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260 THE DEPARTURE OF THE PILOT

D. C. G. &

inviteth him.

But the overland locomotive snorteth

and

Johns Hopkins

must be begun.

But since both

are voyaging

after truth and progress

And quoth he: "O brother brave,

Wisely thou hast steered and well, Now all fair are wind and wave,Come and tarry with us still."

“Wave and wind at last are fair,

Rosy-bright the new-born day,
Hope and faith are in the air,
Come and sail with us for aye!"

But the pilot's shallop-prow

Chafes against the vessel's side : "Nay, true heart, thy wisdom now

Shall the good ship's fortunes guide."

“On the morrow they shall launch
Yonder from the Eastern shore,
Yet another vessel, staunch,

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Sound as e'er was built before.

Hopes and prayers upon her wait:

Her deep bosom, grand and free,
Bears a wealth of mystic freight :
I must guide her to the sea.

"But upon our voyage far

We shall meet in other days,
Since the same pure polar star

Shines to beacon both our ways.

THE DEPARTURE OF THE PILOT 261

"Far away where favoring gales

66

Blow from many a spicy beach,
We shall see our shining sails
Nodding friendly, each to each.

Many a morning that shall dawn
With its radiant prophecy,
Still shall greet us sailing on-
Comrades on the glorious sea."

the ships shall sail in

sight &

be of ye

same fleet.

Amen.

AN ANSWER

TO THE YALE CLASS OF 1861, READ JUNE 28, 1876

DEAR friends, ask not from me a song:
The singing days to spring belong,
And in our hearts, as in this clime,
Spring has long turned to summer-time.
The morning dreams have fled afar,
When every dew-drop held a star:
The broad, full noon is here
The stars have drawn away to heaven.

till even

With you 't is June; and rosebuds blush,
And golden sunsets glow and flush:
While every breeze, with Psyche wings,
Wafts promise of immortal things;
And every shower of perfumed rain
Brightens to rainbow hope again.
'Tis meet that in that fragrant air
Your songs defy old Time and care,
While overhead the elms shall swing,
And hand to hand old friendships cling:
Ah, sweet and strong your voices ring!

AN ANSWER

But here, upon the planet's verge,
The grassy velvet turns to serge:
No shower has wet the hillocks sere
Since April shed her parting tear.
The poppies on the hill are dead,
And the wild oat is harvested:

The canyon's flowers are brown with seed,
And only blooms some wayside weed.
No leafy elms their shadows throw,
No moist and odorous breezes blow;
But all the bare, brown hills along
The ocean wind sweeps sad and strong.
Then ask not, friends, from me a song!

Yet think not that this sombre strain
Would, dear old friends, of fate complain.
Though spring has gone, and singing days,
The sunshine, and the starshine, stays.
If no more bloom the hillsides yield,
The tented sheaves are in the field:
The tawny slopes are sending down
Their harvest loads to farm and town.
If early spring-time fled with tears,
Yet earlier harvest-time appears.
And if far off, as in a dream,
I see your merry faces beam,
And if far off, as through the deep,
I hear your songs their cadence keep,
I know 't were childishness to weep.

263

264

AN ANSWER

For all the time is grand indeed!

And whether June bring flower or seed-
And whether softest breezes blow,
Or ocean's organ-music flow,

Not backward only turn our eyes,
But forward, where along the skies
The brighter dawn-lights break and rise.
For all the love these years have stored
Wells up to manlier deed and word.
The nerveless grasp of girlish youth
Grips now the banner staff of truth;
The careless song, half sung, rings out
Changed to a mighty battle-shout;
And we that kept our holiday

With wine and fragrant mists and play,
Shall yet, perchance, even such as we,
Fulfill our half-heard prophecy.

The vision we but half divined,

Wrought out with steadier heart and mind,

Shall bless the world of humankind.

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