OFTEN I think of the beautiful town Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And the burden of that old song, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the bulwarks by the shore, The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, And the bugle wild and shrill. "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the sea-fight far away, In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay And the sound of that mournful song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; And the friendships old and the early loves And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart, That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, And a mist before the eye. And the words of that fatal song "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Strange to me now are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; But the native air is pure and sweet, And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song, Are sighing and whispering still: And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain My heart goes back to wander there, And among the dreams of the days that were, I find my lost youth again. And the strange and beautiful song, The groves are repeating it still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD THIS is the Arsenal. From floor to ceiling, Ah! what a sound will rise, how wild and dreary, Will mingle with their awful symphonies; I hear even now the infinite fierce chorus, Which, through the ages that have gone before us On helm and harness rings the Saxon hammer, Through Cimbric forest roars the Norseman's song, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong. I hear the Florentine, who from his palace Beat the wild war-drums made of serpent's skin; The tumult of each sacked and burning village, The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder, Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, Were half the power that fills the world with terror, Given to redeem the human mind from error, The warrior's name would be a name abhorrèd! Down the dark future, through long generations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say, "Peace!" Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The blast of War's great organ shakes the skies! But beautiful as songs of the immortals, The holy melodies of love arise. THOU, TOO, SAIL ON From "The Building of the Ship " THOU, too, sail on, O Ship of State! With all the hopes of future years, Are all with thee, are all with thee! THE BUILDERS ALL are architects of Fate, Nothing useless is, or low; Each thing in its place is best; For the structure that we raise, Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks with which we build |