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CONJUNCTION OF VENUS

WITH THE MOON.

Turn to the heavens thy gaze, where yonder star
Hangs, gem-like, on the moon's pale crest: the brow
Of lone Diana beams with sparkles now

Of Cytherea's flame. Above the jar
Of earth-born jealousies, they haste afar,

The immortal sisters, oft as fates allow,

To meet, and mingle rays. Wide o'er the plain
They roam, rejoicing, yet return again,

From boundless ether; drawn by gentle vow

Of sisterly endearment, to renew

This union fair, to tender feeling due.

Talk not, misjudging! of mechanic laws

That guide the stars; 'tis nobler impulse draws Those happy orbs, to love's attraction true.

THE RED OAK.

I.

The early poets fondly deemed they dwelt
A hamadryad in each glorious tree;
And who, that loves the forest, has not felt

How meet such living dwelling-place would be

For spirit, lulled by zephyrs, as they past,
Or roused to transport by the roaring blast.

Behold yon lofty oak, beside whose base
Our puny height seems dwindled to a span!
And were it not, in this frail bodied man

A spirit dwells, which widest space

Can ne'er confine, nor thought its movements trace,

This oak were fashioned on a nobler plan,

And fairer formed, than aught that eye could scan
Of outward grandeur in the human race.

II.

Calm rising, mid the flow of ages past,
What generations of the world around

This tree hath witnessed, growing mid the sound
Of earthly passions,-joys that would not last,
And griefs that seemed eternal, yet have cast

No lasting shade. Here, on this rising ground, Alone, with no obscuring height between,

It towers sublime, from neighbouring hamlets seen,
A land-mark wide! its shapely column crowned
With graceful coronet of living green.

Pause then, O generous axman! nor o'erthrow
This glory of the grove so may the flight
Of years fall gently on thee; nor the blight
Of death untimely lay thy branches low!

NOTES.

THE ABBOT JUBILEE, p. 47.

THESE lines were written for the Festival given in honour of my old Preceptor, Benjamin Abbot, L.L. D., on his retirement from the Phillips Exeter Academy, after a service, in that institution, of fifty years. This meeting, which was attended by some of the first scholars and statesmen of New-England, will long be remembered, by those present, as a happy union of social feeling and intellectual enjoyment.

CONTEMPLATION I, p. 57.

The author is aware that the names of his classmates, which occur in this and other poems, will be, to most of his readers, little more than unmeaning expletives; since, with two exceptions, they are the names of persons who died young, and unknown to fame. To the author they stood in a different, and more interesting relation. In the most susceptible period of life, they were efficient agents in the developement of both his social feelings and his mental powers. In looking back to the past, he finds, in the remembrance of their virtues, inspiration for his present undertaking, which he might not otherwise have felt.

In pursuance of the author's general design of exhibiting, not imaginary scenes, but the thoughts and feelings excited by real occurrences, he could not well avoid mentioning some, at least, of the friends with whom he was most intimate. As several of these died, soon after leaving College, he has avoided the indecorum of introducing, even for the purpose of praise, the names of persons, whose feelings might be hurt, by such unauthorised intrusion on their privacy. There are among his College associates others, still living, with whom, under different circumstances, he would have been happy to connect his name, in these pages.

CONTEMPLATION II, p. 58.

Ichabod Nichols and John Farrar were the author's instructers in Geometry and Mathematics; and, if he derived little benefit from their labors, it was no fault of theirs, but wholly of their pupil. They have since become extensively known by their writings - Professor Farrar in his own department of Mathematics and Natural Philosophy, and Dr. Nichols in Theology.

THE BIRTH OF TRUTH, p. 104.

These lines were suggested by the following characteristic, but somewhat coarse passage of Milton. "Truth is as impossible to be soiled, by any outward touch, as the sun beam. Though this ill hap wait on her nativity, that she never comes into the world, but, like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her forth till time, the midwife rather than the mother of truth, have washed and salted the infant, declared her legitimate, and churched the father of his young Minerva, from the needless causes of his purgation."

THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION, p. 121.

This piece, though standing so near the close, was among the first written of this collection, which grew, in a great measure, out of the author's thoughts and feelings, on that interesting occasion. Many persons met, at that celebration, who had not seen each other before, since they left College; and the contrast between the boy of 1809, and the man of 1836 was, in some cases, sufficiently striking. But the pain of perceiving that they were no longer young, was soon lost in more pleas ing recollections.

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