[156] young lady may have proved a little premature, inasmuch as she subsequently married Holmes's friend Motley, the historian. At the Phi Beta Kappa dinner which followed, he appeared under circumstances which gave his humor free play. Presently there was a cry for Dr. Holmes, and a little man was drawn forward not unwillingly and compelled to stand in a chair where he could be seen and sing his song; and he sang in a voice high and thin, yet well modulated, this touching lay:--
Where, oh where are the visions of morning,
Fresh as the dews of our prime?
Gone, like tenants that flit without warning,
Down the back entry of Time.
Where, oh where are life's lilies and roses,
Nursed in the golden dawn's smile?
Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses,
On the old banks of the Nile.
Where are the Marys, and Anns, and Elizas,
Loving and lovely of yore?
Look in the columns of old Advertisers,--
Married and dead by the score.
Where the gray colts and the ten-year-old fillies,
Saturday's triumph and joy?
Gone, like our friend πόδας ὠκὺς Achilles,
Homer's ferocious old boy.
