She ceased, and smiling tearfully, Bade each a kind adieu, Then ere the trance of grief was o'er, That night within the palace halls While slow upon the midnight air Of the deep-toned, awful heaven-bell Once only in a thousand years Wide open then the portals broad, And through the gateway echoing loud, The fiery coursers sprung. Behind they drew a heaven-wrought car, And down the Alabaster road, The heavenly vault high arching, Down to the foam-encrusted sea, Nor paused or stayed a moment's space, Light bounding on the shell-paved strand, The viewless air up-cleft. But ere the bended sky was gained, Forth from its depths of blue A thousand harps melodious, Rung forth a last adieu. G. LITERARY NOTICE. A POEM, by Edwin Johnson, and the VALEDICTORY ORATION, by Frederick John Kingsbury, pronounced before the Senior Class of Yale College, July 1, 1846. B. L. Hamlen. Circumstances would not permit us, were we disposed, to speak at length of these productions. We had the good fortune to hear them delivered, and the high opinion we formed of their merit as they were communicated by the living voice, was not diminished by their perusal upon the printed page. The opening of the Poem we thought particularly fine, and the address commencing with "Father, in whose undimmed eye," will not seem overwrought to those who know with what feelings our venerable President is regarded by those before whom it was pronounced. The Oration was characterized by strong common sense and the best of feeling, rather than by any striking merit as a rhetorical effort. The Parting Ode, by C. J. Pennington, music by J. M. Hubbard, was performed by the Beethoven Society with deep effect. EDITORS' TABLE. WITH this number, kind reader, we complete the eleventh volume of our Magazine. Of its past history it is unnecessary to speak. Its future success, Classmates and Friends, rests heavily upon you, as upon us. We have demands on your purses and your pens. Let these demands be generously met, and you make us responsible for the common interest which has been committed to our charge. We have engaged the use of new type for the coming year, which will add to the neat appearance of our pages. A liberal patronage will enable us to embellish the next volume with the "one or more portraits" which you have been encouraged to expect. For ourselves, we can promise more time and attention than the pressing duties of the college during the past term have permitted us to give. With the coöperation and encouragement which our predecessors received, we hope to make the Magazine acceptable to an equally large number of subscribers. We were intending, reader, to present you with some of our own lucubrations in the present number, and had actually began to arrange some ideas for your special edification, when the printers informed us that we "couldn't come in." So we must be content with the brief space that is left us, which we shall proceed to fill in the commendable spirit of the author who wrote one sentence and trusted to Providence for the next. We should like to speak to you more fully than we are able of our last conclaveto tell you of Ephraim, as he presides over the solemn sitting, conspicuous with those "Hyperion curls," and an air too of Apollo-of his compeers about him; but time would fail us to speak of Habakuk and Theophrastus, of Tobias and Jonathan. Suffice it to say, that of a hot (it was more than very warm) summer night these personages did assemble themselves together and proceed forthwith to the discharge of their important duties. After the necessary preliminaries of coming to order and reading of records had been attended to, an attempt was made to select from "the large assortment daily received and kept constantly on hand," a piece of poetry for the present No. Jonathan dislodged from the coffin a huge bundle labeled "Poetry," and cutting the hempen cord which bound its parts together, the table was instantly deluged with "Lines," "Stanzas," "Songs," " Sonnets," &c. &c. The first piece read was entitled "Lines on a case of wounded affection." A portion of it only had been listened to, when Tobias remarked, taking a cigar from the box, that “he had a particular use for that manuscript," and presently it was passing away like Virgil's Troy, -"Omnis humo fumat Neptunia Troja." Much as we could wish "to rescue from oblivion" this production, we can only give from memory a few detached portions. After calling the attention of "the charming ladies fair" "unto his tragedy," and describing the "beautiful lady" and the "gay young gentleman," the poet proceeds as follows: "Roxana was this lady's name, The flower of fair Oxfordshire, Begging of her to bee his dear. "Her noble heart to love inclined, And little Cupid bent his bow, Then follows a vivid description of the passion during its incipient stages-the heroine appears sighing away her life among "turtle doves" and harmless lambs," and finally she resolves to pour out her soul in a "leter" to her inconstant affianced: "I will to him a leter send, And let him know the vows he made Within that lonely bower where My tender heart was first waylaid. "Her trembling hand a leter wrote, Saying o my dear what shall I do, Do not imagine, reader, that the above is a rare specimen with us, for we have any quantity" of the same sort," which our limits will not permit us to notice. At a late hour a motion was made and carried, that the further reading of articles be indefinitely postponed, and that the Editors proceed to the discussion of ways and means to promote the interests of the Magazine for the coming year. Plans were proposed and discussed, and, among others, the following resolution was adopted: "Resolved, That hereafter all articles published in the Magazine must be received through the Post-Office at least two weeks before the time for publication." Speeches were made in glorification over the past, and high anticipations for the future. The clock had just tolled the hour of twelve, when the Club closed their editorial labors for the term with a "hearty three," which shook the sanctum "from centre to circumference." And now certain anxious and inquiring looks were cast from one to another, and at last the eyes, not "of all Europe," but of the Editors, were fixed upon Tobias. One remarked, with a yawn, that "it was exceedingly hot;" another, wiping his forehead, "did feel very faint." "It'll take the last quarter," muttered Tobias, spreading out some of the "shining dust" in his hand, whereat the features of all did glow with satisfaction. * That night "I dreamed a dream," and it was all a dream. But it was none of those horrid fancies in which fiendish hags flesh their harpy fingers in your person, and drag you through dungeons and charnel houses, and make your very blood freeze with "shrieks and sights unholy;" but one of those happy vagaries of the unchecked imagin. ation, which make one wish the delusion might last forever. Space and time were disposed of with the facility which dreams always command. There was no enchanting scene in Poetry or Romance which I did not visit. I sat upon the bank where 'the moonlight slept, and the soft sounds of music did creep into the ears of Lorenzo and Jessica.' Away on the wings of fancy I lost all sense amid scenes of beauty and forms divine. As some glimmerings of consciousness returned, I thought myself lying upon a river's bank, and gazing through the distance upon the gray windows and mossgrown walls of a convent. The vesper-bell was sending off its solemn tones upon the evening air. I was thinking of the pretty nuns passing to their devotions through the "long drawn aisles," when a horrible clangor brought me to my feet. The College bell was whirling above me. Snap went the boot-strap, rip went the sleeve-lining. Verily, thought I, as I lagged into my seat, and the malicious smile of the monitor met my imploring look, -"would that dreams were not the things they are." We are reminded of a good thing, which fell into our hands some time since, which we will venture to insert. It may seem out of season, but there are some, we think, who can sympathize with the spirit in which it is written: THE CHAPEL BELL. (From the MSS. of a late poor Scholar.) "The chapel bell with grief they hear, the dinner bell with glee."-OLD SONG. Dan Chauncy, in my dreaming ear, The tongue, that once roused holy clerk To lauds and primes, is still That chapel bell no ear forgets, And way of turning somersets No hooded monks, 'tis true, meet there O'er shrine of martyred saint, As lamps burn dim and faint; Till we might well recite the hymn, 66 Usque quo, DOMINE!" And duller yet that scene of gloom, Pent up in recitation room, An hour before the dawn. Hark! how they follow round and round, Well may the cheek with blushes glow, And oft in silent dance, As if, for very joy, the sound Had lost its utterance. Alas, old chapel bell, to me Whose precious dreams are broke By these remains of popery, Thy jargon is no joke! I've mixed too much with Protestants, And trust I ever shall, To relish these monastic haunts, And hours canonical. To think of wrongs then done A fig for all the silly talk Of early matin prayers, The case can scarce be worse; I'll bless my stars which shine so bright, When I shall be no more Compelled to rise by candle light, But vote it all a bore. I'll laugh, as I have never laughed, Of meeting some protested draft Of monitorial bill. Oh, how I grudge that graduate's luck Who has of sleep his fill, And snores like Captain Clutterbuck, New Haven, February, 1825. He rises not at tap of drum, Like him, these summons I'll deride, The "perilous days” of examination in the different classes are now past, and the exciting scenes of Commencement week are close upon us. The members of the graduating class have been reappearing among us during the past week, and although they laugh heartily and seem disposed to make the most of these joyous days, yet there is an air of seriousness about them which suggests that they have been "taking a look” beyond this college-world. The City is rapidly filling with visitors from abroad-the old and the young, the grave and the gay. Many will feel an increased interest in the exercises of the coming Commencement, from the fact that the degrees will be conferred for the last time by President DAY. Rarely, if ever, has a man left so high an office so universally esteemed and beloved. There is no one, not even the rudest amongst us, who does not regard him with almost filial affection. In passing along these walks, his eye rests not upon one whose heart does not leap forth to meet him With a blessing and a prayer." The Baccalaureate Sermon was preached by Prof. FITCH in the College Chapel, on Sunday afternoon, at the usual hour of service. The closing address was made with deep feeling, and a corresponding effect upon the audience. At quarter past 5 o'clock, the funeral of DENISON OLMSTED, son of Prof. OLMSTED, was attended in the Chapel. The remarks of Prof. GOODRICH upon the character and virtues of the deceased, and upon the affliction of his parents and friends, were deeply affecting. This was the third time within two years that the Professor and his family had been called to mourn a similar bereavement. A long procession of the Faculty and students followed the remains to the grave-classmates of the deceased assisting as bearers. Mr. Olmsted belonged to the Class of '44. His brother, JOHN HOWARD OLMSted, a member of the Class of '45, together with four of his classmates, has fallen during the past year. BIGELOW, BOWMAN, Crowell, Olmsted, WATKINSON, are "gone, for ever gone." VOL. XI. "Ithurie's whisper in the breakfast bell."-Willis. 54 |