Page images
PDF
EPUB

She ceased, and smiling tearsully,

Bade each a kind adieu,
Then ere the trance of grief was o'er,

Had vanished from their view.

That night within the palace halls

Bright glancing lights were seen, And fitting figures, jewel-crowned

In robes of golden sheen.

While slow upon the midnight air

Arose the solemn chime
Of the deep-toned, awful heaven-bell

Tolling the march of time.

Once only in a thousand years

Is heard its startling boom, As trains of dying ages hoar,

Sweep past it to their tomb. Wide open then the portals broad,

A mighty warder flung, And through the gateway echoing loud,

The fiery coursers sprung. Behind they drew a heaven-wrought car,

Inlaid with sculptured gold, And down the Alabaster road,

The sounding chariot rolled. The heavenly vault high arching,

Resplendent shone with light; And Saturn's sun-illumined orbs,

Revolved in circles bright. Down to the foam-encrusted sea,

Those matchless coursers flew, Nor paused or stayed a moment's space,

Till passed its verge of blue. Light bounding on the shell-paved strand,

Their beauteous queen they left, Then wheeling with high lifted hoof,

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.

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 bear 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 forth with 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,

“Her noble heart to love inclined,
The flower of fair Oxfordshire,

And little Cupid bent his bow,
This gentleman a courting came,

And left his fatal dart behind,
Begging of her to bee his dear.

Which proved Roxana's overthrow." 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,

“Her trembling hand a leter wrote,
And let him know the vows he made

Saying o my dear what shall I do,
Within that lonely bower where

What is the reason I am thus
My tender heart was first waylaid.

Forsaken and cast off by you." 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 :

TIIE 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, No hooded monks, 'tis true, meet there Methinks thou reasonest well,

O’er shrine of martyred saint, “What jingleth in the wind so clear But martyrs we to drowsy prayer, As doth a chapel bell ?”

As lamps burn dim and faint;
The tongue, that once roused holy clerk | As prayers grow dull and lights grow dim,
To lauds and primes, is still

More dull and faint grow we,
In college towers, as hard at work, Till we might well recite the hymn,
As lively and as shrill.

Usque quo, Domine !"
That chapel bell no ear forgets, And duller yet that scene of gloom,
That once its voice has known,

Where students stretch and yawn, And way of turning somersets

Pent up in recitation room, Peculiarly his own.

An hour before the dawn. Hark! how they follow round and round, Well may the cheek with blushes glow, And oft in silent dance,

To think of wrongs then done As if, for very joy, the sound

Thine injured shade, O Cicero, Had lost its utterance.

And thine too, Xenophon! Alas, old chapel bell, to me

A fig for all the silly talk Whose precious dreams are broke Of early matin prayers, By these remains of popery,

Of long and lone suburban walk
Thy jargon is no joke!

And bracing morning airs;
I've mixed too much with Protestants, If stomachs are unbreakfasted,
And trust I ever shall,

The case can scarce be worse;
To relish these monastic haunts,

And if as empty is the head, And hours canonical.

'Tis sure a double curse.

I'll bless my stars which shine so bright, | He rises not at tap of drum,
When I shall be no more

Nor with the day-break gun,
Compelled to rise by candle light, Nor always, it is said by some,
But vote it all a bore.

With winter's tardy sun. I'll laugh, as I have never laughed,

Like him, these summons I'll deride, Nor dread the coming ill

Draw closer down my cap, Of meeting some protested draft

And turning on my other side Of monitorial bill.

Resume my morning nap. Oh, how I grudge that graduate's luck I'll linger for a richer tone, Who has of sleep his fill,

Till in the breakfast bell And snores like Captain Clutterbuck, | I feel, and with the poet own Released from morning drill.

| Thy touch, Ithuriel !* New Haven, February, 1827. .

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 lest 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, forever gone."

* " Ithurie's whisper in the breakfast bell."-Willis.

54

VOL. XI.

« PreviousContinue »