 | Dartmouth lyrics by Richard Hovey |  |
26
ELEAZAR WHEELOCK
Oh, Eleazar Wheelock was a very pious man:
He went into the wilderness to teach the Indian,
With a gradus ad Parnassum, a Bible and a drum,
And five hundred gallons of New England rum.
He went into the wilderness to teach the Indian,
With a gradus ad Parnassum, a Bible and a drum,
And five hundred gallons of New England rum.
The big chief who met him was the Sachem of the Wah-hoo-wah's
If he was not a big chief, there was never one you saw who was;
He had tobacco by the cord, ten squaws, and more to come,
But he never yet had tasted of New England rum.
If he was not a big chief, there was never one you saw who was;
He had tobacco by the cord, ten squaws, and more to come,
But he never yet had tasted of New England rum.
Eleazar and the big chief harangued and gesticulated;
And they founded Dartmouth College and the big chief matriculated.
Eleazar was the faculty and the whole curriculum
Was five hundred gallons of New England rum.
And they founded Dartmouth College and the big chief matriculated.
Eleazar was the faculty and the whole curriculum
Was five hundred gallons of New England rum.
Chorus
Fill the bowl! Fill the bowl!And drink to Eleazar
And his primitive Alcazar,
Where he mixed drinks for the heathen
In the goodness of his soul.
48
HERE'S A HEALTH TO THEE, ROBERTS!
Here's a health to thee, Roberts,
And here's a health to me;
And here's to all the pretty girls
From Denver to the sea!
And here's a health to me;
And here's to all the pretty girls
From Denver to the sea!
Here's to mine and here's to thine!
Now's the time to clink it!
Here's a flagon of old wine,
And here are we to drink it.
Now's the time to clink it!
Here's a flagon of old wine,
And here are we to drink it.
Wine that maketh glad the heart
Of the bully boy!
Here's the toast that we love most,
“Love and song and joy.”
Of the bully boy!
Here's the toast that we love most,
“Love and song and joy.”
Song that is the flower of love,
And joy that is the fruit!
Here's the love of woman, lad,
And here's our love to boot!
And joy that is the fruit!
Here's the love of woman, lad,
And here's our love to boot!
49
YOU REMIND ME, SWEETING
You remind me, sweeting,
Of the glow,
Warm and pure and fleeting,
—Blush of apple-blossoms—
On cloud-bosoms,
When the sun is low.
Of the glow,
Warm and pure and fleeting,
—Blush of apple-blossoms—
On cloud-bosoms,
When the sun is low.
Like a golden apple,
'Mid the far
Topmost leaves that dapple
Stretch of summer blue—
There are you,
Sky-set like a star.
'Mid the far
Topmost leaves that dapple
Stretch of summer blue—
There are you,
Sky-set like a star.
Fearful lest I bruise you,
How should I
Dare to reach you, choose you,
Stain you with my touch?
It is much
That you star the sky.
How should I
Dare to reach you, choose you,
Stain you with my touch?
It is much
That you star the sky.
Why should I be climbing,
So to seize
All that sets me rhyming—
In my hand enfold
All that gold
Of Hesperides?
So to seize
All that sets me rhyming—
In my hand enfold
All that gold
Of Hesperides?
I would not enfold you,
If I might.
I would just behold you,
Sigh and turn away,
While the day
Darkens into night.
If I might.
I would just behold you,
Sigh and turn away,
While the day
Darkens into night.
56
MY LOVE'S WAITIN'
My love's waitin',
Waitin' by the river,
Waitin' till I come along!
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
Waitin' by the river,
Waitin' till I come along!
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
Jay-bird tol' me,
Tol' me in the mornin',
Tol' me she'd be there tonight.
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
Tol' me in the mornin',
Tol' me she'd be there tonight.
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
Whip-po'-will tol' me,
Tol' me in the evenin',
“Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow.”
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
Tol' me in the evenin',
“Down by the bend where the cat-tails grow.”
Wait there, child; I'm comin'.
57
ON THE HILL
Ah, God! here, here, Love bade me ope my still
Shut heart-lips at his nod;
And here, in vain resistance to his will,
I wrestled with the god.
What man can strive with Love? Is he not lord?
Best conquest is to yield.
It was a victory to feel his sword
Pierce through my idle shield.
Shut heart-lips at his nod;
And here, in vain resistance to his will,
I wrestled with the god.
What man can strive with Love? Is he not lord?
Best conquest is to yield.
It was a victory to feel his sword
Pierce through my idle shield.
I lay here at my queen's feet in the ashen,
Wan June-light of the moon,
And sang to her the legend of my passion,
A strange, forbidden tune.
The high gods cannot take away the glory
Love gave me as I fell,
Nor dim the recollection of the story
My lips took heart to tell.
Wan June-light of the moon,
And sang to her the legend of my passion,
A strange, forbidden tune.
The high gods cannot take away the glory
Love gave me as I fell,
Nor dim the recollection of the story
My lips took heart to tell.
Her eyes were filled with a divine compassion,
Like starlight on the sea.
Sadly she spoke; and in a blind, dazed fashion
I listened silently.
O stern denouncing pine! O cruel ledges!
The grey years come and go.
Only for me no spring-time greens the hedges,
No violets pierce the snow.
Like starlight on the sea.
Sadly she spoke; and in a blind, dazed fashion
I listened silently.
O stern denouncing pine! O cruel ledges!
The grey years come and go.
Only for me no spring-time greens the hedges,
No violets pierce the snow.
60
WEDDED
Birds are singing in the closes—
Singing for joy of June.
Scent of English violets
Mingles with the mignonette's;
And the garden's red with roses,
When the glad brown thrushes croon—
Thrushes crooning in the closes
All this rose-sweet June.
Singing for joy of June.
Scent of English violets
Mingles with the mignonette's;
And the garden's red with roses,
When the glad brown thrushes croon—
Thrushes crooning in the closes
All this rose-sweet June.
Rarer joy than yours has found me,
Birds of the rose-sweet June!
Maidenhood with Maytime ended;
Love, the strong one, o'er me bended,
And with orange blossoms crowned me
In the hot, sweet summer noon.
Rarer joy than yours has found me—
Love's year has its June.
Birds of the rose-sweet June!
Maidenhood with Maytime ended;
Love, the strong one, o'er me bended,
And with orange blossoms crowned me
In the hot, sweet summer noon.
Rarer joy than yours has found me—
Love's year has its June.
63
SQUAB FLIGHTS
“Love is eternal,” sang I long agoOf some light love that lasted for a day;
But when the fleeting fancy passed away,
And other loves, that following made as though
They were the very deathless, lost the glow
Youth mimics the divine with, and grew gray,
I said, “It is a dream: no love will stay.”
Angels have taught me wisdom. Now I know,
Though lesser loves and greater loves may cease,
Love still endures, knocking at myriad gates
That lead to God—stars, winds and waters, birds,
Beasts, flowers and men—speaking its sweetest words
At woman's portal, till it finds its peace
In the abyss where Godhead loves and waits.
65
AT THE CLUB
(Rondel)
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the street,
Cards and billiards lose their sweet;
Conversation on old brasses
Languishes; up go the glasses—
“Nice complexion!” “Dainty feet!”
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the street.
By the window down the street,
Cards and billiards lose their sweet;
Conversation on old brasses
Languishes; up go the glasses—
“Nice complexion!” “Dainty feet!”
When a pretty maiden passes
By the window down the street.
Smith forgets the “toiling masses,”
Robinson the fall in wheat;
All the club is indiscreet.
Ah! the wisest men are asses
When a pretty maiden passes.
Robinson the fall in wheat;
All the club is indiscreet.
Ah! the wisest men are asses
When a pretty maiden passes.
66
WINTER BEAUTY
Mid-week of midwinter! Daybreak! It is snowing,
And I look out on my garden from my room,
Where a sixmonth since my roses were a-blowing—
Red and white and tea roses all in bloom.
Now the snow is falling, falling, still, relentless;
Everywhere the eye turns, only flakes of snow—
Ghosts of summer's rose leaves, colorless and scentless,
Come to haunt the gardens where they used to grow.
And I look out on my garden from my room,
Where a sixmonth since my roses were a-blowing—
Red and white and tea roses all in bloom.
Now the snow is falling, falling, still, relentless;
Everywhere the eye turns, only flakes of snow—
Ghosts of summer's rose leaves, colorless and scentless,
Come to haunt the gardens where they used to grow.
Ah! the ice-death that has slain the laughing river!
Ah! the memories of meadowland and mere!
Of the June-snow of pond-lilies lost forever,
And the roses that were blooming yester-year!
There is beauty in this cruel winter, even,
In this white world where the snowlight shimmereth;
But the beauty of the summer was of heaven,
And the beauty of the winter is of death.
Ah! the memories of meadowland and mere!
Of the June-snow of pond-lilies lost forever,
And the roses that were blooming yester-year!
There is beauty in this cruel winter, even,
In this white world where the snowlight shimmereth;
But the beauty of the summer was of heaven,
And the beauty of the winter is of death.
67
VITA NUOVA
(Sonnetta doppa)
Dante! when first I read the history,Enwrit herein by thee,
Of all that infinite love that thou didst have
For Bice from the day when thou didst see
First her sweet symmetry
And thy child heart was taken for her slave,
I was as one who sails across a sea,
Elate of spirit and free
As the glad gulls that laugh along the wave,
And hears the sirens singing fitfully
A mystic melody,
Luring him to a melancholy grave.
With sweetest music, tender Florentine!
Thou didst allure me through this little grove
And in the midst thereof
Showed me a place where cypress trees did twine
Their sombre ombrage; yet I saw above
An opening in the trees where through did shine
A ray of light divine,
Quivering with pulses of eternal love.
69
A ROSE
Triolet
You thought I would not keep this rose,And yet I swore to kiss it nightly.
This only grieves me—to suppose
You thought I would not keep this rose.
There still the leaves lie, and it blows
Here in my heart each day more brightly.
You thought I would not keep this rose?
(And yet I swore to kiss it nightly.)
75
LALAGE
My love is like the dawning
And I am like the lark
That sings to greet her coming,
When 'neath a rosy awning
In a golden cloud winged bark,
Upon a gittern strumming,
She drives away the dark.
And I am like the lark
That sings to greet her coming,
When 'neath a rosy awning
In a golden cloud winged bark,
Upon a gittern strumming,
She drives away the dark.
To the melody she strummeth
Upon that gittern gay,
When o'er the hills she cometh,
I sing a song of sadness,
Though the tune she plays is merry,
And my sadness and her gladness
Mingle, chording in a very
Dulcet and harmonious way.
Upon that gittern gay,
When o'er the hills she cometh,
I sing a song of sadness,
Though the tune she plays is merry,
And my sadness and her gladness
Mingle, chording in a very
Dulcet and harmonious way.
My love is like the lily
And I am like the rose
And the garden that we grow in
Is odorous and stilly;
And she is white and chilly
But I am red and glowing
As a fire amid the snows.
And I am like the rose
And the garden that we grow in
Is odorous and stilly;
And she is white and chilly
But I am red and glowing
As a fire amid the snows.
Yet her love, so chaste and chilly,
And mine, so warm and glowing,
Blend quietly and stilly,
As the waters of a river
With the waters of the sea;
Ah! with love of her I quiver
And she trembles, loving me,
In the garden that we grow in.
And mine, so warm and glowing,
Blend quietly and stilly,
As the waters of a river
With the waters of the sea;
Ah! with love of her I quiver
And she trembles, loving me,
In the garden that we grow in.
Lalage! Lalage!
Like a snowdrop thou art chilly—
Yet, enfolden in my bosom,
Like a snowdrop meltest thou
In the summer of my kisses.
I am bird and thou art blossom
But we swing upon one bough.
Oh, the love of thee and me,
Pale and virgin lily!
There is nothing sweet as this is,
Lalage!
Like a snowdrop thou art chilly—
76
Like a snowdrop meltest thou
In the summer of my kisses.
I am bird and thou art blossom
But we swing upon one bough.
Oh, the love of thee and me,
Pale and virgin lily!
There is nothing sweet as this is,
Lalage!
But the dawning dawns not ever
And the lark not always sings
And the flowers must sometime wither—
We only meet to sever,
From our joy our sorrow springs
And unhappiness is hither
Borne on pleasure's purple wings.
And the lark not always sings
And the flowers must sometime wither—
We only meet to sever,
From our joy our sorrow springs
And unhappiness is hither
Borne on pleasure's purple wings.
78
JOHN KEATS
If thou canst not from some superior sphereLook down upon this world that gave thee birth
Or from some glad abode of stingless mirth
Bend hitherward thy godbright head to hear
Some rainbow-winged etherial messenger
Tell thee men worship now thy wondrous worth,
If thou art not, having passed away from earth,
If thou whose name all sons of song revere
Art nothing but the shadow of a name,
If through the whole allotted period
Of thy brief life thou were allowed to dwell
In endless bitter ignorance of thy fame,
Then must we yield it that there is no God
Or else that he is crueller than hell.
79
SONNET
When we are dead I firmly do believeWe shall slip back into the primal sea
Of the universal life, that there shall be
No such false joys as on this earth deceive
—Nay, nor no truer ones—nor cause to grieve
Nor terror nor despite nor mockery
Nor love, life's strongest bitterest mystery
And while we still are struggling in the strife
Surely it is a gracious boon though small
That one brief sweet real joy at least there is,
To be about to die and know that all
The anguish and the agony of life
Will not last longer than a lover's kiss.
80
TO A FRIEND
All too grotesque our thoughts are sometimes. Odd,That there will come a day when you and I
Shall not be you and I! that we shall lie—
We two—i' the damp earth-mould—above each clod
A drunken headstone in the neglected sod—
Thereon the phrase, “Hic Jacet,” carved awry,
And then our virtues, Bah! and piety—
Perhaps some cheeky reference to God!
And haply after many a century
Some spectacled old man shall drive the birds
A moment from their song i' the lonely spot
And make a copy of the quaint old words—
They will then be quaint and old—and all for what?
To fill a gap in a genealogy.
81
PHILOSOPHY
I sometimes long to throw my books awayAnd to forget the thoughts that make me sad—
The mighty musings that have ever clad
The minds of men in chill and sombre grey.
I sometimes long to laugh out and be gay
As some blithe, thoughtless, merry-hearted lad
Or wander in the forest and be glad
Without a memory of a heavier day;
Yet when I try to turn myself apart
From all the deeper mysteries of Life
In nature-love and hate of human strife,
Still the same thoughts throng through my throbbing brain
And I arise in heaviness of heart
And turn me to my studying again.
| Dartmouth lyrics by Richard Hovey | |