"Be strong, and hope, and trust in the Lord, and he will comfort thee, and give thee thine heart's desire."-Psalm xxvii. 14.
"Pur che mi coscienza non mi garra
Che, alla fortuna, come vuol, son presto."-DANTE.
"Exstantesque procul medio de gurgite montes,
Classibus inter quos liber patet exitus, idem
Apparent; et longe divolsi licet, ingens
Insula conjunctis tamen ex his una videtur."
Be thou my watchword, Faith; and bold in thee,
As the first ocean-wanderer, will I steer
My course, where'er it leads, without a fear,
Over Life's dreary, lonely waste of sea;
Sure that kind Providence will cleave for me
A path, whatever danger shall appear,
So that my trust be steadfast, bright, and clear,
While I act boldly, wisely, warily:-
So sailed on Argo, where the threat'ning rocks,
Cyanean, barr'd, or seem'd to bar, her way,
Closing together with ship-crushing shocks-
Thus fabled many a Grecian poet's lay—
And found, fit prize of daring faith, with ease
A passage twixt the cleft Symplegades.
"Cures, sometimes for men's cares,
Flow where they least expect them."
ALMOST they fail'd and fainted in the race,
Spain's iron sons,* who quail'd not to explore
Dread Ocean's terrors never tried before;
Almost had yielded the long fruitless chase,
Sick with heart-yearnings for their native place,
When past their foremost ship the billows bore,
Sure token of the long-expected shore,
A hawthorn branch, red-berried, with fresh trace
Of juicy sap, late from its parent torn.—
How often thus, when on Life's stormy sea,
Desponding, weary, lost, alone, forlorn,
Man sighs for rest, and dreams no harbour near,
God casts upon the wave, our souls to cheer,
A living branch pluckt from Hope's golden tree.
*The followers of Columbus.
"Sunk low, yet mounted high,
Through the dear might of Him that walk'd the waves."
"Ostendunt terris hunc tantum fata neque ultra
Esse sinunt."
BOUND homeward, after long years of exile,
sweep, O sea, across thy waves once more.
Not now I tremble when thy tempests roar,
Or gladden at thy countless-rippled smile.
One thought engrosseth my whole soul, the while
I peer into thy depths:-thou art the grave
Of him, the best and gentlest one, who gave
Me being father-mortal without guile.
Thou art, O sea, too premature, the tomb
Of my best lov'd of brothers, fair, and young.
How my heart yearn'd to kiss again the bloom
On that dear cheek-curse on the stranger tongue
That bore the tidings of his ocean-sleep-
Help-hold me-or I plunge into the deep.
College Rooms- The detine-Party.
"Imberbis juvenis, tandem custode remoto,
Gaudet equis canibusque, et aprici gramine campi."
The happiest youth viewing his progress through
What perils past, what crosses to be borne,
Would shut the book, and lay him down and die."
READ on, boy-but let mirth alternate reign
With study:-let the jest that doth not bite
Pass when the ruddy flame and wine glow bright;
And of his scarlet coat the tyro vain
Flies o'er the brook and tempts the stile again;
Or the stout oarsman boasts his cutter's pace,
When, swift as shooting star, she won the race,
And shouts of welcome rose o'er all the plain;
Let thine old walls their modern bravery flaunt;
Play the boy-host with hospitable pride,
Blest in thine ignorance of coming years;
For if the impervious screen were drawn aside,
Quick would thy happy chamber be the haunt
Of longings vain, or unavailing fears.
"Anacharsis said, the vine has three fruits; the first pleasure, the second intoxication, the third remorse."-Laërtius.
"O, that men should put an enemy in their mouth to steal away their brains! that we should with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause, transform ourselves into beasts!"-Othello.
WHEN Noah planted in the Earth, that sprung
Bare from the Deluge, the Vine's primal root,
The teeming mother hugg'd, and bade it shoot
Sunward, until its spreading branches flung
Their marriage tendrils the fresh elms among,
And mellow Autumn saw the luscious fruit,
Clad in its different colour'd vintage suit,
With drooping clusters, white, gold, purple, hung.
The first, for man's delight and temperate use,
To cheer the heart, the parching palate cools:
The second, gushing forth in amber course,
Tempts us, and picks our brains, and leaves us fools:
But the third, blacker than the poppy's juice,
Rolls forth a sluggish flood, its dregs, Remorse.
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