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ANNIVERSARY POEM.
III.
Ye who remember in what guise she came,—
In darkness draped, a shade with starry eyes;
Till grown self-luminous, like boreal skies,
Ye saw her form of beauty limned in flame;
Ye know how then ye made, in sacred rite,
For love of her a covenant with night,
And gave yourselves the shadow of a name.
Ye who remember in what guise she came,—
In darkness draped, a shade with starry eyes;
Till grown self-luminous, like boreal skies,
Ye saw her form of beauty limned in flame;
Ye know how then ye made, in sacred rite,
For love of her a covenant with night,
And gave yourselves the shadow of a name.
IV.
And we, of late adopted, whom she drew
By the strong magnet of her gracious will,—
Who, at the threshold of her throne-room, still
Have loitered,—touch, to-night, with reverence due,
Her sceptre: lo! like Aaron's rod of old,
It breaks in bud, its gradual flowers unfold,
And perfect almonds ripen in our view!
And we, of late adopted, whom she drew
By the strong magnet of her gracious will,—
Who, at the threshold of her throne-room, still
Have loitered,—touch, to-night, with reverence due,
Her sceptre: lo! like Aaron's rod of old,
It breaks in bud, its gradual flowers unfold,
And perfect almonds ripen in our view!
V.
For where is festive gathering like ours?
Fair Clio, muse of history, draws near,
And with new wine revives the dying year;
Here sings Euterpe, fresh from laurel-bowers;
Here Calliope, skilled the heart to reach,
From Thought's deep river flings the foam of speech;
And oh scorn not the Poet's scanty flowers!
For where is festive gathering like ours?
Fair Clio, muse of history, draws near,
And with new wine revives the dying year;
Here sings Euterpe, fresh from laurel-bowers;
Here Calliope, skilled the heart to reach,
From Thought's deep river flings the foam of speech;
And oh scorn not the Poet's scanty flowers!
