previous next
[p. 22]

Our old master.

A memory of the Hathaway school.

By an Old Scholar.

Dear childhood's days! Your ghosts come back sometimes
     Like sweet siroccos from the scented isles,
From far Ceylon, or from those spicy climes
     That greet the god of day with loving smiles.

Today one comes on memory's fleeting breath.
     A spirit with a saintly mien and face,
Has long been tied behind the doors of death.
     'Tis one who helped ambition set its pace,

And taught us how to try our trembling wings
     As mothers teach young linnets how to fly,
And showed us, too, where flow the crystal springs,
     And where the tempests thundered through the sky.

Is there, great God, within yon realm of dreams,
     A paradise where men shall meet again?
An Eden far beyond the sunset's gleam?
     And has it freshest meads and many a glen?

Oh, then, we beg you, let us see our friend!
     No sweeter father learning ever knew;
No gentler gard'ner helped a twig to bend,
     Nor showed the paths where reddest roses grew.

C. G. F.

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License.

An XML version of this text is available for download, with the additional restriction that you offer Perseus any modifications you make. Perseus provides credit for all accepted changes, storing new additions in a versioning system.

hide Places (automatically extracted)

View a map of the most frequently mentioned places in this document.

hide People (automatically extracted)
Sort people alphabetically, as they appear on the page, by frequency
Click on a person to search for him/her in this document.
Eden (1)
hide Display Preferences
Greek Display:
Arabic Display:
View by Default:
Browse Bar: