SCENES FROM THE PAST.

BOOK THIRD.

8*

CONTENTS.

THE Senior-Developement of the Poetic Faculty-Design and Execution-Poetic Feelings-Benefactions of Genius-The Prophets-Milton— Homer-Tasso-Shakspeare-Pope-Poetic Inspiration-Free Enquiry -Doubt-The Birth of Truth-Metaphysics-Original Genius-Imitation—Moral Truth—Duty-Conscience—Virtue―Knowledge—My Chum -College Friendships-The Farewell--The Departure-The Centennial

Celebration-Conclusion.

YOUTH

OR

SCENES FROM THE PAST.

BOOK THIRD.

THE SENIOR.

The fields, e'en now, are white with waving grain :
Then thrust thy sickle, busy reaper! in,

And cradle largely, on the cultured plain,

The rich ripe harvest that thy toil must win.

My senior year was studious, bent to gain

Whate'er my careless hours had lost before; Industrious, to make good the needed store Of studies, valued now, though urged in vain By age on greener years. The idle train

Of confident and vaunting thoughts, no more,
Hold in the mind, the sway they held of yore:
Yet not the less does confidence remain,

By time now more assured. The Senior feels
His rising consequence; each act reveals,
In pride of place, the vigour that, of right,

Claims precedence; but deeply conscious now,
That toil must arm him for the coming fight,

Labour is written on his thoughtful brow.

DESIGN AND EXECUTION.

"He spake, and it was done!" not so
When man, the maker, would endue
His thought with life. Imperfect, slow,
And still to inward sense untrue,
His words and deeds oft half conceal
The thoughts they purpose to reveal.

Performance is at best the halting slave
Of high Endeavour; impotent to speak
The mind's foregone conceptions, all too weak
The forms to fix which glowing fancy gave:
'Twas hence the dying Maro would not save
Th' unfinished Eneid from devouring flames,

So far his high performance fell below

His mind's proud aim! and hence the tears that flow
From thee, young Ammon! while ambition claims
New worlds for conquest, that thy deeds may show
Semblance of thy high thoughts. Compound of pride
And diffidence, of weakness joined with power,
Man soars and sinks, th' immortal of an hour,
Though finite, to the infinite allied.

POETIC FEELINGS.

I.

Well, let them fade: I can replace,
With brighter visions, those that vanish now,
And multiply, at will, their rainbow hues.
What need I more?

Many are poets, who have never penned

Their inspirations, and perhaps the best."*
Such "silent poets,"+ lyrists of the breast,
These "mute inglorious Miltons," know to blend,
* Byron. + Wordsworth. + Gray.

In their own bosoms, harmonies that lend

To life enchantment: skilled o'er all to fling

The magic of romance, self-satisfied,

They ask not ampler scope for power or pride; "Unlaurelled upon earth,"* they spread their wing For loftier flight, rejoiced to leave behind "That last infirmity of noble mind,"+

The weakness that, in fame, seeks guerdon due To generous aims; which Genius still should find In his own joyous thoughts and feelings true.

Not for applause of men, or triumphs vain
Of shouting multitudes, doth genius toil :
Self-crowned, the conscious victor wins the spoil,
And wears the garland, when high thoughts attain
Developement within. If there they reign,

There triumph still, what matters it to him
That others scorn his raptures, or would fain,
With envy's murky cloud, his glories dim?
Little heeds he, that blind old bard, whose dreams
Nightly Urania visits, with bright gleams

Surpassing mortal, what the Belial crew

Of earth-prone grovellers of his vision deems:
Enough for him, that still bright fancy teems;
He asks not audience large, but fit, though few.