As a last resort, to clear the doubt, They got old GOVERNOR HANc.o.c.k out.

The Governor came with his Lighthorse Troop And his mounted truckmen, all c.o.c.k-a-hoop; Halberds glittered and colors flew, French horns whinnied and trumpets blew, The yellow fifes whistled between their teeth, And the b.u.mble-bee ba.s.s-drums boomed beneath; So he rode with all his band, Till the President met him, cap in hand.

The Governor "hefted" the crowns, and said,-- "A will is a will, and the Parson's dead."

The Governor hefted the crowns. Said he,-- "There is your p'int. And here 's my fee.

"These are the terms you must fulfil,-- On such conditions I BREAK THE WILL!"

The Governor mentioned what these should be.

(Just wait a minute and then you 'll see.) The President prayed. Then all was still, And the Governor rose and BROKE THE WILL!

"About those conditions?" Well, now you go And do as I tell you, and then you'll know.

Once a year, on Commencement day, If you 'll only take the pains to stay, You'll see the President in the CHAIR, Likewise the Governor sitting there.

The President rises; both old and young May hear his speech in a foreign tongue, The meaning whereof, as lawyers swear, Is this: Can I keep this old arm-chair?

And then his Excellency bows, As much as to say that he allows.

The Vice-Gub. next is called by name; He bows like t' other, which means the same.

And all the officers round 'em bow, As much as to say that they allow.

And a lot of parchments about the chair Are handed to witnesses then and there, And then the lawyers hold it clear That the chair is safe for another year.

G.o.d bless you, Gentlemen! Learn to give Money to colleges while you live.

Don't be silly and think you'll try To bother the colleges, when you die, With codicil this, and codicil that, That Knowledge may starve while Law grows fat; For there never was pitcher that wouldn't spill, And there's always a flaw in a donkey's will!

ODE FOR A SOCIAL MEETING

WITH SLIGHT ALTERATIONS BY A TEETOTALER--(...)

COME! fill a fresh b.u.mper, for why should we go While the nectar (logwood) still reddens our cups as they flow?

Pour out the rich juices (decoction) still bright with the sun, Till o'er the brimmed crystal the rubies (dye-stuff) shall run.

The purple-globed cl.u.s.ters (half-ripened apples) their life-dews have bled; How sweet is the breath (taste) of the fragrance they shed!(sugar of lead) For summer's last roses (rank poisons) lie hid in the wines (wines!!!) That were garnered by maidens who laughed through the vines (stable-boys smoking long-nines)

Then a smile (scowl) and a gla.s.s (howl) and a toast (scoff) and a cheer (sneer); For all the good wine, and we 've some of it here! (strychnine and whiskey, and ratsbane and beer!) In cellar, in pantry, in attic, in hall, Long live the gay servant that laughs for us all! (Down, down with the tyrant that masters us all!)

POEMS FROM THE PROFESSOR AT THE BREAKFAST-TABLE

1858-1859

UNDER THE VIOLETS

HER hands are cold; her face is white; No more her pulses come and go; Her eyes are shut to life and light;-- Fold the white vesture, snow on snow, And lay her where the violets blow.

But not beneath a graven stone, To plead for tears with alien eyes; A slender cross of wood alone Shall say, that here a maiden lies In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

And gray old trees of hugest limb Shall wheel their circling shadows round To make the scorching sunlight dim That drinks the greenness from the ground, And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

When o'er their boughs the squirrels run, And through their leaves the robins call, And, ripening in the autumn sun, The acorns and the chestnuts fall, Doubt not that she will heed them all.

For her the morning choir shall sing Its matins from the branches high, And every minstrel-voice of Spring, That trills beneath the April sky, Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

When, turning round their dial-track, Eastward the lengthening shadows pa.s.s, Her little mourners, clad in black, The crickets, sliding through the gra.s.s, Shall pipe for her an evening ma.s.s.

At last the rootlets of the trees Shall find the prison where she lies, And bear the buried dust they seize In leaves and blossoms to the skies.

So may the soul that warmed it rise!

If any, born of kindlier blood, Should ask, What maiden lies below?

Say only this: A tender bud, That tried to blossom in the snow, Lies withered where the violets blow.

HYMN OF TRUST

O Love Divine, that stooped to share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, On Thee we cast each earth-born care, We smile at pain while Thou art near!

Though long the weary way we tread, And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shun, no darkness dread, Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near!

When drooping pleasure turns to grief, And trembling faith is changed to fear, The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf, Shall softly tell us, Thou art near!

On Thee we fling our burdening woe, O Love Divine, forever dear, Content to suffer while we know, Living and dying, Thou art near!

A SUN-DAY HYMN

LORD of all being! throned afar, Thy glory flames from sun and star; Centre and soul of every sphere, Yet to each loving heart how near!

Sun of our life, thy quickening ray Sheds on our path the glow of day; Star of our hope, thy softened light Cheers the long watches of the night.

Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn; Our noontide is thy gracious dawn; Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign; All, save the clouds of sin, are thin!

Lord of all life, below, above, Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love, Before thy ever-blazing throne We ask no l.u.s.tre of our own.

Grant us thy truth to make us free, And kindling hearts that burn for thee, Till all thy living altars claim One holy light, one heavenly flame!

THE CROOKED FOOTPATH

AH, here it is! the sliding rail That marks the old remembered spot,-- The gap that struck our school-boy trail,-- The crooked path across the lot.