Classic Poem

[ HARVARD CLASS POEM ]

T HERE'S trampling of hoofs in the busy street,
— There's clanking of sabres on floor and stair,
There's sound of restless, hurrying feet,
Of voices that whisper, of lips that entreat,
— Will they live, will they die, will they strive, will they dare?
The houses are garlanded, flags flutter gay,
For a Troop of the Guard rides forth to-day.

Oh, the troopers will ride and their hearts will leap,
— When it's shoulder to shoulder and friend to friend —
But it's some to the pinnacle, some to the deep,
And some in the glow of their strength to sleep,
— And for all it's a fight to the tale's far end.
And it's each to his goal, nor turn nor sway,
When the Troop of the Guard rides forth to-day.
The dawn is upon us, the pale light speeds
— To the zenith with glamor and golden dart.
On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds!
There's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds,
— With the pain of the world in its cavernous heart.
— — Ours be the triumph! Humanity calls!
— — — Life's not a dream in the clover!
— — On to the walls, on to the walls,
— — — On to the walls, and over!

— The wine is spent, the tale is spun,
— The revelry of youth is done.
— The horses prance, the bridles clink,
— While maidens fair in bright array
— With us the last sweet goblet drink,
— Then bid us " Mount and ride away! "
— Into the dawn, we ride, we ride,
— Fellow and fellow, side by side;
— Galloping over the field and hill,
— Over the marshland, stalwart still;
— Into the forest's shadowy hush,
— Where spectres walk in sunless day,
— And in dark pools and branch and bush
— The treacherous will-o'-the-wisp lights play.
— Out of the wood 'neath the risen sun,
— Weary we gallop, one and one,
— To a richer hope and a stronger foe
— And a hotter fight in the fields below —
— Each man his own slave, each his lord,
— For the golden spurs and the victor's sword!

Friends of the great, the high, the perilous years,
Upon the brink of mighty things we stand —
Of golden harvests and of silver tears,
And griefs and pleasures that like grains of sand
Gleam in the hour-glass, yield their place, and die.
Like a dark sea our lives before us lie,
And we, like divers o'er a pearl-strewn deep,
Stand yet an instant in the warm, young sun,
Plunge, and are gone,
And over pearl and diver the restless breakers sweep.
On to the quest! To-day
In joyful revelry we still may play
With the last golden phantoms of dead years;
Hearing above the stir
The old protecting music in our ears
Of fluttering pinions and the voice of her,
The Mighty Mother, watching o'er her sons.
To-day we still may crouch beneath her wings,
Dreaming of unimagined things;
To-morrow we are part
Of the world's depthless, palpitating heart,
One with the living, striving millions
Whose lives beat out the ceaseless, rhythmic song
Of joy and pain and peace and love and wrong.
We may not dwell on solitary heights.
There is a force that draws men breast to breast
In the hot swirl of never-ending fights,
When man — enriched, despoiled, oppressed,
By the great titans of the earth who hold
The nations in their hands as boys a swallow's nest —
Leaps from the sodden mass through loves and feuds
And tumult of hot strife and tempest blast,
Until he stands, free of the depths at last,
A titan in his turn, to mould
The pliable clay of the world's multitudes.

An anxious generation sends us forth
On the far conquest of the thrones of might.
From West and East, from South and North,
Earth's children, weary-eyed with too much light,
Cry from their dream-forsaken vales of pain,
" Give us our gods, give us our gods again! "
A lofty and relentless century,
Gazing with Argus eyes,
Has pierced the very inmost halls of faith,
And left no shelter whither man may flee
From the cold storms of night and lovelessness and death
Old gods have fallen and the new must rise!
Out of the dust of doubt and broken creeds,
The sons of those who cast men's idols low
Must build up for a hungry people's needs
New gods, new hopes, new strength to toil and grow;
Knowing that naught that ever lived can die,
No act, no dream but spreads its sails, sublime,
Sweeping across the visible seas of Time,
Into the treasure-haven of eternity.

The portals are open, the white road leads
— Through thicket and garden, o'er stone and sod.
On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds!
There's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds,
— For the faith that is strength and the love that is God!
— — On through the dawning! Humanity calls!
— — — Life's not a dream in the clover!
— — On to the walls, on to the walls,
— — — On to the walls, and over!