,
And pauses o'er his dull oration's page,
Then tears it into pieces in a rage;
When, had he fifty ink-stands, he could throw
Each at some devil fraught with fancied woe;
And when, perchance, atop of all this gloom,
In his heart's world there's yet sufficient room
For Cupid to come blundering through the dark,
And make his sensibilities a mark,
117
Learning and Love frown dolefully, and spar;
What for his trouble-phantoms makes amends
Like the support of Brothers and of Friends?
When, with a strengthened soul and chastened brain,
The Senior who has labored not in vain
Looks back upon the four eventful years
To see if any fruitfulness appears,
When he stands, somewhat shadowed by remorse,
In the bright Indian Summer of the course,
And muses, had each opportunity
Been seized, how smooth his present path might be;
When, having blundered through each college hall,
Bumping his head 'gainst Inexperience' wall,
There burst upon him through the window-panes,
Broad Knowledge' deep ravines and fertile plains;
When, standing at the door, with gaze of doubt,
He draws on his world-wrappings, and looks out
Into the chillness of the winter's day,
And almost wishes that he still might stay,
What nearer to his beating heart extends,
Than parting with his Brothers and his Friends?
The Senior who has labored not in vain
Looks back upon the four eventful years
To see if any fruitfulness appears,
When he stands, somewhat shadowed by remorse,
In the bright Indian Summer of the course,
And muses, had each opportunity
Been seized, how smooth his present path might be;
When, having blundered through each college hall,
Bumping his head 'gainst Inexperience' wall,
There burst upon him through the window-panes,
Broad Knowledge' deep ravines and fertile plains;
When, standing at the door, with gaze of doubt,
He draws on his world-wrappings, and looks out
Into the chillness of the winter's day,
And almost wishes that he still might stay,
What nearer to his beating heart extends,
Than parting with his Brothers and his Friends?
When he at last has bid the school good-by,
And finds that many matters go awry;
Finds much amid Earth's uncongenial fog,
Not mentioned in the college catalogue;
Finds that The World, in writing his name down,
Forgets, somehow, to add the letters on
Which serve to make his fellow-mortals see
How little rests behind a big degree;
Finds, also, that it is inclined to speak
Elsewise than in the Latin or the Greek;
Finds that the sharp blade of his brightened mind
Gets dulled upon the pachydermal kind;
That The World by Declension understands
The sliding-down of houses, stocks, and lands;
And that Translation means, in this world's bother,
Translation from one pocket to another;
Mistrusts that if The World has, as is sung,
A tail by which, perchance, it may be “slung,”
The blessed place so many hands infold,
He can not find whereon he may take hold;
Finds that he best makes ground o'er this world's road,
As he his college nonsense doth unload;
What sweeter sound with Life's alarum blends
Than the kind voice of Brothers and of Friends?
And finds that many matters go awry;
Finds much amid Earth's uncongenial fog,
Not mentioned in the college catalogue;
Finds that The World, in writing his name down,
Forgets, somehow, to add the letters on
Which serve to make his fellow-mortals see
How little rests behind a big degree;
Finds, also, that it is inclined to speak
Elsewise than in the Latin or the Greek;
Finds that the sharp blade of his brightened mind
Gets dulled upon the pachydermal kind;
That The World by Declension understands
The sliding-down of houses, stocks, and lands;
118
Translation from one pocket to another;
Mistrusts that if The World has, as is sung,
A tail by which, perchance, it may be “slung,”
The blessed place so many hands infold,
He can not find whereon he may take hold;
Finds that he best makes ground o'er this world's road,
As he his college nonsense doth unload;
What sweeter sound with Life's alarum blends
Than the kind voice of Brothers and of Friends?
And so, to-day, we live our old lives o'er—
The Freshman gay, the smiling Sophomore,
The anxious Junior, and the Senior proud,
The care-immersed Alumnus, sober-browed;
To shake once more the quick-responding hand,
To trade in jokes no others understand;
Our fish-lines into Memory's ponds to throw
For stories which were left there long ago
(Which, like most fishy ventures, as is known,
Through many changing years have bred and grown);
To beat the big drum of our vanity,
To clash the cymbals of our boisterous glee;
To bind again the old-time friendships fast,
To fight once more the battles of the past.
The Freshman gay, the smiling Sophomore,
The anxious Junior, and the Senior proud,
The care-immersed Alumnus, sober-browed;
To shake once more the quick-responding hand,
To trade in jokes no others understand;
Our fish-lines into Memory's ponds to throw
For stories which were left there long ago
(Which, like most fishy ventures, as is known,
Through many changing years have bred and grown);
To beat the big drum of our vanity,
To clash the cymbals of our boisterous glee;
To bind again the old-time friendships fast,
To fight once more the battles of the past.
Beneath the blue of this clear sunlit sky,
Beneath the storm-cloud, rudely lingering nigh,
From night to night—from changing day to day—
Our grand Society has won its way.
And as the lichen plant, when tempest-torn,
And roughly from its native hill-side borne,
Sucks moisture from the whirlwind's shivering form,
And grows, while yet hurled onward by the storm,
And when at last its voyage well is o'er,
Thrives sweeter, purer, stronger than before,
Our gallant little band has ever grown
Stronger for all the struggles it has known;
And, 'mid the smiles and frowns that heaven out-sends,
Our hearts still beat as Brothers and as Friends.
Beneath the storm-cloud, rudely lingering nigh,
From night to night—from changing day to day—
Our grand Society has won its way.
And as the lichen plant, when tempest-torn,
And roughly from its native hill-side borne,
Sucks moisture from the whirlwind's shivering form,
And grows, while yet hurled onward by the storm,
And when at last its voyage well is o'er,
Thrives sweeter, purer, stronger than before,
Our gallant little band has ever grown
Stronger for all the struggles it has known;
And, 'mid the smiles and frowns that heaven out-sends,
Our hearts still beat as Brothers and as Friends.
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