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CLASS OF '29.

FOR THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 6, 1856.

You'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a pleasure to rise
With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes,
To meet the same smiles and to hear the same tone
Which have greeted me oft in the years that have

flown.

Were I gray as the grayest old rat in the wall,
My locks would turn brown at the sight of you all ;
If my heart were as dry as the shell on the sand,
It would fill like the goblet I hold in my hand.

There are noontides of autumn, when summer returns, Though the leaves are all garnered and sealed in their

urns, And the bird on his perch that was silent so long Believes the sweet sunshine and breaks into song.

I gre you Home! its crossing lines

United in one golden suture,
Asd showing every day that shines

The present growing to the future, —
A tag that bears a hundred stars,

Lope bright ring, with love for centre, Faded round with white and crimson bars,

No prowling treason dares to enter!

orders home may be a word

To rate atteetion's living treasure — The rise an angel might have stirred —

A u szt pool of selfish pleasure; E n : I: is where the day-star springs

Li veze the evening sun reposes,

era dhe eagle spreads his wings, F a ecrižern pines to southern roses !

THE NEW EDIN.

(MEETING OF THE BEKKSHIRE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY, AT

STOCKBRIDGE, SEPT. 18, 1864.)

SCARCE could the parting ocean close

Seamed by the Mayflower's cleavin: .
When o'er the rugged deser: Tost

The waves that tracker the P

Then sprang from manrs & Tuberen en

The rippling rast. fi bogumu
Such growths az Euria: Iltalen - 1.

To scanty sul an free E.

But when ti fitur det bien dans

And Autumn vrouens par, La
Then, kindinn r ils and

The mb-108 CHF

We have caged the young birds of our beautiful June:
Their plumes are still bright and their voices in tune;
One moment of sunshine from faces like these,
And they sing as they sung in the green-growing trees.

The voices of morning! How sweet is their thrill When the shadows have turned, and the evening grows

still! The text of our lives may get wiser with age, But the print was so fair on its twentieth page!

Look off from your goblet and up from your plate, Come, take the last journal and glance at its date, — Then think what we fellows should say and should do, If the 6 were a 9, and the 5 were a 2.

Ah no! For the shapes that would meet with us here From the far land of shadows are ever too dear! Though youth flung around us its pride and its charms, We should see but the comrades we clasped in our arms.

A health to our future, - a sigh for our past !
We love, we remember, we hope to the last;
And for all the base lies that the almanacs hold,
While we've youth in our hearts, we can never grow

old.

FOR THE MEETING OF THE BURNS CLUB.

1856.

The mountains glitter in the snow

A thousand leagues asunder ;
Yet here, amid the banquets glow,

I hear their voice of thunder ;
Each giant's ice-bound goblet clinks ;

A flowing stream is summoned; Wachusett to Ben Nevis drinks ;

Monadnock to Ben Lomond !

Though years have clipped the eagle's plume

That crowned the chieftain's bonnet, The sun still sees the heather bloom,

The silver mists lie on it;
With tartan kilt and philibeg,

What stride was ever bolder
Than his who showed the naked leg

Beneath the plaided shoulder ?

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