The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 05 Poems of the Class of '29 (1851-1889)
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Oliver Wendell Holmes
Oliver Wendell Holmes was an American physician, poet, and polymath based in Boston. A member of the Fireside Poets, he was acclaimed by his peers as one of the best writers of the day. His most famous prose works are the “Breakfast Table” series, which began with The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table.
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The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes — Volume 05 Poems of the Class of '29 (1851-1889) - Oliver Wendell Holmes
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 5, by Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Vol. 5 Poems Of The Class Of '29 (1851-1889)
Author: Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.
Release Date: September 30, 2004 [EBook #7392]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETRY OF HOLMES, VOL. 5 ***
Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[Volume 2 of the 1893 three volume set]
POEMS OF THE CLASS OF '29 (1851-1889)
BILL AND JOE
A SONG OF TWENTY-NINE
QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS
AN IMPROMPTU
THE OLD MAN DREAMS
REMEMBER—FORGET
OUR INDIAN SUMMER
MARE RUBRUM
THE Boys
LINES
A VOICE OF THE LOYAL NORTH
J. D. R.
VOYAGE OF THE GOOD SHIP UNION
CHOOSE YOU THIS DAY WHOM YE WILL SERVE
F. W. C.
THE LAST CHARGE
OUR OLDEST FRIEND
SHERMAN 'S IN SAVANNAH
MY ANNUAL
ALL HERE
ONCE MORE
THE OLD CRUISER
HYMN FOR THE CLASS-MEETING
EVEN-SONG
THE SMILING LISTENER
OUR SWEET SINGER: J. A.
H. C. M., H. S., J. K. W.
WHAT I HAVE COME FOR
OUR BANKER
FOR CLASS-MEETING
AD AMICOS
HOW NOT TO SETTLE IT
THE LAST SURVIVOR
THE ARCHBISHOP AND GIL BLAS
THE SHADOWS
BENJAMIN PEIRCE
IN THE TWILIGHT
A LOVING-CUP SONG
THE GIRDLE OF FRIENDSHIP
THE LYRE OF ANACREON
THE OLD TUNE
THE BROKEN CIRCLE
THE ANGEL-THIEF
AFTER THE CURFEW
POEMS OF THE CLASS OF '29
1851-1889
BILL AND JOE
COME, dear old comrade, you and I
Will steal an hour from days gone by,
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright with morning dew,
The lusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.
Your name may flaunt a titled trail
Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail,
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill.
You've won the great world's envied prize,
And grand you look in people's eyes,
With H O N. and L L. D.
In big brave letters, fair to see,—
Your fist, old fellow! off they go!—
How are you, Bill? How are you, Joe?
You've worn the judge's ermined robe;
You 've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain;
You've made the dead past live again
The world may call you what it will,
But you and I are Joe and Bill.
The chaffing young folks stare and say
"See those old buffers, bent and gray,—
They talk like fellows in their teens!
Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means,"—
And shake their heads; they little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe!—
How Bill forgets his hour of pride,
While Joe sits smiling at his side;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes,—
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.
Ah, pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame;
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust,
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust;
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill and which was Joe?
The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go,—
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill;—
'T is poor old Joe's God bless you, Bill!
And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears;
In some sweet lull of harp and song
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below
Where this was Bill and that was Joe?
No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear;
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say?
Read on the hearts that love us still,
Hic jacet Joe. Hic jacet Bill.
A SONG OF TWENTY-NINE
1851
THE summer dawn is breaking
On Auburn's tangled bowers,
The golden light is waking
On Harvard's ancient towers;
The sun is in the sky
That must see us do or die,
Ere it shine on the line
Of the CLASS OF '29.
At last the day is ended,
The tutor screws no more,
By doubt and fear attended
Each hovers round the door,
Till the good old Praeses cries,
While the tears stand in his eyes,
"You have passed, and are classed
With the Boys of '29."
Not long are they in making
The college halls their own,
Instead of standing shaking,
Too bashful to be known;
But they kick the Seniors' shins
Ere the second week begins,
When they stray in the way
Of the BOYS OF '29.
If a jolly set is trolling
The last Der Freischutz airs,
Or a cannon bullet
rolling
Comes bouncing down the stairs,
The tutors, looking out,
Sigh, "Alas! there is no doubt,
'T is the noise of the Boys
Of the CLASS OF '29."
Four happy years together,
By storm and sunshine tried,
In changing wind and weather,
They rough it side by side,
Till they hear their Mother cry,
You are fledged, and you must fly,
And the bell tolls the knell
Of the days of '29.
Since then, in peace or trouble,
Full many a year has rolled,
And life has counted double
The days that then we told;
Yet we'll end as we've begun,
For though scattered, we are one,
While each year sees us here,
Round the board of '29.
Though fate may throw between us
The mountains or the sea,
No time shall ever wean us,
No distance set us free;
But around the yearly board,
When the flaming pledge is poured,
It shall claim every name
On the roll of '29.
To yonder peaceful ocean
That glows with sunset fires,
Shall reach the warm emotion
This welcome day inspires,
Beyond the ridges cold
Where a brother toils for gold,