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To the Brothers in Colgate
who were and are and shall he




Arthur Thomas






Copyright 1916

By The Republican Press

Hamilton, N. Y.


fJOV 271916


~vuo V

©0 tl|0 H^Bttattng ^urclyas^r:

Good Sirs, here be Measures —
Both Reason and Rime,

To liven your leisures,
To pleasure your time. ^

As quoted, our verse is

Still rising in gold,
And frequently worse is

Complacently sold.

But, wisely, to save your

Incurring declines.
We margined some gravure

To cover the lines.

Good Sirs, give them credence;

Quotations are strong.
Come, test them in cadence.

Come, try them in song.

Hamilton - - - - 13

The College Fountain - - 15

A Poet's Grave - - - 17

Das Hamilton-Thai - - 19

The Lake on the Campus - - 20

The Philosophy of the Prom Girl - 21

The Law of Colgate - - 22

A Coincidence - - 24

Water Tower - - - 27

West College - - 28

The Library - - - 31

Farbenspiel - - - 33

The Willow Path - - - 35

Mater Ave atque Vale - - 39

Mercurius - - - 41


you know our Campus at Colgate? Grey,

tree-embowered turrets that make
Pale umbers and pearls in the silvers that

shimmer on Colgate Lake.
And our prices are low in Colgate — low

even for things as these —
For the attar of Omars roses and

the Pillars of Pericles.


"The angels of Heaven might glide through her gardens.
Their glorious pinions unconscious of stain."



I know a village, I know a village,

Tangled with trees in a complicate skein.

The angels of Heaven might glide through her gardens,

Their glorious pinions unconscious of stain.

I know a village, I know a village,

Cinctured of hills on an undulate plain.

I know a village, sweet Hamilton village

Whose murmuring arches the maples sustain.

O sky-scraping city, earth-burrowing city

Whose white feet are stayed at the gates of the main,

Thanks for the blisses thy maidens have brought me,

Thy limbs are as lilies where Cupid has lain.

But I know a village, a country-sweet village

Whose footsteps have turned from the ways that are

A pure-hearted village, I think of Judea,
The white hands of angels her footsteps maintain.

Deep canyon-cut city, clear-aureoled city
Whose nights are more white than the meteor's train,
I love the allurements thy women have wrought me,
Thy lips are as scarlet — a chalice to drain.
But I think of a village, an evening-husht village,
Red-broidered by clover that runs in the plain.
And I long for that village, sweet Hamilton village
Whose footsteps have turned from the things that are


For I know a village, a summer-sweet village,

Deep-tangled with trees in a complicate skein.

The angels of Heaven might glide through her gardens,

Their glorious pinions unconscious of stain.

I know a village, a clover-claspt village,

Encircled of hills in an undulate plain.

I know a village, sweet Hamilton village,

Whose murmuring arches the maples sustain.



"O, sky-scraping city, earth-burrowing city

Whose white feet are stayed at the gates of the main."


©Ije Coll^Q^ iFoxtntatn

Rise to eastward, rise to westward
Classic halls to guard thee so, —
Therebetween a pathway granting
Curving access to and fro. —
Campus-slopes before and after,
Undulous, like billows slow;
And within the gravel-closure,
Bended like a crescent-bow.
Stands a marble, urnlike fountain
All in crystal overflow.
Stands memorial and reminder
Of the times called ''Long Ago*':
And beneath the bubbling basin,
And the basin-shaft below,
All in uncouth Grecian letters
Twists a motto, running so:
Running opSov^^Oa /SovXrj
With the date of long ago.
Still the marble margin sparkles
Like the white of driven snow,
And the crystal beads are dropping
Still in flashing overflow,
Binding thus, with chains of diamonds,
Present scenes to "Long Ago".


"Green behind it waves the forest
And the carpet-grass is green"


A P00t^a (grau^

In the calm Chenango valley,
(Never valley spread more fair)

On the greenest of its hillsides
Is a spot we count most rare,

Worthy of the Grecian Muses
For a poet slumbers there.

Green behind it waves the forest
And the carpet-grass is green;

To the northward, maple-shaded,
Is a quiet village seen,

And a stately college campus
Gracefully descends between.

Chiseled shapes of gleaming marble
From the waving sward arise,

Faithful fingers pointing upward
To the over-smiling skies.

Where the soul-freed, hillside-sleepers
Walk the vales of Paradise.

And beside a massive marble.
Central in that gleaming throng,

(Vocal pinetrees over-sweep it
With soft murmurs, season-long,)

Sleeps a singer of sweet music,
Rests a fashioner of song.


May it be the sighing wind-harps
When the breezes fresher blow?

May it be the rippling grave-grass
Bending, singing, to and fro?

Nay, it is forgotten music
From the Isles of **Long Ago".

May it be some loved one calling
Who in ''Dulce Domum" waits?

Some "Sheaf-laden harvest-worker

Shouting backward to his mates?

Nay, it is an angel-vesper
Scarcely heard "Between the Gates."

Thus the hillside sings incessant,
And the vocal things around,

Praises of our own loved Poet

Whom the waiting world has crowned

As a maker of sweet measures,
As a master of sweet sound.

"To the northward, maple-shaded.
Is a quiet village seen."

Baa Hamilton-Sri^al

Tief in dem blauen Thale
Beshattet liegt die Stadt.

Weisz glanzt die Alma Mater,
Die uns gepfleget hat.

Kein Dorf, mich diinkt, ist schoner;

Kein Thai so anmutsvoll.
Kennst du die Hligelreihen?

Die Ulmen kennst du - wohl?


Sriy^ JEak^ an ti^t^ Campua

* * * the light of Heaven varies, now

At sunrise, now at sunset, now by night

With moon and trembling stars * * Tennyson.

Thou art an opal ranging
To the deeps of sapphire-blue,

In a golden sunray-setting
All the burning daylight through.

Thou art a magic mirror
When twilight shadows play;

Thy pearly depths inverting
The forms we know by day.

Thou art a jasper pavement

In star-mosaics laid,
When o'er thy evening-beauty

Has fallen deeper shade.

Thou art a lucent jewel
On Colgate's rolling breast.

And of thy changing beauties
We know not which is best.


fc-^ I^IjiloBOpIig— ®f tifp prom ®trl


tmrt B{?»w5 for h nf6«T

Old are the college walls — so old ;

Romance is older than they.
Metal and mortar will crumble and rust;

Love is a Youth alway.

Fast are the flying hours, too fast,
In the dances whirled away;

I am the short-lived college rose
That blooms for a night and a day.

Gone are the ancient glories — gone;

Thebes is a heap of clay.
I am the short-lived college rose;

Love is a Youth alway.


"Gone are the ancient glories — gone;
Thebes is a heap of clay."


^ift ffiatu of Colgate

This is the law of thy Mother, and ever she makes

it sure;
Saying, 'Only the clean shall enter, and only the real

shall endure'.

I am the Mother who beckons, I am the Mother who

Seated in tranquil beauty, circled by sapphire walls.
Poiseful I rest on my hillsides as the sea-fronting

temples of Greece,
In my vales are the ways of pleasantness, and my paths

are the paths of peace.
Wide and deep are my borders, my line has gone out

through the lands.
The mountains have claimed me for Mother, the valleys

have touched my hands;
And I call to the lands that know me, to the cities that

feel my power
For the sons who shall strive for my blessing and it

will not be won in an hour.

Send me your manly and earnest, send me your genuine

Them will I love as a Mother, them will I make my

Them will I clasp to my bosom, feeding them warm at

my breast,
Blessing them with my blessing and truly they shall be



With poise and with power and with patience, with

depth and resources of soul,
Them will I dower with my vision, to see not in part

but in whole.

But the sham and the snob and the slothful, the litter

and foam of the street —
Lo, I cast them back from my portals, I trample them

under my feet.
I harry them sore in my combats, I laugh them to scorn

in my halls.
Their baseness I burn in my acids, I spurn them from

under my walls.

But my tried and my tested and chosen, my proven

and genuine ones
Shall rise up to call me blessed, shall circle their Mother

with sons.
Them will I mould as a metal, them will I temper again,
And the sons of the sons of my children shall find me

the Mother of men.
I am the Mother who listens, I am the Mother who

And the sons of the sons of my children have clamored

before my gates.
This is the law of thy Mother—, Lo, I have made it

That only the pure shall prosper, and only the real



A CointiJi^nr^

{The ''Old Grad'' Muses.)

ED roses and my first love (I scarce was seventeen)
And ne'er did orient ivory bear up so much a queen!
I ordered red, red roses, and yet their carmine flame
Against her crimson kisses was put, I thought, to

I ordered from the city (some twenty miles away)
And at the High School Banquet that night was none

more gay,
For in the whirling dances it pleased us all should see
The fateful, crimson rosebud that she had given me.
Her cheeks were like twin roses, her silky hair was jet.
"Ne'er, ne'er to be forgotten!" and **never to forget!"
I scarce recall one whisper of all our wild lips said, —
I w^onder if she's married — I hope she is not dead.
Red roses and my boy-love! Ah, how the years have

I cannot tell her first name, so many I have known!

Dark pansies and my next love; the tide was rising

She came to me on Prom nights with music and with

I purchased purple pansies, and yet their royal dyes
Were pale against the azure that deepened in her eyes.
Waltz music poured upon us — it stirred the rising blood —
I bore her through the eddies of that melodious flood.
Her breasts were like two lilies, her hair was golden

bands —
It gave the thrill of sunlight under my ardent hands.


"Forever and forever!" "Forever and for aye!"
(Whence come the vast "forevers" that lovers give

Her gold-and-purple beauty, how could a man forget?
(I have an old address book might give her full name

Those Veilchen made me thoughtful (for Pater's check

was slow) —
They say her son's in Colgate. I really do not know.
Dark pansies and my youth-love! And ah, the years

I would not know her face now, so many I have seen!

My wife trains crimson roses to stain our garden wall,
My daughter clusters pansies where shadows deepest

(Red roses and dark pansies ! How many loves there be
Immortalized in rose- jars that breathe of Araby.)
But vanished roses' beauty steals o'er me, if at all,
WTien tangled in the sweetness of those against the wall.
Old loves are gone forever, if loves they were, that came.
My daughter's eyes are darker than any flower ye name;
Her mother's lips are carmine, no rose is half so fair.
But when the smoke-rings waver above my evening

I sometimes wonder, wonder, if cunning fate — —

who knows?
(My daughter's eyes are azure, her lips are dashed with




"On the hills my foot is sure'


Here I stand.
Regnant o'er surrounding land.
Arteries hid my conduits are,
Pulsing from my heart afar
Where the crystal fluid slips
To the waiting goblet's lips.
On the lawns my steps are light
As the dews that fall at night —
Needful trouble of the rain.
Made to go and come again.
Mine is magic ever new ;
Only once the Prophet drew
From the rock-surrounded springs
Streams for thirsty murmurings.
On the hills my foot is sure:
Vale be steadfast and secure!
Town, that Phoenix-like did bum
Only fairer to return,
Nevermore may Daemon-Fire
At thy waiting walls aspire,
For my silver wand doth know
Spell at once to lay him low.


West Cnll^g^

This is the time-honored story the Ancient Stones

What time, in the Hour of Shadows, the College Build-
ings meet.

* 'Where the sleeping billows broaden

To a land-locked long repose
I was lone; then slow about me

Fairer, later Halls arose,
Standing brotherlike together

In a verdant campus-close.


Weight of four score weary winters
Has oppressed with ice and snow

And the shafts of eighty summers
Have assailed with fiery glow;

Smiting winds from every quarter
Have essayed to lay me low.

Ah, those days! The days departed!

Oft I held the festive throng,
While the jest rose high within me

And the laugh was loud and long;
Now I hear the insects shrilling

And the night-birds' even-song.

And my old men doting, dreaming,
View the past through gilded haze;

Orbed full-perfect, reappearing.
Seem their far-off college days,

And how fallen seems the present
Upon strange, untutored ways!

Hold ! A deeper vision flashes.
As upon the ancient seers:

Change I shall but shall not vanish,
Nor is any cause for fears,

For my life is reincarnate.
New-transmuted down the years.


And my young men shall see visions,
Mirage-gleaming bright before,

Where their names and deeds go sounding
Down the world forevermore.

May they find some green oasis.
Ere the journey be quite o'er!"

This is the venerable story the Ancient Walls inpart.
And the younger Pillars listen, though they know the
tale by heart.

"Standing brotherlike together
In a verdant campus-close."


Stj^ ICtbrary

(The Mother of Learning Speaks)

I would not force red-blooded men who throng

The g3^m, the campus and athletic field

To take the treasures that my shelves can yield

In science, art, philosophy, and song.

Team- trained, sport-hardened, sons I would, made

For times of test, deep-chested and nerve-steeled;
But not in Kadesh by a fountain sealed
(Its worth unguessed) shall you remain too long.

Untrained by me, untrained, a man departs;
My pulse is beating with the tide of things
That from the bosom of the ages springs;
I am your Mother's heart — her heart of hearts.
You shall not pass from me to Promised Lands
Till spring-compelling rods be in your hands.


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Color-mad festival!

Riot of rose!
Free for the best of all !

Chassez! Repose!

Thongs interplaited

Trellised on high.
Banners serrated

Hanging hard by.

Deep-throated laughter!

Colgate in song!
Feasting! and after

"Shake" and "So long!"

Banqueting over!

Spectrum-hued rain,
Falling to cover

Partings that pain.

Pelting and parting !

On with the fun!
Lest the tear starting

Chances to run!

Color-spouts whirling
Orange-hued mist!

Snow-spirals swirling
Stains amethyst!


Rainbows, earth-stranded,
Bracing the beams!

Tints iris-banded
Flowing in streams!

Ribbons no duller
Staining the woof!

Cloud-bursts of color
Sweeping the roof!

Purples from polar
Regions of night!

Crimsons from solar
Seven-hued light!

Prussian and cinnabar,

Lilac and green,
Iridesce in a bar

Bronze-damascene !

Pelting and parting!

Chassez! Repose!
All homeward starting

Color-of-rose !


Eift Willant ^atlr

"Near the lake where drooped the willow

Long time ago — ' ' — George Pope Morris.

On my walls are many pictures artist-friends have
made for me;

There, my castles crown Saint Lawrence, there, Ber-
muda sits at sea,

Here, my own immortal Como holds the light of Italy.

Look on this frame, hanging nearer. So; the depth

is better seen.
'Tis a long perspective gliding under glimmering

walls of green.
Hasting back as if for hiding, and slant willows overlean.

From that arch a gay procession makes as if 't would

issue soon.
But it never yet has issued for the light is less than noon,
And the spring tide's rising glory is not rounded yet to


Still those willow patterns quiver, still those amber

branches sway
Over waters gliding ever down a babbling, silver way.
Where the rosy light is morning and the May is always



Many kingdoms, thus, and climates, gleam upon my

study wall;
There, the Courts of Karnak crumble, here, the ruddy

apples fall,
And the Pathway of the Willows is the fairest of them


In the dewy hush of evening, when the clover-blooms

grow strong.
Oft I hear the lilt of music, catch the echo of a song
Rolling down these rolling hillsides, in those valleys

sounding long.

PiiNT mb F^Q "Tnc 5firac r°m 6p\q\t i^nicn inc nL^oy
- r:)iLn-v?niTE: br\^^z,


Near my desk hang pleasing pictures artist- friends have

made for me;
There, the campanulas tinkle, there, floats Venice

veined of sea,
But the picture fairest, nearest, is a willow tracery.

'Tis a long perspective gliding under glimmering walls of green.



Mater ave atque vale, let us bless thee ere we go —
Tenderest of loving Mothers in the daisies and the snow.
O'er thy flowery campus-closes now the winds of

summer blow
And thy silvery mirror shimmers through the waving

green below.
Toward thy pleasant Halls and stately, oft our laggard

feet were slow;
We have sipped, not drunk, the fountains from thy

deep-welled heart that flow.
Gathered but a leaf of learning where the trees of

knowledge grow —
(Haply 'tis a deeper wisdom if we know we do not

Through thy gates a constant river. Youth's true

Fount, shall flash and flow, —
Noisy, foaming as it enters, leaving deepened, and more

Colgate, Mother, thou hast calmed us, let us bless thee

ere we go.

Blessed be thy pillared porches, though the student

foot be slow;
Blessed be thy jewelled mirror, waving, gleaming, there

Blessed be thy fields of sunmier where the gold-eyed

daisies grow;
And thy days of winter blessed with the storm-clouds

and the snow.
Colgate, Mother, thou hast reared us, thine the only

arm we know.
Mater ave atque vale; thou hast blessed us. Let us go.



A Lay of Modern Rome

Sung at the feasts


The same being




Herald, Hail! Mercurius!
Hail snake-twined Caduceus!


Herald, Hail! Mercurius!
Hail snake-twined Caduceus!


To-night the walls and windows

Are hung with banners all,
And a band of lusty brothers

Will keep the outer hall.
While flows Chenango's river.

While stands our College Hill,
The banquets of Mercurius

Shall have such honor still.


Ye men of Even Numbers,

With stalwart hearts and true,
Who stand by bold Mercurius

That still has stood by you.
Come, hush the circle round me,

And list my tale with care
Of what our Hero once hath borne.

And what he yet may bear.
No Syracusan fable

Of Colgate's * 'wavering line",
No tale of Orange banners

And men that root like swine.
Though by my Alma Mater

It is a goodly sight
To see the hated Orange

Swept down the tide of flight;
To see her warriors scattered

Like boats with broken sails,


When raves Lake Onondaga

Beneath the northern gales,
When Syracusan score-marks

Have met their wonted doom,
And the sea of Orange banners

Is veiled in inky gloom;
But on our very Campus

These stirring deeds took place,
In midnights dark when none might mark

His hand before his face.
Since first the great Mercurius

Of mortal eye was seen,
Have years gone by two decades

Four units and thirteen.
Whence came the great Olympian

To keep this happy feast
But few can say and no one may,

^Vhether from west or east.


Sylvanius Deceptimus

Within the city's wall
Hath met by fate a maiden

Like a red rose and tall;
Hath met by chance a damsel

Like a white rose and red,
And what Sylvanius told her

It needs not now be said,
For men that warm to football

In loving wax not cold :
Wherefore Love's ways have altered not

Since the brave days of old.
Men say he saw her nightly,

When none beside might see,


And that her words were in his ears

Which none might hear but he;
And while she plied her house-craft,

In a sweet voice and low
She sang the sweet old ballads

And loves loved long ago.
So wooed he, and so sang she,

Until the knot was fast,
And toward Sylvania's mountains

The bridal party passed.

Sylvanius Deceptimus

By the Nine Gods he swore
That the valley of Chenango

Should art-less be no more.
By the Nine Gods he swore it,

And named a testing day.
When artists north and artists south

Might summon their array.
The bronzes and near-bronzes

Are pouring in amain
From many a stately market-place,

Form many a fruitful plain;
And many a chosen artist,

The greatest of the land.
Hath put before Deceptimus

The cunning of his hand,
But with one voice the judges

Have their glad answer given:
*'Go forth, go forth, Mercurius,

Go, Messenger of Heaven !
Go, shed thy deathless beauty

O'er wild Chenango's foam,
And sing Sylvanius' praises

From Nineveh to Rome!'*



I wis, in all the College,

There was no heart so cold,
But warm it throbbed and fast it beat

When that good news was told.
Forthwith up rose the Elders,

Up rose the Young Men all
And hastened swift to place the gift

Beside the western wall.
They took the brazen image.

And set it up on high,
And here he stands before you

To witness if I lie.


Not without secret trouble

May I pursue the tale,
(O, Mighty Herald, spare me.

But truth must still prevail !)
For plainly and more plainly,

Along his godlike back.
Now might ye see the metal (?)

Begin to peel and crack;
And plainly and more plainly.

From head piece down to heel.
His crafty, skin-deep beauty

Was seen to crack and peel.
The bronze that peels and crackles, —

Too nude thereof to speak, —
So kindly those who dwelt on high

Soon gave unto the Greek
The nearest-needed garments.

That in less brazen guise
The naive, scabby Herald

In open air might rise:


And likewise tints of Tyre,

In lead and oil ground,
Upon his manly muscles

In many coats were found.


Long, long, it were to follow.

And little were the need.
The glorious narrations

Of many a manful deed.
And many a Line of Labors

Whereon our Hero fell;
The Even Numbers know them,

There is no need to tell.
Behold they stand in writing

Upon thy Mother's scroll, —
Go ponder well its meaning.

Go read aright the roll.


Our purple valley knew him,

And spread her careful loam,
That in her breast the God might rest

Whose wont it is to roam.
Now, o'er his place of slumber.

Are farms and pastures seen,
And rows of com and fields of wheat

And apple-orchards green;
The plowshare nms its furrow;

The farmer wields his hoe;
Little he thinks on those fleet limbs

That mouldered once below.
Little he knows how sternly

The roar of battle rose.
Like the roar of a burning forest.

When a strong north wind blows;


How thick the maimed lay scattered

Under Albania's height;
How through the gates of Utica

Raved the wild stream of flight;
And how good Father Mohawk

Bubbled with crimson foam,
What time the Wrong-Sized Numbers

Beset the walls of Rome.


But, Comrade, when thou sittest

Before the banquet gay.
Think thou with heed upon the deed

Of many a vanished day;
So shalt thou kiss his toe-nail,

If aught remain of toe.
For sandals, wings and serpents

Have vanished long ago.
Thus to the great Mercurius

Vow thou thy vows and pray
That he, in banquet and in fight,

May keep his head alway.
Back comes the class in triumph,

Which in the festal hour,
Hath kept the God Mercurius

Full safely in their power.
Ye men of Odd-Sized Numbers,

We bid you bide in fear.
What time the God's own Herald

Would seek ambrosial cheer.
But if ye still be stubborn

To work our Idol wrong.
The Even Numbers warn you.

Look that your bones be,strong.



All hail to Mother Colgate!

Let the Long Call be given!
Hail to the Hill that stands for aye,

And the Messenger of Heaven!
The foe shall rise against thee

In the City of the Salt;


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