No prince presume; for still himself he bare And on the hearthstone danced a happier flame; 180 185 III. 1. The garrulous memories Gather again from all their far-flown nooks, Tow'rds Tintern's gray repose of roofless aisles : When Saturday her monthly banquet spread All choice, some famous, loving things, not names, 190 195 185. For the stories of Philemon and Amphitryon, see Ovid's Metamorphoses, viii. 631 and vi. 112. 192. Tintern Abbey on the river Wye is one of the most famous ruins in England. About this, as about other ruins and shaded buildings, the rooks make their home. 194. A club known as the Saturday Club has for many years met in Boston, and some of the prominent members are intimated in the following lines. Such company as wisest moods befits, Natures benignly mixed of air and earth, 2. I see in vision the warm-lighted hall, 200 205 And Łut my chair is empty; 'mid them all 3. Him most I see whom we most dearly miss, His features poised in genial armistice 218. Agassiz himself. 210 215 220 225 Making through Nature's walls its easy breach, As he our fireside were, our light and heat, Wide-smiling champaign, without tameness sweet, 230 235 4. There too the face half-rustic, half-divine, 240 In Nature's world and Man's, nor fade to hollow trope, Content with our New World and timely bold 245 240. Ralph Waldo Emerson. The words half-rustic, halfdivine, recall Lowell's earlier characterization in his Fable for Critics: "A Greek head on right Yankee shoulders, whose range 248. Judge E. R. Hoar, (Ripe-hearted homebrew, fresh and fresh again), While the wise nose's firm-built aquiline Curves sharper to restrain The merriment whose most unruly moods Pass not the dumb laugh learned in listening woods Of silence-shedding pine: Hard by is he whose art's consoling spell Has given both worlds a whiff of asphodel, 250 255 5. And more there are: but other forms arise By shrinking over-eagerness of heart, 260 Cloud charged with searching fire, whose shadow's sweep Heightened mean things with sense of brooding ill, 265 New England's poet, soul reserved and deep, Whom high o'er Concord plains we laid to sleep, 270 That should have stood unbent 'neath fourscore years, The noble head, the eyes of furtive trust, All gone to speechless dust; 255. Longfellow. 275 262. Nathaniel Hawthorne. He was buried in Concord, May 23, 1864. And he our passing guest, Shy nature, too, and stung with life's unrest, Mellowed by scutcheoned panes in cloisters old, Young head time-tonsured smoother than a friar's, But foiled with riddles dark and cloudy aims, Not by still Isis or historic Thames, Nor by the Charles he tried to love with me, After the good centurion fitly named, 280 285 290 295 276. Arthur Hugh Clough, an English poet, author of the Bothie of Tober-na- Vuolich, and editor of Dryden's Translation of Plutarch's Lives, who came to this country in 1852 with some purpose of making it his home, but returned to England in less than a year. He lived while here in Cambridge, and strong attachments grew up between him and the men of letters in Cambridge and Concord. 291. Clough died in his forty-third year, November 13, 1861, and was buried in the little Protestant cemetery outside the walls of Florence. 292. Santa Croce is the church in Florence where many illustrions dead are buried, among them Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Galileo, Alfieri. 296. Cornelius Conway Felton, Professor of Greck Language and Literature in Harvard College, and afterward President until his death in 1862. |