Campus verse : a collection of poems written by the students of the University of Georgia and published under the auspices of the English Department / edited by W.C. Henson, A.H. Bunce

Campus Derse
A Collection of Poems Writ ten by the Students of the University of Georgia and Published under the Auspices of the English Department....
Edited by
V. C. HENSON, 08 A. H/BUNCE, 08
1907:
The McGregor Press Athens, Ga.

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TO THE ALUMNI LIVING AND DEAD WE DEDICATE THIS VOLUME
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DEDICATION
DOWN the crowding ranks of years The long line grows. And Youth and Age Join hands to swell the brotherhood
Georgias sons." Cornelia-like Old "Georgia" proudly points you out, "And these ray jewels are," she says.
To you, who oft by words of cheer, Who by your lives, your toils, your call To great endeavor, and your fame, Have cheered us when the road was rough When steep and sterile seemed the slopes That upward to the summit lead:
To you whove watched, and warned, and now, The summit gained, glad greetings give, And welcome, fraught with tender thrill; In honor of our mutual loves, We dedicate this book of ours.

little took of Campus Verse, Makes no appeal to fame or purse. In modest tones and gentle ways It calls to mind old College days: It sings its songs of youth and joy: 1ou see again as when a boy.

FOREWORD
HOIS little book, "Campus Verse," as the name implies, represents a collection of verse published at various times in the literary publications of the University of Georgia.
Its compilers do not claim that the book contains all the best of these verses but that it does contain those worthy of preservation. The work was under taken simply as a labor of love by two sons of the University. No compensation whatsoever will be received by them, as the proceeds of the sale of the book will go to the GEORGIAN, the University magazine.
No apology need be made for the book, as a care ful examination will disclose the fact that many of these poems are of no insignificant order of merit. Coming as most of them do from boys in their teens they have enough of the spirit of true poetry to argue well for the institution that can claim the authors as her sons.
Much of the best poetry of the South has been in the nature of fugitive lyrics that see the light in the corner of some newspaper or magazine and from there pass into oblivion. We have long hoped that some one with time and patience would gather together these flowers of Southern life and give them to the world in an enduring form. The
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good to the world would well repay the trouble it would take to get these poems together.
"Campus Verse" is in the nature of such a col lection as we would like to see made of fugitive verse. Primarily the work is done to increase the literary activity of the student-body of the Uni versity and to keep the Alumni in touch with the institution so far as it can be done in such a man ner. Then, too, we desire to have the state know how the boys of the State University are thinking and writing.
The thanks of the editors are due to Professor R. E. Park, Jr., who inspired us to undertake this work and through whose unfailing encouragement the work was completed. We also are indebted to Professor S. M. Salyer for valuable aid in compil ing the book and to Mr. W. G. Brantley, 07, for assistance in the review and compilation of the poems.
Athens, Ga., Nov. 1st, 1907.
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Campus IDerse of Georgia

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THE CARRIER BIRD
HE carrier that homeward speeds, Through fair, through stormy, skies, When wind or rain his way impedes
Above the sway must rise.
Hindered and beaten back are we By earth-born doubt and fear, Above them Lord, up close to Thee Our struggling spirits bear.
D. C. Barrow.

MORNING HYMN
ENTLY now the light of day Lifts the shades of night away,
Sweetly comes the rising sun Once again his course to run.
Many duties must be done, Help us, Lord, in every one;
If Thou give thy grace divine, Every labor shall be thine.
As the shadows longer grow, Larger gifts of grace bestow,
Then, made mighty, in Thy might, Shall we labor till the night.
So each day till life is done, When before Thy gracious throne,
We shall hear with all the blest, "There remaineth, therefore, rest,"
D~ 0- Barrow.
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CENTENNIAL HYMN
HUNDRED years of toil and care Our mother freely gave, A hundred years of thought and prayer, O mother, kind and brave! And now from all her borders wide Old Georgias sons are come, High swell their hearts with joy and pride, And glad they gather home.
Wide swings our mothers open gate, Hard beats her heart with love, No king who sits in regal state, Can such array improve. Her stalwart sons are here in bands, No homage do they spare, She sees the labor of her hands, She sees her answered prayer.
Our rock-ribbed hills forevermore Their silent strength express, Our wide plains yield a bounteous store, A people rich to bless: And Georgians love our Georgia land From Dade to Glynns blue tide; But, mother, though our land be grand, Thy sons are Georgias pride.
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O God, who gave the red hills might And spread the fertile laud, Thy word has been our mothers light, Her strength, Thy guiding hand. In simple faith her sons were taught, To work and watch and pray, To shun the paths with evil fraught, And walk in Wisdoms way.
D- C- Barrow, 1901-
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HYMN
To THE UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA.
D EAR University, Our love we pledge to thee, Thy praise we tell; Long may thy worth be sung:, Thy banner high be flung; This prayer on every tongue: God shield thee well.
Strong University, Thou for a century
Hast fought the Wrong, Aiding the Right to win, Letting the Truth shine in, Faithful through storm and din;
God keep thee strong.
Wise University, Standing for liberty
Thou biddst us rise Above the mean and low, All prejudice forego,
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And error overthrow; God keep thee wise.
Great University, Long mayst thou virile be
To serve the State: Great in thy usefulness, God give thee all success, May He protect and bless,
And keep thee great. A. H- Patterson-
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REGRET
H CURRENT of Life, With thy jarring and strife, Thy banks were once curtained with drapery bright; But the stream of my hours, Has forsaken the flowers And wanders alone through the blackness of night.
O river of years,
Fast flowing with tears, The Zephyrs of Eden once sang to thy waves; Now the winter wind roars On the desolate shores While thy shadowy depths are but merciless graves.
Still on, ever on, Thy waters roll down To the sunless retreats of Eternitys sea; When the waves of the deep Their dark vigils keep,
And murmur no more oer the land, or the lea.
W. H. Waddell, ">52.

THE CHAPEL BELL
|OW sweet, is the sound as it breaks on my ear,
Oer lake and by streamlet, so wild and so clear; Far echoing through woodland, through valley and dell, The deep mellow tones of the "Old Chapel Bell."
When Sol from his couch in the East doth arise, Beams brightly on earth and mounts high in the
skies, Loud peals of rich music his welcoming tell, All nature awakes with the "Old Chapel Bell."
When night her thick mantle around us hath cast. When stars glitter brightly when daylight is
past From the worm-eaten belfry sweet melodies swell, Our slumber is soothed by the "Old Chapel Bell."
When we leave thee, "Old Franklin," we often will think
Of the pure fount of knowledge from which now we drink,
And, oh! what a throng of deep feeling will well From our hearts when we think of the "Old Chapel
Bell."
. University of Georgia Magazine, 1856.
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MUSING
N days that now are past and gone, I sat at Annies side,
There Jingered oft from early morn Till dewy eventide.
We sat beside a lovely stream That rippled at our feet,
Of future bliss we oft did dream In our belovd retreat.
We thought as lovers ever do, The future was all joy,
But oh! we found it was untrue Theres naught without alloy. Georgia University Magazine, 1856-
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THE FAREWELL
IS hard to breathe the word "farewell," "Tie bard to say good-by:
But ah! the time has come at last, The thought, it brings a sigh.
Two years ago with beating heart, My hand was clasped in thine,
Then neer we thought that fate would part Thy kindred soul from mine.
The time has come, alas! We part, Perhaps to meet no more,
On earth to love, as oft we have In bygone days of yore.
I would not have thy heart bestow One vain regret on me,
Tis best they say that we should part, Though cruel it may be.
Though fate with iron hand hath crushed A heart in youthful bloom,
Yet one sweet thought of thee will oft Dispel lifes darkniug gloom.
Though now the word "farewell," we speak,
On this cold-hearted shore, In heaven above well meet again, To love forevermore.
University of Georgia Magazine, 1856.
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BREAK, BREAK, BREAK I
B lBEAK, break, break! J This unspeakable biscuit crust, And I would that my teeth could crumble This bread into finest dust!
O, well for the hungry man That his massive jaws are strong!
O, well for the feeble boy That he bringeth a hammer along!
And the tiresome meal goes on, And the starving ones get their fill;
But, oh, for a taste of a nice hot roll, And a steak that is tender still!
Break, break, break! With your jaws, as best you may,
For the tender beef you have prayed for so Will not come for many a day!

TWILIGHT
HE sun has set in the western sky; Across the grass the shadows creep; The whippoorwills sad and plaintive cry
Awakes the owl from dreamless sleep.
In glorious golden robes of light The sun has sunk to rest at last; The crickets greet the coming night, And twilight gathers thick and fast.
The stars begin to deck the sky, Their pale light scarcely can be sean; The gloom is thick in woods near by, Where grows the fern so fresh and green.
And now are heard the twinkling bells, The cows no longer care to roam; But from the cool and shady dells, At last are coming slowly home.
This is indeed a witching hour, This space between the day and night; When dewdrops kiss each gentle flower That droops its head in soft twilight.
Georgian, 1899- George T. Jackson.

CAVALIER SONG
S over the fields where the snow lay we galloped,
The jingle of spurs to our hoof-beats kept time,
Our bugles sang forward, we cheered as we heard them,
And loosened the bridle-reins covered with wine.
We dashed on the foe with our sabres all glowing, We fell on his flank like the lash of a whip; The snow ere we came was dazzling and beaming Eer we left it was red as the wine which we sip.
We laugh as the foe flies in panic before us Like wind-scattered leaves seeking hiding or flight, No pity well show them they need not implore us; The wife of each foemans a widow to-night.
Oh, joy for the gallop across the broad meadow, Oh, joy for the crash of the steel upon steel! Oh, joy for the tumult, the shock,and the victory ! Hurrah for Prince Rupert, who never will yield J
E. B. Vail.

A BALLAD
HWAS in the time of chivalry it chanced along of fame, A goodly knight, Sir Albert hight, to the Ladyea tower came; And beaten by the tempest, asked a shelter from
the storm, She with a smile of wanton guile gave him a
welcome warm.
And when that night they sat in hall she tried her wanton art,
By meaning sigh and downcast eye to win his youthful heart;
But he, with open eye and frank, repelled her sub tle snare,
He knew she never had a heart, he recked not she was fair.
My joy is in the battle-shock when breaks the toughened shaft in twain,
When fierce blows fall and backward rock the hosts against the arrow-rain;
I never felt the beating heart of love when maiden met my view
Your proffered love is not for me, I know you false and faithless, too. 26

And she with anger born of pride, because he scorned her hand,
Gave signal to the men-at-arms who waited her command,
And then there was a fearful scene, the fight of one 'gainst ten.
He bore him brave and with his glaive he smote down seven men;
But she, while he so bravely fought, by stealth had gained his side,
And with a shiny dagger smote--the blood her white hand dyed.
A broken gasp--"May many guide"--the curses of the men--
A stifled sob my Lady gave--and all was still again; Then round his neck she wound her arms and
bitterly she cried, And pressed her kisses on his lips when bold Sir
Albert died. E. JB. Vail.

GENIUS
B MAN would be great, and he asked of his soul, (They sat by a woodland rill,) "I prithee what shall I do to be great," And his soul for awhile was still.
Then answered his soul: "Would you give up your life
Of peace, for the world's unrest? Nor be content, when your life is spent?" And the man,-- he answered: "Yes."
And thus it hath been, and ever shall be, If a man would greatness gain, He must barter his peace for toil and strife, And pleasure for years of pain.
Then his soul spoke on: "Can you bear the scoff, And the jeer at what seems best-- Can you seek the truth, when all hold aloof?" And the man,--he answered: "Yes."
And his soul spoke on: "Men will not understand, But think evil of you and your zest, Can yon persevere, without thought of fear?" And the man,--he answered: "Yes."
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His soul spoke again: "Your friends will fail. With pleasure and peace and the rest; Can you let them go, with no sign of woe?" And the man,--he answered: ''Yes."
For thus hath it been, and shall ever be, If a man would greatness gain, He must barter his peace for toil and strife, And his pleasure for years of pain.
Georgian, 1899. E. B. Vail.

IN MY OTHER COAT POCKET AT HOME
TOOK a yonng lady to the opera last night-- She was winsome and fair us could be; As we entered the doorway I shook with delight
As my fair one smiled sweetly on me. In a dream I passed on, when I heard a voice say, "Your tickets!" (I heard with a groan) ; But my tickets wern' t there-- They were left with my cash In my other coat pocket at home.
Once I wanted a loan and I met with a friend, And asked him my lack to supply; He reached in his pocket, I joyfully watched And marked every move with my eye, But my hopes were dispelled when I heard my
friend speak, "Old fellow," (I heard with a groan), "I can't lend you that five, For it I have left, In my other coat pocket at home. 1 '
I dreamt that I went up to heaven's bright gate, Way up in the blue sky's arched dome. Of Saint Peter up there I asked to get in,
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To dwell in my bright heav'nly home: But alas for my hopes, for Saint Peter asked me, "Where's your passport?" I said with a groan, "Alas! I can't enter--it's left with my hopes In my other coat pocket at home."
Georgian^ 1897. E- B. Vail.

DREAMS
1HALL I not dream? Fancies have power to cast
On many a lonely way a joyous light, To fill earth's darkness with a company bright, And fetch old pleasures from the halcyon past. Are dreams but shadows? What are we, alas, But shapes that wander thro' Life's starless night, Or moth-like flutter 'round some garish light Whose rays are poison'd and whos3 touches blast? Like some calm sleeper, I would dream the while, Nor heed the surging of earth's fitful strife: So would I sleep, that when the morning beam Of Time's tomorrow comes with 'wakening smile, 1 might arise with holier thoughts, and life Seem like the dreaming of a pleasant dream.
Georgian, 1903-4- Lucien P. Goodrich.

A HARVEST SONG
HE harvest was gathered; the reapers arose, And went from the house and stood by the gate,
While the harvest moon shone with her clear autumn rays,
And the mocking bird sang to his mate:

"Oh, the springtime is bright with its soft April
light,
Its sweet scented buds and its showers; And the summer is gay, as the long June day Brings its banquet of fruits and of flowers.

"But sweeter than spring, of whose morning we sing,
Or summer with fruits and the rose, Are the clear autumn eves with the bright golden
sheaves When the work of the year shall close."

And the reaper heard, as he stood by the gate, What the mocking-bird sang to his mate in the
trees:
And he made him a song to the notes of the bird, And the words of his song were these:

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"Life's morning is bright with Youth's joyous light:
And manhood crowns the noon; But after the strife of this fitful life, Comes the rest and the harvest moon."
Georgian, 1903. Lucien P. Goodrich.
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MY CHILDHOOD FAITH
A |T mother's side a star I learned to view, Whose never failing light my footsteps led; Dark night and lowering storm affrighted not; The guidance of that star to me was true.
But years rolled on. Upon the sea of life-- No mother hand to point me to that star-- My bark was launched. New stars flashed forth To lead my way. My soul is filled with strife.
Their light did please; dark passions, voices vain And reason proud, that in me now arose, I turned my back to follow whereso'er Their beams uncertain led out o'er life's main.
My God! The wrecks I find tossed wide and far, My heart turns sick. No goal I see ahead In gathering gloom. O guiding hand, turn back My bark! True led the light of Childhood's star.
Georgian, 1897-8, Hugh H. White.
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ALL QUIET UPON THE OLD CAMPUS TONIGHT
quiet upon the old Campus to-night," Except here and there a stray student Is seen as he cautiously walks to and fro, By an officer artful and prudent. 'Tis nothing--the ringing of bells now and then Will not count as a great breach of order; Just a little sleep lost by a few tired men, Who are robbed by a midnight marauder.
"All quiet upon the old Campus to-night," When the students lie peacefully dreaming,
Their Summey House rooms in the rays of the moon,
Or the light of far gas lamps are gleaming. Soft, tremulous snores, riding fast on the wind
To the ears of the listener are creeping, While the stars up above, with their bright
twinkling eyes Keep guard as the students are sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone joker's tread, As with care he approaches a building,
And thinks of the bell in the belfry o'erhead WitH the gray dust spread over its gilding,
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His caution is great, but his face dark with grime Grows fiendish with laughter sardonic,
As he thinks how the sleeping ones waked by the bell
Will growl in low curses harmonic. He passes in silence the blasted oak tree,
With footsteps slow, cautious and wary, Then carefully opens and enters the door
Of the chapel so dismal and dreary. Hark! Was it the night wind that rustled the
leaves? And what ghostly form, onward dashing, Grasps so tightly his arm, reaching up for the rope? Cany our badge be a watchman's that's gleaming? ''All quiet upon the old Campus to-night," Naught but snores break the calmness of order; Save the noise of a bolt in a Calaboose door, As it shuts on the midnight marauder.
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THE GIRL I NEVER HAVE MET
(ERE'S to the girl I never have met! Here's to my love I have never seen yet! Here's to the girl in whose heart is a song,
Contented and joyous all the day long; Ready with sympathy, comfort, and aid, Battling with vanities--never dismayed, Never a murmur, never a fret-- Here's to the girl I never have met!
Here's to a soul all noble and sweet, Here's to sincerity--scorning deceit, Here's to the union of beauty and art, Here's to a loving and generous heart, Free from unselfishness, trustful and pure, A fountain of love which shall ever endure, Once could I see her, I'd never forget My dear little woman I never had met-
Here's to my darling who loves me, I know-- The girl who will help me life's journey to
go-
The bright star to guide my poor ship of life home,
Safe in the harbor--out of the foam. To comfort and help me and teach me the
right, 38

Showing the day where to me all is night. I've sought her in rain--I am seeking her
yet-- Here's to my ideal I never have met!
L. C.
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HAUNTING MEMORIES
H, Time, why hasten on thy way? Why speed so fast to bury the past?
Pause in thy flying course, I pray! Our joys are fleeting, they will not last; Thy ruthless progress naught can stay, Nor reck you of the hopes you slay.
Thy filching hand's relentless grasp O'er all extends, and from us rends
The faithful hearts we fain would clasp Forever to our breast as friends.
Each flower of Hope thy footsteps doom; And ere it blossoms crush its bloom.
With many a backward, longing gaze My eyes I strain, yet all in vain;
The mem'ry of those bygone days But fills me with a yearning pain
To see the friends I used to know, To live again in the long ago.
Sometimes the evening echoes ring With music rare of some sweet air
A vofce now silent used to sing; And often in my soul's despair,
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4

tn someone's laughter blithe and gay I hear the mirth of another day. In faces which to-day are near
I often trace the winning grace Of those which long ago were dear.
But sounds and visions fade apace, 'Tis only an echo mocking me; 'Tis only a phantom face I see. And thus my spirit wanders back,
Like ghost of old in story told, Upon my life's forgotten track;
And though the years have onward rolled, My soul yet moves with silent tread Among the graves of Mem'ry's dead.
I a

A FOOLS ERRAND
N a room upon the campus on a dark and gloomy day,
Met a band of busy students, in a silent, mystic way:
They were members of an order formed for college jokes and pranks,
And their meetings boded trouble in the staid professors' ranks.
They had met to make arrangements for a plan a member put
To the meeting, with the purpose to surprise Professor Foot,
And they planned to take his carriage from his stable in the night
And beneath Oconee's waters hide it evermore from sight.
With plentitude of caution they discussed the matter there,
And arranged the whole procedure with minuteness and with care,
How to take without detection, when the town was still and dark
The old vehicle that rumo:- said was older than the Ark. 42

The arrangements are completed and the band has left the room,
And old Foot within his mansion knows not of his phaeton's doom;
The plotters with impatience watch the sun's slow fading light,
For the deed must be accomplished under cover of the night.
Night has come and from the steeple slowly chimes the fated hour,
And the band, with stealthy footsteps, seeks the shadows of the tower;
All are present; all is ready for the march to be begun
And the plotters all are merry at the prospect of the fun.
Soon they reach the gloomy stable, and its frail, worm-eaten door
Is thrown open, there the students stand upon the oaken floor.
Just before them stands the carriage like a dark and gloomy ghost
Of some pre-adamic sentry, standing silent at. its post.
But to make the story shorter and to save our costly space,
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We omit the minor details aud descriptions of the place,
For the boys were bent on mischief and paused uot to look around
But with earnest toil, in silence, rolled the carnage
to the ground.
Joy and stern determination shone on every boyish face
As, with swiftly rolling phaeton, they began the midnight race.
Streets are rough and wheels are heavy and their
brows are bathed in sweat, But their purpose knows no failing and is tinged
with no regret.
Passed now is the darksome court-house with its stone steps white and steep;
.Passed now is the College campus, and the snore of those asleep
Make the toiling plotters restless as they think of home and bed,
While with burden growing greater, still the rocky
streets they tread.
Never phaeton rolled so heavy, never streets so dark and rough,
But the thought of Foot's displeasure to the boys gave strength enough

To have dragged a hundred phaetons, and the thought new vigor lent
As with tired legs and bodies on the busy plodders went.
When they saw the dark Oconee and its waters black and still,
All the boys with fresh exertions dragged the carriage down the hill.
Soon the deed would be accomplished and their oaths again they swore:
"Foot shall see his aged carriage,--see his phaeton nevermore!"
When they reached the silent waters they all paused upon the shore;
By its wheels they held the phaeton and a smile their features wore,
As they slowly pushed the clumsy rolling carriage from the bank,
And its huge and rusty axles 'neath the hungry waters sank.
Stop! The carriage door is creaking! It is now thrown open wide!
Heavens! On the cushions sitting is a gray-haired man inside.
See, with .measured grace he rises, through the door his head is put,
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Shades of Calculus defend us! Satan take us,-- 'tis old Foot!
With a differential accent and a parabolic smile, and a logarithmic gesture, in a manner fall of guile,
The professor thanked the students for the pleasant evening ride
Through the shadowed streets of Athens to the charming riverside.
"Now, young gentlemen," he whispered, ''if you all are satisfied,
We will journey back to Cobbham, where you left my horses tied.
By the by, that team of horses on to-morrow I shall sell,
Since I find a team of donkeys serves my purpose just as well."
L'ENVOI
In a room upon the campus, when the dawn had come at last,
Met a band of dismal students, and their brows were overcast,
And the Captain kicked his neighbor, and his neighbor kicked his mate,
And because they could not kick themselves, each cursed his cruel fate.
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IN MEMORY'S HALL
N Memory's Hall, in the Palace of Time, Are pictured the scenes of yore; Memory, painted in colors sublime,
And scenes of joy and sadness climb In this hall of long ago.
Scenes of sorrow are faded from view Forgotten, and dim to the eye; But in colors of matchless hue Are pictures that stay forever true, Of the joys of days gone by.
One is colored more highly than all, As if touched by a hand above, Golden rays about it fall That lighten the gloom of Memory's Hall, For this is the work of Love.
Ah! Love, thou art a painter true; Thy picture is fair to see: It was a master hand that drew A perfect face, divinely true; Love reigns in memory.
Georgian, 1897-8. Harry Hull.
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THE SEA-KING'S DAUGHTER
|AR over the sea on the Baltic strand. Where Norsemen roved through the Northern land,
Where the wild waves break on castle walls, And the bard's lay sung through the castle halls, In this warrior land in days of old Dwelt a Sea-King's daughter.
Brilliant she was as the morning star, Which gleams through the early mists afar: Her flaxen hair was fair to view, And her eyes like summer-skies of blue; As warrior's queen of this Northern land Was known the Sea-King's daughter.
Oft, when but a maid had she Listened on her father's knee, To tales of sea-life--fierce and wild And she longed to prove a sea-king's child And taste the joys of battle fierce, Did the Sea-King's daughter.
For her father was a Sea-King bold, And when his reckless deeds he told, She made him promise that when she grew He'd take her with his corsair crew
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In the white-winged ships to sail away-- She--the Sea-King's daughter.
The years rolled by and the maid was grown, The fame of her beauty to all was known, And throughout the whole of the wild North-land The Vikings came to seek her hand; But they traveled far and wooed in vain
The queenly Sea-King's daughter.
For now to her father--grim and gray She recalled the promise of childhood's day, And the stern old warrior laughed in glee And fitted out his ships for sea And sent for his rovers far and near
To please the Sea-King's daughter.
Then westward o'er the troubled deep Sailed away the marauder's fleet, Norsemen, fierce they were and bold, Seeking fortune, plunder, gold: Trusting in their fair young chief
The blue-eyed Sea-King's daughter.

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THE LONE GRAVE-YARD
D OWN near the coast in the Georgia pines Where the hanging moss is gray, Where the dreaded serpent slowly twines Its noiseless way through the tangled vines, Lies a graveyard far away.
Abhorved is the weird and lonesome place, Shunned by the beasts of light;
The squirrels no longer frolic and chase, And of birds of the forest there is no trace
But the shriek of the owl at night.
Our sires who came from over the deep And settled on Georgia's shore,
Now under the sod in the graveyard sleep, And 'neath each earthy mouldering heap
They'll rest foreverraore.
'Tis there on the crest of a wooded hill, With briers and sage over-grown
And a wailing dirge is sung for the dead As the pines sway to and fro o'erhead
To the wind's unceasing moan.
On this deserted and ancient knoll T here rests a spectral ban;

And even the moccasin, cunning and old, Has left the place of his time-worn hole
For the haunts and abodes of man.
The trees shut out the light of day, From the dreary, desolate spot.
The slabs, long since have sunk to decay And the low stone wall has crumbled away,
Which enclosed the burial lot.
Were I to seek o'er all the Earth For a haven of despair,
I'd choose this sombre spot of dearth-- This darkened place, bereft of mirth--
This still and ghostly lair.
Georgian, 1899. ff. H. Mclntosh.

A MATTER OF EXPERIENCE
T ain't the man that talks the most that. does the most you know,
It ain't the folks that loves you best that comes and tells you so. A fellow come to see us onst to borrow our wheel-
borrow, And said he'd take good keer of it and fetch it
back to-morrow, He said he thought a heap of Pa and Ma and
Gran'ma, too And Granpa was the best old man that ever lived,
he knew. We let him have the wheel-borrow and he rolled
it away And we ain't never heard of him nor wheel-borrow
to this day. One day a slick,fat-Iookin* man,with a shinin' fine
turnout, Drove up and axed if pa was home or any where
about; Now pa was plowin' bottom corn a half a mile
from home, But Tommy run an' told him as how this man had
come, An' he took out an' come on home, a-leadin' of the
mule 5*

The man set waitin' for him on the old threelegged stool,
But he jumped up and run to Pa and grabbed him by the arm
And axed all sorts of questions 'bout things around the farm.
Well, after they had talked a spell and it was gettin' late
The feller finally told Pa he was a candidate; Pa promised him his vote and he got up and drove
away, But he ain't never spoke to Pa nor knowed him
since that day. A feller come to hire to Pa and said he'd been a-
gittin'
Two dollars and a half a day and makin' it asplittin'
Fence rails, and Pa, he up and 'lowed the feller was a dandy
And such a man around the farm would come in mighty handy.
80 Pa agreed to board him and pay him twenty dollars
A month, and Ma should patch his pants and wash his shirts and collars.
That was three years ago, and now if you enjoy a fuss
You jest ax Pa about that man and listen to him cuss.
53

He wasn't worth a cent for work, but yon bet he could eat;
Pa said that it would bust a bank to feed him bread and meat.
And when Pa set him splittin' rails and fixin' op the fences
He went aud died and Pa must pay his burial expenses.
It ain't the folks that talks the most that does the most, you know;
It ain't the folks that loves you best that comes and tells you so!
54

THE UNIVERSITY OF GEORGIA
JBIDE of our State! A thousand tongues proclaim thee bless'd,
Mother of statesmen, warrior men! Unto thy queenly breast Clasp thy brave sons--welcome those whose lives praise Thy wisdom and the beauty of thy righteous ways.
Pride of our State! Before thy knees, are bent In grateful homage for thy labors spent In off'rings to that State which gave thee birth, The highest, noblest, truest sons of earth. We honor thy works--we magnify thy name Exalted high upon the honor-roll of Fame.
Pride of our State! Let not the jealous spleen Of those who would with calumny thy name
defame Disturb thee in thy calm serenity, Or mar the beauty of thy unstained chastity. Now, as of yore, proud, resolute, sedate, In glory move--pride of thy State.
Pandora 1899. C.
55

AN AIR CASTLE
NE happy day of the days gone by, When life was pleasure, unknown was pain,
One day, sweetheart, when you and I Met, and passed and I heard yon sigh
I built a wonderful Castle in Spain.
Its turret of Hope pierced into the sky And through to the world above,
And the moat about the Castle high Was deep as the love-light in your eye,
And the walls were as strong as my love.
But grievous wreck the Castle became, For 'twas built on an inconstant heart,
And the heart never could remain the same Alas! 'twas a Castle only in name
And doomed from its fateful start.
Some day, sweetheart, when you and I Shall meet again, no more in strife,
I hope again to hear a sigh And see the love-light in your eye.
For love is hope, and hope is life.
Pandora 1899.

HYMN
ORD! Thy image is defiled
tittfe By man, Thy creature, made of clay, Lord! Teach the erring, wayward child, And show to him the better way. Lord ! forgive us for our wrong, For we are weak, and Thou art strong.
This creature Thou hast made, O Lord! Has pitted his poor brain 'gainst Thine,
To unravel that most wondrous horde Of things Thou can'st alone divine.
Lord, grant us only faith to seek, For Thou art strong and we are weak.
Lord! still to us and all mankind, Love and gratitude impart,
For we respect Thee with the mind, But we must worship with the heart.
Give us the love we blindly seek, For Thou art strong, but we are weak. Georgian, 1899. Harry Hull.
57

QUOTH THE DEVIL
lORE potent than the angels I wield the wills of men;
Though cursed by ban of God and man, wherever, liow, and when
I will man's will to do my will, he yields and yields again.
Hocked in the cradle of an infant race, Twin-born with man and mind, I more than with the world keep pace, And by exalted means or base A thousand thousand souls in cringing servitude
I bind.
A thousand times on reeking sod, Or heaven-lifted tower, I've smote the hosts of man and God, I've smote and seen their power Dissolve--the power that once the magic spell Breathed in psalm-tuned ecstasy that threatened
regal Hell.
In quiet dale, In whirling gale, In court, on field or sea, Man's every deed, like bending reed,
S8

Doth serve and honor me.
As long as man shall breathe and act, As long as time shall last, 'Till Earth's foundation-stone is cracked, Time swallowed in the past; So long with scepter more than gold, From my all-ruling throne Shall I man's deeds design and mould And claim them for my own.
C. D. Russell.
59

GRINDING SUGAR CANE
HEN the sombre-colored autumn leaves are carpeting the wood,
When the squirrels scream and chatter 'cause the hickory-nuts are good.
When with lightly frosted footprint comes the early rising dawn,
When the winds are crowding past the stalwart sentries on the lawn,
When the nights are on the increase and the days are on the wane,
Then's the time in Southern Georgia, we are grinding sugar cane.
'Round the mule continues toiling and the juices
roll along, 1'ouring on the barrel strainer in a steady stream
of song. Pleasure rolls within the furnace, fire is beaming
through the door, Lighting up the cheery faces of the gathered folk
before, And the mill may squeak and grumble but its
plaints are all in vain, Everybody's always happy in the job of grinding
cane. 60

Even when my head is hoary with the frost, of many years,
When my cheeks have worn to wrinkles from the bitter flow of tears,
I shall sit before the furnace with its fading, figured steam,
And the Past will live again within the Present of a dream,--
Joyous Past, with hope and pleasure, take the place of Winter's pain,
And my old, cold heart be happy when the folks are grinding cane. R. W. Bacon.
61

TO THE FUTURE
art thou, great unknowable, that holds onr yet Unknown? What art thou, thou who reapest all that other hands have sown? How long shalt thou with sickle keen our sweatwrought labors reap? How boldest thou the world at bay? How dost thy secrets keep? Thou standest like a fog at sea, all mystic, dark and deep, And borne on Fate's unfailing tide we ever toward thee sweep, Thou guardian of our yet-to-be, thou master of our doom, Let songs unsung proclaim one note of mirth amid their gloom! A thousand,--yea, ten thousand more,--tomorrows yet unborn Await with unmoved patience the inevitable morn When each its load of blighting doom,--a bitter harvest reaped,-- Shall thrust upon a world of woe, with gall and wormwood steeped; And though in fear, with quaking souls we ponder on thy name, The seeds we sow that thou shalt reap are naught but grief and shame.
C. D. Russell.

MY DAY DREAM
ITH my thoughts "in frenzy rolling," And my fancy on the wing,
Once a surge of inspiration Like to blushing, gushing Spring Whelmed me with a rush of rhyme-words,Filled each cranial crevice o'er, Stocked and stored each chink and hollow With the melodies of yore.
Then my brain, replete to bursting With the flood of dulcet sweets,
Sought an outlet for its fulness. Snatching up a dozen sheets
Of the finest, whitest, paper, Rushed I, pell-mell, from the room
Out among the whispering pine-trees 'Mid the woodland flowers in bloom. 1
Down among the mossy creek-banks, 'Neath the gloom of clustering vines,
Hastening to a favored refuge Where no venturous sun ray shines,
I reposed me on the moss-bank, Catching faint the undertone,
From the hills and glades beyond me,-- Nature's wondrous monotone. 63

I began with words sonorous To record in form of rhyme
All the beauty and the gladness And the rapture most sublime,
Which, enthralling and beguiling By Nepenthe's potent spell,
Had engrossed my willing spirit With a charm no name can tell.
But I chanced to turn my paper And,--oh, bitter to relate!
All my inspiration left me, Staring at a eudden fate!
My high fancies took a tumble And my feathers 'gan to fall,
For I found that in my hurry, 'Along my papers, not quite all
Were so clear, so spotless snow-white, But that one had this to say:
(It was in my landlord's writing), "This month's board is due to-day!"
How a gentle invitation Worded in a style like this,
Can recall a vagrant fancy Even from the realms of bliss! H. B.
64

DREAM-DREAMS
D ID you ever dream of sleeping When the world disturbed you not? Did you ever wake a-weeping Over sorrow long forgot?
Did you ever dream of waking From a dream within a dream, When you found your heart a-breaking Over things that seemed to seem?
Did you ever dream of dreaming? In a dream from dreams awake, Just to find your happy seeming Seemed to seem for seeming's sake?
Have you seen the stars in day-time, Or the sun shine all night long? Have you seen it snow in May-time, Or a Christmas coming wrong?
Have you thought all wisdom foolish, Things below to seem above? Or the Cherubim seem ghoulish? Then you've never been in love.
Pandora, 01. Dan Hunnicutt.
(S)

NATURE
MET a traveler from a distant land Who said: "Within thy borders lives a queen
Whose glory and whose splendor few have seen
Though many think they have; her potent hand Dominion holds o'er the universe. Man Of living beings called the most supreme Most blindly breaks her mandates. I
have seen The untamed brute grow still at her command, The timid bird, emboldened by her power, Protect its young. The resplendent flower And gorgeous plume are painted by her hand. Still, men engrossed by petty self-hood stand Unmoved in her presence and prefer Their handiwork to those things shaped by her."
E. A, Z>., 01.
66

TRUE GREATNESS
but the stream whose path is checked with rocks, That sends its rill of joyous laughter o'er The earth, and, too, 'tis but by sorrow that We ever on this earth meet God. Our life Is like unto a harp o'er which the winds Of chance do blow: the harsher are the winds That sweep its chords, the higher is its soul Then raised on high; and when the shrieking blasts Of fury, fiercely raging near, do rend The chords in twain, 'tis then there rises up A melody which chants aloud its praise. And he who lowly, humbly, treads this earth, Near burdened down with sorrow, but whose soul Above this world communes with Him on high-- Ah! he is truly great!
Alvin Golucke.

THE WEAVER
HE Weaver at his loom is sitting, He throws his shuttle to and fro; Up and down the treadles go.
What a rattling, what a battling! What a shuffling, what a scuffling! As the weaver mates his shuttle Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.
See the mystic Weaver sitting High in Heaven, his loom below: Takes for web the world's long ages, Takes all stations and all stages, Takes the nobles and their pages; Thrones are bobbins in his shuttle, Armies make them scud and scuttle; Warp into the woof must flow, Up and down the treadles go.
Calmly see the mystic Weaver Throw his shuttle to and fro, Well the Weaver seems to know What each motion and commotion, What each fusion and confusion, In the grand result will show.
68

Glorious wonder I What a weaving! To the dull, beyond believing! Such no fabled ages know. Only Faith can see the mystery, As along the aisles of history Where the feet of ages go, Loveliest to the purest eyes, Calm the mystic carpet lies: Soft and smooth and ever spreading As if made for angels' treading, Every figure has its plaiding, Softer form or gentle shading, Inwrought figures fading ever, Tufted circles meeting never: Each illumined--what a riddle-- By a Cross that gems the middle.
'Tis a saying--some reject it-- That all light is but reflected, That the carpet's hues are given By a light that shines from Heaven. 'Tis believed, by all believing, That Great God himself is weaving, Bringing out the world's dark mystery In the light of faith and history. And when warp and woof diminish Comes the grand and glorious finish. Then begin the golden ages Long foretold by seers and sages.
Hinton Sooth. 69

CUPID'S VOYAGE
HTHELY he sails upon a sea of love, And lightly seeks Hope's flowerembowered isles;
His barque a maiden's heart, and it doth move, Propelled by oars framed from a maiden's smiles.
His only cable is a twisted strand Of golden hair plucked from some fairy queen;
His sails are women's sighs, his anchor planned From the strong face of lovers true, I ween.
Lightly he touches on the golden beach, And moors his barque within a tiny port,
Seeks dells of roses within easy reach, And watches mermaids through the waves disport.
And here he forges, Vulcan-like, the darts, Upon an anvil fashioned from rare gems,
Which transfix snowy bosoms, trusting hearts, And gives a crown of thorns or diadems.
'Tis here he practices with steady hand, And learns to shoot writhi an unerring aim: 70

His chubby fingers trace upon the sand The names of those who win, or sink in shame.
And when forth from this isle of hope he goes-- His eyes a-twinkle and his lips a-curl--
He cons o'er Venus' list of friends or foes, Prepared to set the nations all a-whirl.
Full bent on mischief he doth roam the world-- His quiver full of golden pointed darts--
And with his flag in every clime unfurled, He makes sad havoc with all human hearts!
Georgian, 1904..

ALAS!
LAS! that things of beauty must Return to ashes and to dust; Alas! that loveliness must die
As fades the light from sunset sky. No longer in thy face is seen The rosy bloom of seventeen, But on thy cold and lifeless cheek, And on those lips that cannot speak, Thy virgin graces still are traced; And on thy forehead fair is placed The signature of perfect peace Where wrong and disappointment ceaee. So sleep! And in thy bliss forget The faithful heart that loves thee yet; For I am nothing now to thee, And thou,--ah, thou art lost to me.
Georgian, 1905.

HER VIOLIN
I WOULD I were her violin Her graceful fingers' touch to feel, And nestle up against her chin, And know what thoughts the tones reveal.
Deep from her soul the strings bespeak What lieth innermost therein Of love; this ever should I seek, Were I her sonant violin.
In harmony with every thought, It understands her every mood; At times 'tis plaintive, now 'tis aught But sad, and fancies fond intrude.
While lasts each soul-consuming air It nestles there against her chin, And kisses ringlets of her hair-- O, would I were her violin!
Georgian, OS-4. Armand V. Berg.
73

APRIL PBIL, at last, with her sweet refrains;
New hopes and new joys now thrill our veins.
Hark! to the songs of the Sylvan band, The rapturous sight of the meadow land, The rippling laughter of gliding streams, Like echoes from the land of dreams. List to the Zephyr's gentle voice Caressingly bidding life rejoice. The wan meadow greets the balmy air That will again make it posy-fair; The snowy clouds, like a fleeting dove, Dart through the azure field above, Each twig and leaflet throbs again, New hope is given to the souls of men.
Georgian, 1904. /?. M- B.
74

SPACE
@HO hath not stood at evening all alone And looked into the darkening skies and
Himself grow Small and shrink to nothing? Let The eyes search out the dimmest stars, even Those faintest glimmering points of light which
seem Like out-posts of the Universe,--and Space, Dark, silent, lifeless, pathless, infinite, Stretches beyond. Out where the twinkling gleam Of the remotest orb is lost in night, Beyond the heights of Heaven and the depths Of Hell, beyond the wildest flights of thought In Space. Abysses, vaster than the mind Can think of, are but as an infant's step.
A billion'years have swept in silence through These mighty solitudes: new worlds, teeming With life, have peopled Space, and passing through Long periods of change, have perished; suns Have sprung, blazing and brilliant, into being And in the still lapse of eternity Burned out to darkness. Matter undergoes Changes of many kinds, and heat and light And motion,--energy in all its forms
75

Is ever changing, bat the all-conqnering years Pass reverently throogh Space and leave no mark Upon her.
And mysteries she holds that man Can never hope to know; what lies beyond The limits of our sight? How many worlds Are swung in the eternal void, what strange Inhabitants, what curious histories, What mysteries of life and death and love And sacrifice are theirs? Ah, these are things That angels might desire to look into.
Space is the symbol of eternity; We are engulfed in it, go where we will Always and everywhere its power is Upon us. What is man? The mind faints on The very threshold of Immensity. O Space, the lightning-winged light flies out Forever and yet fails, fails utterly To find thy borders! Deity hath not In any attribute more majesty Than in His Omnipresence.
Yet running Through all Space and all eternity, Like threads of light, are simple laws which bind The countless stars in a sweet harmony, As perfect, as profound as God himself. Is there behind these sovereign laws no Will
76

Whose law they are? Ah, yes, the World is one By virtue of one thought which rules it all; The stars are atoms in a vaster world, And Man a fragment of that mighty Soul Which is the Universe, the Deity, Space, Matter, Energy, Eternity.
Harold W. Telford, '05.
77

TOOMBS' OAK
1OW is the hour of thy last agony: som bre shades of Death draw on apace
To fold thee in its darkness, and ruthless Ruin strikes thee with the shaft of dread decay.
The Midas-touch of Autumn, the last time, Doth glorify thy branches with its gold, Ere the death-rattle of December winds Is heard to shake thy fruit and foliage Down to the earth, to sleep in death with thee.
Full five decades have swept, with kindly tread Through the possession of the centuries, Since Robert Toorabs, fair Georgia's lordly son, Strong as the fibre of thy sturdy heart, And full of fire as thy green bark of sap Stood at thy feet to blend his fame with thine.
To-day ye both rest in the vale of death; Caught in the meshes of one common foe And laid away in the dim silences And gloom and darkness of eternal years, But as the ivy, green and vigorous, Doth wreathe thy trunk with its supernal growth And bide thy scars and clothe thee yet more fair--
,8

The mother heart of Nature being kind, That she doth deck thee 'till thou dost appear In death more fair than thou bast been in life-- So will thy brother in majestic strength, In rugged grandeur--the immortal Toombs-- Stand 'midst the tempests and the wrecks of time, Growing in beauty through perspective years. A people's love shall twine his name about And glorify his princely attributes, 'Till he shall loom like a white shaft of lightIts base the earth--its summit in the stars.
Georgian, 'OS-. A. L. Hardy.
79

GUIDANCE
LEAN on Thee to lead me. Thou, O God, Can'at see the way my errant feet should
tread, Thou knowest when to raise Thy chastening rod, Thou kaowest best when grief should bow my head.
Blaze thou the way. Let me but follow on, Fearless as Right, strong as eternal Truth; Give but the radiance from Thy mighty throne, And let me walk with the firm strength of Youth.
Let me meet Error on her chosen field, And see her cohorts in confusion fly; Let me see Wrong to Right victorious yield, Let me in Honor's cause live, fight, and die.
Let me uphold the weak, and then grow strong; Shield the defenceless, champion the oppressed, And let me stand with that undaunted throng Who live for Truth, and know Truth's ways are
best.
Then when Death's shadows mantle Time in night, And when Eternity's calm stars appear, Lead Thou me up to heaven's unwaning light, Where Peace shall reign, and Love casts out all
fear. ' Georgian, 1903. Arthur L. Hardy. 80

IONE
HOU'KE the daintiest little blossom that the summer ever missed, You're the sweetest little flower that the sunshine ever kissed, And your voice to me is music soft as bells that
chime at eve, When the sun, of sleeping woodlands and uplifted
hills, takes leave.
Fair as angel dreams in heaven, bright as stars that shine at night,
Pure as snows that rift their beauty into airy forms of whitej
You're my own delighted goddess, you're my fairy full of glee,
You're my richest, rarest treasure--you are all the world to me.
Georgian, 1908-04. Arthur L. Hardy.

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81

HEROISM
BE is not most a hero who most dares Before the glaring footlights of the world; And he who climbs the sweep of marble stairs, 'Midst music's throb, and pennons fair unfurled, And nodding plumes above his head o'er-cnrled, Gains not the noblest summit of the earth; But he who from high place is often hurled, Yet straggling rises conscious of his worth, And hides his soul's despair with a bold front of
mirth.
Or he who far from any voice of fame, Condemned by friends, and scoffed by gloating
foes, Clings to the right, unfaltering at the blame Of the self-righteous, dreads no threatened woes, But does his duty bravely as he knows, And dreams alone of recompense from heaven-- His is the name that with most beauty glows In God's blest archives, when on earth's last even The Judgment of the Ages falls, and worlds O'er-thrown are riven.
Georgian, 1903. Arthur Z. Hardy.
82

NIGHTS SOLITUDE
LONE upon this planet swung in space, An atom in the universe, I stand, And brood upon these wonders from God's hand
Which human eye may only faintly trace.
I watch far distant worlds their courses run Through vast infinitudes of mystic space, I scan the story of earth's fallen race, I question when man's penance may be done.
And then a solitude of spirit sweeps Down o'er my soul black as the wings of night, I grope like children vainly searching light, Or like some sailor lost on Ocean's deep.
Where art Thou? And where am I? O my God! Now standing 'midst this maze of countless worlds; And through the coverns of still space he hurls The answer: "view the patient clod;
The violet smiling from the kindly sod, And learn the answer thy sick soul would hear, Dry up each studied and unreasoning tear; Alone? thou art alone with God."
Arthur L. Hardy.
83

JUDGE HOWELL COBB
HHOU noble scion of a glorious past, Type of a race evanishing from earth, We come in humble song to pay our meed Of praise and homage for thy native worth.
Like one who sighs above the silent corse Of her he loved in youth, thou sittest now Beside the open grave of the Old South, And broodest on the glories gone for aye.
How fair the memories thou dost conjure up! How bright the past thy genius doth return! How thou dost cause the youthful heart to yearn For those brave days, when in heroic mould Our Southern manhood was most nobly cast.
To-day we heard thee speak. An echo seemed To break upon us from the slumbering past, Once more we heard the clarion voice of Lee, The call of Davis, Jackson, Gordon, Hill, We felt the pulsing of a mighty cause Thrill through us, and we dared To wish that we had lived with them.
Aye, to have lived, or to have died with them, We count a most unequalled privilege,'
84

We saw the serried hosts of Lee go down Beyond the western mountains of defeat; We saw the curtain fall on the last act Of that dread tragedy, and Hope subdued Folded her wings, crushed by the doom of Might.
Ah! 'tis a bitter thought that such as thou Should know defeat; that contumelious force Should ever trample on the cause of Right, And overwhelm in gloom and obloquy The kingliest of the kingly brave, who Ever died for Truth, and lofty principle.
When thon shalt slumber with the patriots Who, in confederated glory, fought For home, for honor, and for native land, Know thou we'll not forget thee. Memory Will blossom fairer as the years roll on, Thou, and thy comrades every one, shall wear The deathless beauty of Love's immortelles.
Georgian, 1904- Arthur L. Hardy.

DEATH
DEATH, thou ebon angel of despair, Thou arch assassin of the good and fair, Thou grim tragedian of life's mystery-- 'Tis vain man lifts his futile cries to thee! Thine is a kingdom where no mercy smiles, Thine is a reign of Sphinx-like cruelty; Thy home is fixed 'midst pestilential piles Of ruined cities, where no faintest hopes beguiles.
Thy smile is in the lightning's fatal flash, Thou walkest with the earthquake where it rends, Thy voice is in the ocean's roar and crash, Commingled with the fury of the winds, Thy breath with the volcano's lava blends. Thy cachinnation is the thunder's roll; Thou dancest with the simoon when it sends, Its fiercest blight upon Sicilian fold-- With these thou scrawlest "Finis" on Time's rugged scroll.
Georgian, J904- Arthur L. Hardy.
86

AMBITION
LIMB, climb alone! O, mortal spirit, darel Ascend the heights with agonizing tread:
The way, though thorny, rugged, steep and bare,
Must all be conquered 'ere men call thee dead.
Rule out the soft allurements of thy life, Let thy heart, cloaked in smiles, beat on and bleed,
Climb steadily! the way with woe is rife, Deep, black and bitter will be thy soul's need.
Few flowers will bloom along thy lonely path, Scarce any music melt upon the air;
But storms will break, and lightnings gleam in wrath,
And none will heed thy soul's subdued despair.
But onward press, though torrents 'round thee rolJ,
And thunders mutter in the gathering gloom; Beat back the dangers, face them, firm and bold,
And falter not if thou must meet thy doom.
Night, solitude and sorrow mantle thee; But onward press--the summit must be gained; 87

Thy name must blazon throngh eternity The honor roll of giants who have reigned.
The way grows dim, thy heart will surely break, Cimmerian chaos swoops down to destroy--
But, ah! the cadence of the morn doth wake, The herald of thy triumph and thy joy.
Light steals athwart the snow-fringed mountain's crest,
And radiant gleams the sun forevermore; O, wearied spirit! sit thee down and rest
Unmindful of the rabble's din below.
Georgian, 1904-

OCONEE CEMETERY
SILENT city of the voiceless dead! Hushed in the midst of thy lone tombs I
stand, And muse upon this transitory life Whose mortal course in death doth find an end. Could these thy denizens but find a voice Such as would pierce our earth-encumbered ears, How might they speak the truths we long to hear! Here slumber in thy bosom men as great As ever wore the mantle of renown-- As great in heart and noble principle As heroes sung by any bard sublime. Here sleep the matrons of the brave old Soutli Whose fame shall live as long as truth survives; And, by the side of hoary-headed age, Here rests a maiden whose fair beauty's bloom Was blighted, ere it blossomed to the full, By the unfeeling touch of frosty death. Here slumber babe and mother, son and sire, Wrapped in the last, sweet, dreamless sleep of
death, Awaiting calmly as the winds which steal Among the moss-grown tombs, the final morn When God Himself shall call them back to life.
Arthur Z. Hardy.
89

TO ONE THAT'S AWA'
IEN I recall all goodness and all truth, And tenderness and patience that hath
blown Full, like a rose, fair on my life's bright
dawn, To fall as incense on my buoyant youth, I think of thee beyond the earth's deep rnth,
Far in the radiant realms of God and peace Where mortal sorrow hath its sweet
earcease, And thy fair soul is glorified. In sooth, A pure, ecstatic, holy joy doth thrill
Through my soul's chambers, and I feel that God
Doth smile to see thy newborn spirit fill With bliss undreamed when earth's sad ways were trod,--
And I, thus thinking, am content to wait, For thou'lt not chide me that I greet thee late.
A. L. Hardy, 05.
90

MY LOVE
BOW do I love her? 'Tis a theme I fain would dwell upon! I love her in the mad, free way with which bold rivers run, I love her as the roses love the first kiss of the sun,
I love her with unfettered heart--my darling!
I love her as the mountaineer doth love his native heights,
I love her as the soldier loves the field whereon he fights,
I love her as the poet loves the fair Italian nights, I love her with unfettered heart--my darling!
I love her, ay! I love her--'tis a song that thrills me through--
As the sailor loves the pulsing breast of ocean's boundless blue,
I love her as the dove loves with a love that's leal and true,
I love her with unfettered heart--my darling!
I love her as the monarch loves the people whom he shields,
I love her as the savage loves the lawless power he wields, 9'

Or as fair children wandering love the beauty of the fields,
I love her with unfettered heart--my darling!
For she is gentle as the breath which tropic southwinds blow,
And lovely as the son's first blush that in the east doth glow,
Pure as a saint's last, holy prayer breathed plaintively and low--
Who could resist her matchless charms--my darling!
Arthur L. Hardy, 05.

TO CYNTHIA
Y lady fair is like the rose That bursts upon the breast of Spring,
The fairest flower that blooms and blows, Sweet as the bud's first opening.
Her soul is pure and stainless white, As snows that fringe the Alpine crest;
Her smile is like a Southern night When Venus broods in loveliness.
Her love is like the violet's breath Borne on the dew-wet wings of morn,
Or song of blue-birds from the heath O'er nested fledglings newly born.
For her a weakling could be brave, For her a coward could be strong,
For her a freeman be a slave, And feel a master's cruel thong.
She leads me as the sacred star The sages led to Bethlehem;
In shame or glory, peace or war, Her love is my soul's diadem.
Arthur L. Hardy, OS-

CHRISTMAS TIME
HHE chapel bell is ringing, and its tone is sweet and clear; The boys are all a-singing, and there's music everywhere; The sky was ne'er so pretty as it hangs from
Heaven's dome; For it's Christmas time in Georgia, and the boys
are going home.
The books are being thrown aside in every nook and crook--
For how is happiness complete when thoughts are on a book?
Let every thought of morrow heed itself as off we roam,
For it's Christmas time in Georgia, and the boys are going home.
We'll rest from dreams of classes and of getting shot and such,
For Imagination's painting us the scenes we love so much:
Of the mother growing gray-haired, of the lady fair alone,
For it's-Christmas time in Georgia, and the boys are going home.
94

"For it's Christmastime in Georgia." Don't it beat the world how sweet
Is the very thought of Christmas, of the happiness complete?
Just a good-bye to the Campus that will weep amid the gloom,
For it's Christmas time in Georgia, and the boys are going home. W. E. McDougald, '00.
95

HAD SHE?
AST night I kissed her in the hall, my promised wife,
She said, "Now, tell me truly this, Did you another girl e'er kiss
In all your life?"
I looked into her upturned face and answered, "No."
Now, I would know the reason why She said with such a long-drawn sigh,
"I-I thought so."
The tip she gave me, you'll admit, was pretty stiff;
Since there was nothing left to say, I walked home in a dreamy way
And wondered if--
J. G. Stokes, 06.

BROKE, BROKE, BROKE
ROKE, broke, broke, Are "every day'' terms you see, But you'd better be glad that the pen won't write
The thoughts that arise in me.
Oh, well for the millionaire's boy As he rides in his auto car, And feasts all day on the fat of the land 'Mid the smoke of a fat cigar.
But the "poverty struck" go on To their haven under the hill And sigh from morn 'till eventide For the sound of the "chink" that is still.
W. E. McDougald, 06.

(7)

97

LONGING
WOULD to-night I were a child again, That I might hide my head Within my mother's arms, And sob myself into that childhood sleep Which bringeth sweet oblivion; That I might there unburden all my griefs and cares, As in the days now dead, And find that sweet, untroubled peace of mind Which only childhood knows. I would forget the fierce, impassioned fights I've known, The hurts my pride has felt. I would forget the pangs of deep regret The day brings forth, Could I, to-night, but hear the crooning lullaby, And gaze, enraptured, At the love within those holy eyes.
W. E. McDougald, '06.

THAT NEWSPAPER FROM HOME
HOU may read your "New York World" if you like, Or your "Washington Gazette;" You may gaze for hours in a ''Vanity Pair"
At the face of a French Soubrette; You may feast your eyes on the "Boston Sun,"
That you find where'er you roam, But for the newsiest news in all the world,
Just give me the paper from home.
With its "patent sides" and gaudy "ads," And its "War News" old and dry;
With its "City Chat" and "Heard Around Town;" And its "eds" on "Drinking and Why;"
With its sticky ink and smearing type, And its wood-cuts centuries old:--
It may look "bum" to the outside world But to me it is dearer than gold.
It will tell of whom John went to see On last Sunday afternoon;
It will tell of why Tom Johnson got That new horse a little soon;
It will tell of all that's dear to you, g [Of your family, friends, and girl; Why its really the only Newspaper
That's printed in all the world.
W. E. MaDougaldy '06.
99

HOMESICK
T night I sit all bundled in the crowded etady ball
And I seem to grow right lonesome, and my spirits 'gin to fall;
I forget about to-morrow and the dreaded coming class
For my thoughts are in South Georgia, rambling thro" the tall wiregrass.
Just the thought makes me so homesick that I almost break away,
For I want to go back home to-night--yes, go back home to stay,
I ain tired of all the worry, of this struggle for a "pass;"
I'm just homesick for South Georgia and a sight of silk wiregrass.
I can see the trees a buddin' and the grass a sproutin' green,
I can see her standing there--such pictures are I ween
Enough to drive me mad to-night--thank God, this year's my last,
And next June I'm for South Georgia and the silky tall wiregrass.
W. E. McDoiigald, Off.
100

MELANCHOLY
\A\ HEAVY burden weighs me down, And I am lonely as a bird, Without its mate.
Some joy from out my life hath flown, And I must sit and sadly wait, To catch a sound full long unheard.
I am a lute with music gone, I am the melody unsung, And master deaf.
I am the victory unwon; I am the ship, with slackened reef, Upon a friendless ocean flung.
There is a wish within me deep, To strive and struggle, reach at last-- O'er all to stand!
Yet, ah me! I could almost weep, Out of my glass hath run the sand, Helpless, in chains, I am bound fast.
G. N. Feidelson, 06.
101

OPTIMISM SAT and pondered o'er a gloomy book, That told of heartless things, and pains
and woes-- How human blood in torrents 'round us flows, And men aye seek for gold, by hook or crook; How poverty, low crouched and forlorn, doth look In vain for help, is met with bludgeon blows; How wealth foul wrong and mischief sows, Nor halt, nor stop, the gaping vices brook-- All these I read, when, in a tree o'erhead, I heard the notes of two love-cooing birds, Serenely telling secrets aeons old; And then I thought, "What matter empty words? The heart of man can ne'er be false or cold, While Love's supreme,and love and truth are wed."
C. N. Feidelson, '06.
102

SHAKESPEARE
BRAKES PEA RE, to my poor halting ignorance, Thou art some El Dorado rare, wherein, Tho' many there have digged and got, I still may find mine own dear, sweet reward; Wealth, nor of gold, nor silver--filthy pelf! But riches vast, more glorious than these, Pure, golden thoughts, and silver-wing6d words; Thoughts that stir the heart with human thrill, And words, that make fair Beauty grow more fair. Ah, Shakespeare, Shakespeare, had I half thine art And god-like skill, I'd be a happy mortal proud, And pace the world, a vast arena full--mine own!
C. N. Feidelson, 06.
103

THE CYNIC OR a sleep that knows no waking,
And a peace that hath no breaking, Do I plead.
Let there be an end forever To this hollow, wasting fever, Men call Life.
'Tis a useless, losing straggle, Into which we have to smuggle What is best.
And our fancies, dreams, illusions Are all written down delusions, By this world,
Full of wise men, who are blind men, And of selfish and unkind men, So unkind!
Take me, Lord, is then my prayer, From this earth without delay or More suspense.
C. If. Feidelson, 06.
104

A LOVERS PRAYER thee, so many miles away, My thoughts are ever turning, And each delaying, weary day Is filled with longing and with yearning.
The Arab, when the twilight comes, Doth kneel, devoutly praying; And Mecca-ward his spirit roams, While soft his "Allah" he is saying.
So I, at this calm, darkling hour, Thy mercy am entreating-- And, faith, my love, had I the pow'r, Straightway to thee I would be fleeting!
C. N. Feidelson, '06.
105

TO-MORROW
IGHTLY, swiftly, years roll ou, Tears of joy and sorrow,
Shall we think of Now alone, Ay, or dream the morrow?
Like the silv'ry, wanton clouds, That westward, ghostlike, fade;
Don we must our griesly shrouds, And lie by death arrayed.
Lightly, swiftly, years roll on, Years of joy and sorrow,
Shall we think of Now alone, Ay, or dream the morrow? C. N. Feidelson, 06.
106

TO AN ANTE-BELLUM MANSION
NCARNATE sigh! Embodied moan for bet ter days!
Thy walls are now storm-beaten, old and gray,
Thy tottering pillars sway to every wind, Thou'rt full of years, of sadness, and of gloom, O empty shell of what thou erstwhile wast, Where are thy pomp, thy glory, and thy wealth, Thy music, laughter, joy and dance, Thy hospitality, as broad as deep, Thy ladies, proud and fair and sweet-- Where are these all?
Thy aspect tells, alas,-- What words ne'er could--they're gone, all gone, And thou art but a grisly, wasted ghost, For whom we have a deep and labored sigh, Quick followed by a soft, heart-broken tear.
C. N. Feidelson, 06.
107

THE SOUTH
HHE bird that high above the thunderbolts, Of Jove,in arctic skies, doth wing his flight, Or one in Afra's balmy air that floats, And sees the land to stretch beyond all sight, Sees not a view so peerless, grand, As view of this, my native land.
Nowhere the rivers flow, o'er rich-laid beds, As loth to leave a land so radiant, rare;
Nowhere do the mountains lift their plumed heads, With more majestic mien than do they here-- They rear aloft their crest to keep Guard o'er this land while it doth sleep.
The son that runs his lengthy course each day, And sees all men, and thus observes the laws,
By which their honor moves, the eager way They reach to arms to guard their country's cause, Sees not a people so loyal, true, As are the sons, sweet land, of you.
Nowhere'sees he respect for womanhood. So deep imbedded in a people's life,
Nor purer, sweeter, prettier women could He find than these, nor worthier cause for strife;
108

Nor people find so tender, strong, To guard the right, avenge the wrong. And so, softly speak we, and low, As we petition our God above, To let His mercy ever flow, And bless us ever with his love, "Most mighty God, since Thou to us hath lent, Such beauteous clime, such love of right, Guide us, nor take from us the light Of love, nor let our strength be wasteful spent."
Wm. G. JBrantley, Jr, 07-
109

THE EXAMS
(With most profound apologies to Rudyard Kipling and his "Screw Guns.")
MOKING my pipe at the window, sniffing tne morn'nS air>
I sit every morn about daybreak, plugging away in a chair,
With nothing but books all around me, and never a moment of peace
As I know I must slave thus for two weeks before I can hope for release.
For you all know the exams--the exams they all know you.
And when the time comes for exams of course you will know what to do--boo! hoo!
Just write what you know on your paper (hot air's no use, nor are shams),
Then the gods in the skies supplicate for your rise, for you can't get out of exams.
Some spend all their time in a frolic, shoot bil liards, or else they play ball,
And sometimes they go to their classes, but mostly do nothing at all.
no

They're loafing and having a good time, they're taking things easy, are they?
Well, soon all these sons of sweet leisure misfor tune will claim as her prey. For you all know the exams,--etc.
Then some will be put on probation, or else, hav ing failed for a pass,
They'll bottle their pride and drop backward and enter the freshman class.
But if they're already of that tribe there's noth ing left for them to do
But pack up their kits and belongings and hit the trail home p. d. q. For you all know the exams,--etc.
Oh, exams are the things that rule, the little gods whom we obey,
And we are only the tools with which the little gods play.
Do you say that your life is your own, or foolishly say you will rise?
By gad, you are sadly mistaken and doomed to a Fools' Paradise.
For you all know the exams--the exams, alas, they know you.
And when the time comes for exams of course you will know what to do--boo! hoo!
in

Just pass in your short-written paper--it's worse if one studies or crams:
You can do what you please, but you get no degrees until you pass off your exams. William Brantley, '07.
112

IN THE MORNING

H |OW glorious the cool of the morning, how fresh is the earth, and how clear And sweet is the twittering scorning of one little bird that I hear. All else is in silence around me and Nature herself
softly still,
'Oept the rippling streamlet below me and the bird that sings on the hill.

Now slowly the stillness steals o'er me and its awe on my spirit doth roll,
Until the soft rivulet's running hath found its way into my soul,
And it seems that my heart is attuned to and can not but beat with the stream
That wends its way windingly onward until its sweet singing doth seem
In perfect accord with the beat of my heart So they two are as one, and each is a part Inseparably linked with the other, and one could
not possibly cease Unless the other one also should halt and they
both be at peace. And now the bird on the hill draws near to me and
the run,

<*)

3

And he chants in accord with the rill and my heart--and we three are as one.
But a moment! The spell is dissolved by a light rising clear o'er the hill,
And so far then is Nature from silence, and so far is my singer from still,
That other birds come out to join him, and the val leys and hills of the May
Echo with the warblings and trillings, saluting the Lord of the Day. William Brantley, '07.
114

LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE
HEN deep depression assails yon, When your soul is wrapped in despair,
When apparently everything fails you, And nobody seems to care;
Do not drop from the fight, weak-hearted, Reflect that the blackness of night
Cannot long be unmet and unparted By the dazzling dawning of light.
And ere you scarcely have thought it, Your care will begin to grow light,
And, wondering what could have brought it, You'll singing re-enter the fight.
For, are we not creatures of impulse, That by it are swayed as a reed,
One moment receive, and then repulse, A feeling, a thought, or a creed?
And, since we may thus at our will Choose either the dark or the light side,
Let us banish all gloom, and then fill Its place up with light from the bright side. William JBrantley, '07-

TO ROBERT BURNS
S Moses in the land of Zin afar Where Nature, niggard of her plenteous wave, Nor drop to thirsting air of liquid gave,
Nor drop to land parched by Apollo's car, Where naught there was but rock and sand and
scar-- As he, awe-armed by his eternal God, Reached forth and smote the rock with sound
ing rod, And from it gushed the wave of Meribah-- So thou great bard, didst likewise later view
The dull, hard rock, dead tongue of Scotia's land, And things which thou had'st loved so leal and true
Didst touch with thy poetic, magic wand, And quick, from that hard outward form removed, The tongue sprang fair, and all embraced and loved.
Wm. O. Urantley, 07.
116

IN DEUM [HAT company so sweet as solitude untold
With Natures garb entwined in mingling throngs.--
Yon peaks and torrents, vales, embattlements.
Experience the Eternal, Father, All-Soul, Who whispers in a still, small voice Of thought and of a peace ineffable, unsaid. Oh, man! draw near thy God an humbled, Abase thyself and rise enthroned in spirant
thought, Soul merged in God,the oneness that aforetime
was. Georgian, 1905- P. R. Weltner, 07.
117

NO MORE IN PATHS OF BEAUTY LED
LONG farewell, A long and last farewell to thee, Oh, Muse, farewell to thee. No more in paths of Beauty led, Alone my wayward steps to wend, I linger 'raid past joys.
A tender mother hast thou been, my Muse, Hast led me gently by Not threadlike, silvery streams alone, Nor fields agreen with life, But torrents, roaring rivers, That panting, out of breath, Rush down and cave the base Of mighty peaks, whose heads Bat knock against the stars; And white and hoary, Lend their tattered sides, the cliffs, To stretch an aged blessing o'er the stream, Which, like the boy, first runs, Then leaps the yawning caverns, Till full in stature grown, Pursues its swelling course; /Translucent veils the smiling earth. Thus, too, my Muse, my way I tread,
118

Until the years roll by, again To make me stand, no more an ardent youth, But old and bent, and sacred still to thee. For youth can only lisp,
While age with wisdom truly fraught, Can epeak thy numbered tongue, A long farewell, A long and last farewell to thee Farewell, my Muse, to thee.
P. R. Weltner, '07.

REFLECTION
HHEKE is a mystic romance in a night, When, moving through the vast Cerulean
Attended by her starry train, the moon Majestically overrides the world.
Then is a time to ponder and reflect, To softly call from memory's guarded shrine The secret thoughts that flamed in days agone, Now mind-chaff, to be cast full far away; To dwell upon ambitions gone to naught, Whose gloomy shadows still o'erhangthe mind, Like unto dawn, as it lingers ere The first effulgence of the morning sun, Sweet blush of day, as if her dappled light Defied the might of fair Apollo's car. The trembling light of the full orbed moon Speeding through space, like dreamy phantoms
falls, Upon my brow, illumes the tablets of My mind, on which I read, though some are faint, Others so bold, mysteriously clear, My records full and just like those above.
This is a time when silence, comforter Of them'who toil in vain with worldly cares,
120

Who fret beneath some large Atlantean load, From which the hnman shoulders, bending low, Near crushed to mother-earth are stiff with pain, Will lift, relieve, will help, no one knows how, And will point out the way from dire despair To peace, success, and everlasting hope.
Georgian, 1905. G. H. Gillon.
121

SOHNIA
BHAT were the world without a youthful dream, The hope that cheers and lightens darkest days? The dream of budding manhood e'er must light The world, and be a beacon torch for him Who toils from day to day, or else mankind Would cease to grow and to stagnation sink. Youth needs a dream, illumined by a star, High shining from the future's void to lead His path to sweet success and heavenly peace.
G. H. Gillon, 07.
122

TO WILLIAM S. LOYD
N vain the dew of sorrow fills my eyes In grief for thee: yon Chapel bell in vain, Resounding o'er the leafy hill and plain,
Rings out man's dirge to the high vaulting skies. Once strong and held by Love's sweet mysteries And brightened with thy smile, my friendship's
chain, Unlinked by certain death, whose destined reign O'errules the source of life, now broken lies. Yet not in vain doth loving memory Recall thy wonted smile, so pure and kind, When you and I were toiling side by side; Though darksome death refused fair life to thee, Still gleams the radiance of thy smile behind Whose streaming light shall ever be my guide.
Georgian, 1905. G. H. Gillon.
123

THE ASCENT OF MAN
D OWN the pathway of the ages, Streams a ray of golden light, Growing greater, grander, stronger, As it drives away the night.
And its glorious, golden gleaming Falls athwart a wretched race,
Makes man waken, wonder, whisper Of a higher, nobler place.
Now with hands outstretched to Heaven, Ears attuned to music sweet,
Heart of dauntless, deathless daring, Cares he naught for each defeat.
Soon with splendor yet unrivalled, Shall the shining goal be won,
And a brilliant, burnished banner Shall proclaim to all, "well done." P. W. Dams, 07.
124

A YOUTH'S PRAYER
ASK not to be good, or strong, or great; For, in this world, men's goodness is all
judged
By the dress they wear, by what they prate, Not what they do; the strength, which stands un-
budged, However dangerous, narrow be the strait, Doth waver in the end, at last bows 'neath the
weight Of years; the path of greatness is too often trudged At fearful costs, and fame is ne'er ungrudged. Give me the peace that knows no noisy change, A soul that's consecrated to the search for truth, A heart that loves humanity in sooth, A mind serene, o'er all the world to range-- A life which breathes of gentleness and ruth, I ask of Thee, to whom no thing is strange.
125

INTROSPECTIVE
I.
AST night I dreamed. I saw the misty veil was rent,
With knowing eye beheld the pall of death unfold,
And Truth, a thousand, thousand years in darkness pent,
Tiie scheme of after life-from death's transition told. II.
Our something after death is justice in full meed, Each overt act, each hidden thought is weighed. The just find joy complete on naked Truth to feed: Alas, one touch and sinful souls the cost have paid.
III.
And thus my scheme of life these clarion notes re call,
And deeds of men on earth for just reaction need Not harps of gold nor hells of fire; bare Truth does
all. A dream, you trow; and yet I call it worthy creed.
S. O. Smith, '07.
126

OCEAN SONG HERE is life in the breast of the morning,
There's joy in the swell of the sea, 'Neath the whitecap foam of their ocean
home The billows dance with glee.
When the boat glides out of harbor On the Sea God's wooing crest
There is love and joy for the sailor boy In his sweetheart's tender breast.
And hope's in the sunset's splendor, Then home on the starlit steep.
Oh, the world is bright in spite of night, For God's on the rolling deep. Will Hill
127

A MODERN BRAHMANISM
HAT is Time? 'Tis but the motion Of the river to the ocean, But the gliding of the stream;
And the winds of fate come blowing Down the mystic current, flowing
Soft and silent like the stream Of a strange uncertain dream.
What is Man? And whence and whither Speeds the life that hastened thither
Like the foam upon the stream? Floating, gliding, turning, veering, Growing, circling, disappearing,
Like the passing of a dream, Of a wierd and witless dream.
He is drifting, drifting, drifting Like the foam upon the shifting,
Shifting bosom of the stream; Whence came he, and whither going? That hath he no means of knowing,
For his life is like a dream,-- Like a dim uncertain dream.
What is Heaven? Peace, Nirvana, Re-absorption into Brahma;
128

'Tis the ending of the dream-- When the foam-flecks on the river Sink from sight and sink forever
Back into the mighty stream, In that deep and tranquil stream.
What is God? He is the motion, And the river and the ocean,
And the fountain of the stream; He the sonl whose eye is seeing All the chance and change of being
In the passing of the dream, Of His own Eternal dream.

(9)

129

THE RETURN OF SPRING
WORLD of green says spring is here, The flowers bloom on every hand, The light clouds floating through the air Trail their shadows o'er the land.
'Tis now I long to leave the town, And trample through the fields and woods; 'Tis now I love to steal away, And study Mother Nature's moods.
'Tis now I love to bask beneath The sheltering oak and forest pine, To live with flowers, birds and bees, To worship at Dame Nature's shrine.
A world of fairies may be seen, If now in forest wild we roam, From morn 'till night they flit about, With music fill their sylvan home.
Behold the woodfolk from the south, While north they travel night and day; The Virioles, Warblers, Orioles, ,With colors loud and songs so gay.
130

O hear the Cardinal's sweet fife, His looks BO gay and debonair; O how his gladsome voice relieves My weary soul from toil and care!
Retreat into some lonesome woods, And listen to the mourning dove, Sitting on his bough of pine, And pealing forth his notes of love.
The thousand cares that weigh us down Will fly like chaff before the wind, Will leave the soul to love's caress, With all her burdens cast behind.
Now turn your eyes to Heaven's dome, And see yon falcon soar on high, He mounteth upward round by round, On pinion strong he climbs the sky.
Thus Nature, when we know her charms, Yields to us many a glad surprise; When loved, she elevates the soul, To higher levels makes us rise.
H. J. H. DeLoach.

TO SIDNEY LANIER
SWEET gifted singer of the olden South! No Muse can wreathe Olympic laurels fit For thy clear brow; all Nature's is the task. For tbee she clothes the verdant landscape o'er With emerald leaves--the leaves thou lovedst so
well.
Like to the Master in Gethsemane, They were not blind to thee when in distress, But whispered soothing thoughts of deepest love. Through all thy life a benediction ran, And at the approach of conscious Death thy song Grew sweeter far, and purer, as the swan Of legend, which full-breasting down the stream, Flutes to its mate a song divinely sweet, And full of love, and joyous, sweet content.
'Tis said the nightingale's most plain tive notes
Float o'er the grave of Orpheus, hid in Thrace, A song of sweetest pain and full of love. So be thy rest, Lanier! Yet not thy tomb Alone dost hear the mocking-bird's rare song; O'er all the land thou lovedst so well he wings, Nor ever ceases, with his varied lay, To mourn for thee, his comrade and his mate.
F. B. Willingham, '05. 132

OPPORTUNITY HEARD a footstep in the night, It paused awhile, then hurried on, And well I knew when it had gone 'Twas not for me.
I felt a spark come near my home-- A spark of love and friendship fast; It flickered feebly--then it passed-- I know not where.
I heard a voice like Siren song, Come floating lightly through the air; Distrustful did I scowl and sneer Until it hushed.
And thus have phantoms come and gone-- Unheeding have I mocked and hissed-- And who may know--mayhap I've missed My destiny!
George M. Jlattey, 08.
i33

LONELINESS
ANTOM of sad and solemn mien Why dost thou hauut me night and day?
Why from my lonely life exclude Of light and brightness every ray?
And when in Memory's realm I roam, Seeking in vain from thee to hide,
Why follow with relentless tread And coming, sit close by my side?
If mingling with the careless throng At pleasure's fount to drink I dare,
Why dost thy tear from face and heart The smiling masks they fain would wear?
Oh, Loneliness, hast thou no charms To cheer the heart thou hoverest near?
No holy chastened joys that make Thy melancholy presence dear?
Ah, yes, in solitude profound, When Loneliness holds sovereign sway,
The tired Spirit turns to God, Gladly its burden there to lay.
Then Loneliness, thou art no foe, Though coldly welcomed to my heart.
A teacher sent from God art thou,-- ' Give me my lesson and depart.
W. I. Turk, 08.
34

SWEETHEART, COME BACK WEETHEART, come back,
Gould'st thou but know How dark and dismal seems the day, The hours how long, the skies how dull
and grey; Could I but show How bruised and bleeding is my heart How all, and all in all, to me thou art: Ah, then I trow Thou surely would'st not longer from me
stay, Listen, dearheart, hear me, this once, I
pray Sweetheart, come back.
T. E. B.
'35

A MEMORY
KNEW a girl as fair As the sunshine that glistened In her hair; She smiled a smile of gladness As we walked Along sequestered paths and talked.
And her heart was warm As the strong but gentle sun Which rose Upon our lives in love's first dawn; I smiled a smile of gladness As we walked Along sequestered paths and talked.
Bat now that love is dead, The many hopes that crowned My youth have fled. Through the aching of my heart, For our paths lie far apart, I smile a smile of sadness to recall The long sweet happy days In love's enthrall.
T. E. B.
'36

A SPECTRE DEEMED the old love dead, and langhed
above Its freshly covered grave. "Sleep deep,
old love, For life is love, and passions come with asking. And love's deception--what is it but masking?" Bat from the grave arose a spectre dread, And back I started. Was the old love dead? No! Everywhere I roamed o'er distant land and
sea, Dread phantoms of the old dead love swift followed
me.
37

TO OLD COLLEGE
HHOU'RTcrumbling 'neath the heavy weight, Old College, of a hundred years; Storm-beaten, gray, and desolate, Thou tremblest as the dread end nears.

The ivy scarcely serves to hide The rents which Time hath wrought in thee; And in thy aspect doth abide A look of sad anxiety.

How many stories could'st thon tell Of the sweet past, and lovelier days, Of Youth, caught by ambition's spell, Of hope, felt in a thousand ways?

In thy dull rooms, the future great Have knowledge sought, and learning found; And voices that have swayed the state Have tried on thee their boyish sound.

The wind thy requiem oft tolls; Thy corridors and halls are still; But thou art fair to those true souls Who love thee now, and always will.

/

C. N. Feidelson.

Inbei

INDEX.
PAGE
Air Castle, An ________ ___. ________ 56 Alas ___... ------ -------- ---------------- ------ _----_ 72 All Quiet Upon the Old Campus To-night __ __ 36 Ambition______,___.___________ 87 April, R. M. B............ _.__..__.___. 74 Ascent of Man, The, P. W. Davis....... -.__ 124 Ballad, E. B. Vail.......................... . 26 Break, Break, Break _______. ________ 23 Broke, Broke, Broke __ _____________ 97 Carrier Bird, The, D. C. Barrow __________---- 13 Cavalier Song, E. B. Vail ...... ____ __ __ 25 Centennial Hymn, D. C. Barrow.............. 15 Chapel Bell, The ____________________ 20 Christmas Time, W. E. McDougald...... ___ 94 Cupid's Voyage ------ ------------.__.__--_--__ 70 Cynic,The, C. N. Feidelson ---- ---- ____---- 104 Death, A- Z- Hardy......................... 86 Dedication..---- ---- ------ -------- _--------_____ 7 Dreams, Lucien P- Goodrich .... ______-. 32 Dream-Dreams, Dan Hunnicutt-......... _--. 65 ExamSj'The, W. G. Brantley, Jr., . _____ no
140

Farewell, The ___'__.._...._...._____ 22 Fool's Errand, A___...._______.___.... 42 Genius, K B. Vail ----_-_______--__ - 28 Girl I Never Have Met, The, L. C.............- 38 Grinding Sugar Cane, R. W. Bacon. ... _... 60 Guidance, A. L- Hardy-. ___...___-_.._ 80
Had She? T. Q. Stokes. .................... 96 Harvest Song, A, Lucien P- Goodrich------------ 33 Haunting Memories____________.___.. 40 Heroism, A- L. Hardy ... _-.__-___.__.. 82 Her Violin, Armand V. Berg... --------__-. 73 Homesick, W. IE- McDougald ______.__-- 100 Hymn, Harry Hull.......................... 57 Hymn to the University of Ga., A. H. Patterson. 17 In Deum, P. R. Weltner ..................... 117 In Memory's Hall, Harry Hull................ 47 In My Other Coat Pocket at Home, E. B. Vail.. 30 In the Morning, W. G. jBraniley, Jr............ 113 Introspective, S~ O. Smith................. _ 126 lone, A. L. Hardy .......................... 81 Judge Howell Cobb, A. L. Hardy. .......... 84 Loneliness, W. T. Turk...................... 134 Lone Graveyard, The, ff. H- Mclntosh......... 50 Longing, W- E. McDougald.................. 98 Look on the Bright Side, W. G. Brantley, Jr.... 115 Lover's Prayer, A, C. N- Feidelson............ 105 Matter of Experience, A_________________ 52 Melancholy, C. N. Feidelson................... 101
Memory, A.____._________________. 136
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Modern Brahmanism, A _-------___-__--__-_-_-_ 128 Morning Hymn, D. C. Barrow ................ 14 Musing________ ---- ______--__ ------ . 21 My Childhood Faith, HughH. White .......... 35 My Day Dreams, R. B. _____ __ __ - ___ - 63 My Love, A. L. Hardy------ .... . -- ---- ---- - 91 Nature, E. A. D. .......------..---. -------- 66 Night's Solitude, A.L. Hardy __-.______- 83 No More in Paths of Beauty Led, P. B. Weltner. 118 Ocean Song, Will Hill ...- _--._-__----- 7 Oconee Cemetery, A. L. Hardy.-----..... -- - 89 Opportunity, Geo. M. Battey ------ -------- ---- - 133 Optimism, C.N. Feidelson......--. ......... -- 102 Quoth the Devil, C. >. Russell ............... 58 Reflection, G. H. Gillon -------- -- -------- 120 Regret. W. H. Waddell---..-------.....-- 19 Return of Spring, The, R. J. H. DeLoach...... 130 Sea-King's Daughter, The ________ _____. 48 Shakespeare, C. N. Feidelson................. 103 Somnia, Geo. H. Gillon ........ ------ ---- ---- 122 South, The, W. G. Brantley, Jr. ..---- ------- 108 Space, H. W. Telford.--- ------------------ ---- 75 Spectre, A________.___._.____... 137 Sweetheart, Come Back, T. E. B.....-- -- . -- . 135 That News-Paper from Home, W. E. McDougald 99 To An Ante-Bellum Mansion, C. N.Feideleon... 107 To Cynthia, A. L. Haryy.--.................. 93 To Old .College, C. N. Feidelson.--- ___... 138 To-morYow, C. N. Feidelson.... ------ ---- ---- 106
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Toombs'Oak, A. L. Hardy ..... --------------.. 78 "To One That's Awa' " ______________ 90 To Robert Burns, W. G. Braniley, Jr. ........ 116 To Sidney Lanier, F. B. Willingham.......... 132 TotheFuture, C. D.Russell---....-- -- ___ 62 To Wm. S. Loyd, Qeo. H. Qillon.............. 123 True Greatness, Alvin Goloucke--------------- 67 Twilight, George T. Jackson .................. 24 University of Georgia, The .___._______ 55 Weaver, The, ffinton Booth .................. 68 Youth's Prayer, A __________________._ 125

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