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5 With sure impulsion to keep honor clear,

When, pointing down, his father whispers, “ Here,
Here, where we stand, stood he, the purely Greaty
Whose soul no siren passion could unsphere,
Then nameless, now a power and mixed with

fate."
10 Historic town, thou holdest sacred dust,

Once known to men as pious, learned, just,
And one memorial pile that dares to last;
But Memory greets with reverential kiss

No spot in all thy circuit sweet as this, 15 Touched by that modest glory as it past,

O'er which yon elm hath piously displayed
These hundred years its monumental shade.

2.

Of our swift passage through this scenery

Of life and death, more durable than we, 20 What landmark so congenial as a tree

Repeating its green legend every spring,
And, with a yearly ring,
Recording the fair seasons as they flee,

Type of our brief but still-renewed mortality ? 25 We fall as leaves: the immortal trunk remains,

Builded with costly juice of hearts and brains
Gone to the mould now, whither all that be
Vanish returnless, yet are procreant still

In human lives to come of good or ill, 34 And feed unseen the roots of Destiny.

12. Memorial Hall, built by the alumni of Harvard, in memory of those who fell in the war for anion, a building of nore serious thought than any in Cambridge, and among the low in the country built to endure.

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Men's monuments, grown old, forget their names
They should eternize, but the place
Where shining souls have passed imbibes a grace
Beyond mere earth; some sweetness of their

fames
35 Leaves in the soil its unextinguished trace,

Pungent, pathetic, sad with nobler aims,
That penetrates our lives and heightens them or

shames.
This insubstantial world and fleet

Seems solid for a moment when we stand 40 On dust ennobled by heroic feet

Once mighty to sustain a tottering land,
And mighty still such burthen to upbear,
Nor doomed to tread the path of things that merely

were:

Our sense, refined with virtue of the spot, 45 Across the mists of Lethe's sleepy stream

Recalls him, the sole chief without a blot,
No more a pallid image and a dream,
But as he dwelt with men decorously supreme.

2.
Our grosser minds need this terrestial hint
50 To raise long-buried days from tombs of print:

6 Here stood he," tly we repeat,
And lo, the statue shrined and still
In that gray minster-front we call the Past,

Feels in its frozen veins our pulses thrill, 55 Breathes living air and mocks at Death's deceit.

It warms, it stirs, comes down to us at last,

Its features human with familiar light,
A man, beyond the historian's art to kill,
Or sculptor's to efface with patient chisel-blights

3.
60 Sure the dumb earth hath memory, for naught

Was Fancy given, on whose enchanted loom
Present and Past commingle, fruit and bloom
Of one fair bough, inseparably wrought

Into the seamless tapestry of thought.
65 So charmed, with undeluded eye we see

In history's fragmentary tale
Bright clews of continuity,
Learn that high natures over Time prevail,

And feel ourselves a link in that entail 70 That binds all ages past with all that are to bo.

III.

1.

Beneath our consecrated elm
A century ago he stood,
Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood

Whose red surge sought, but could not overwhelm 75 The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn

helm : From colleges, where now the gown 73. Referring to Braddock's defeat, when Washington wrote to his brother: “By the all-powerful dispensations of Providence I have been protected beyond all human probability or expectation; for I had four bullets through my coat, and two horses shot under me, yet I escaped unhurt, although death was levelling my companions on every side of me."

76. Study in Cambridge was suspended, the buildings used as barracks, and the students sent to Concord.

To arms had yielded, from the town,
Our rude self-summoned levies flocked to see

The new-come chiefs and wonder which was he. 80 No need to question long; close-lipped and tall,

Long trained in murder-brooding forests lone
To bridle others' clamors and his own,
Firmly erect, he towered above them all,

The incarnate discipline that was to free 85 With iron curb that armed democracy.

2.

A motley rout was that which came to stare,
In raiment tanned by years of sun and storns,
Of every shape that was not uniform,

Dotted with regimentals here and there; 90 An army all of captains, used to pray

And stiff in fight, but serious drill's despair,
Skilled to debate their orders, not obey;
Deacons were there, selectmen, men of note

In half-tamed hamlets ambushed round with woods, 95 Ready to settle Freewill by a vote,

But largely liberal to its private moods;
Prompt to assert by manners, voice, or pen,
Or ruder arms, their rights as Englishmen,

Nor much fastidious as to how aud when : 100 Yet seasoned stuff and fittest to create

A thought-staid army or a lasting state:
Ilaughty they said he was, at first; severe;
But owned, as all men own, the steady hand
Upon the bridle patient to command,

86. The letters of Washington and of other generals in the early part of the Revolutionary war, bear repeated witness to the undisciplined character of the troops. “I found a mixed multi tude of people here," writes Washington, July 27th, "under rery little discipline, order, or government."

105 Prized, as all prize, the justice pure from fear,

And learned to honor first, then love him, then

revere.

Such power there is in clear-eyed self-restraint
And purpose clean as light from every selfislı taint.

3.

Musing beneath the legendary tree,
110 The years between furl off: I seem to see

The sun-flecks, shaken the stirred foliage through,
Dapple with gold his sober buff and blue
And weave prophetic aureoles round the head
That shines our beacon now nor darkens with the

dead.
115 O man of silent mood,

A stranger among strangers then,
How art thou since renowned the Great, the Good,
Familiar as the day in all the homes of men!

The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, 120 Blow many names ont: they but fan to flame

The self-renewing splendors of thy fame.

IV.

1.

How many subtlest influences unite,
With spiritual touch of joy or pain,

Invisible as air and soft as light,
125 To body forth that image of the brain

112. The American colors in the Revolution were buff and blue. Fox wore them in Parliament, as did Burke also on occa. Bion. There is discussion as to the origin of the colors, for which see Stanhope's Miscellanies, First Series, pp. 116-122, and Proc. Mass. Hist. Soc. Jan. 1859, pp. 149–154.

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