And thus went out this Lamp of Light,
Who 'gainst the Pope fought a good fight.

A Cruelty beyond compare,
And such the Papists mercies are.

Those who in Blood their chiefest pleasure have,
Most commonly in Blood roul to their Grave.

Blood will have Blood, and seldom seen we have
That Murtherers go quiet to their Grave.

Thus some do make a sport of Cruelty,
And with delight do practice Villany.

Those who to such a height of Pride aspire ,
The Devil and not God must be their Sire.

And thou! whose sense, whose humor and whose rage
At once can teach, delight, and lash the age,
Whether thou choose Cervantes' serious air
Or laugh and shake in Rabelais' easy chair,
Praise courts and monarchs, or extol mankind,
Or thy grieved country's copper chains unbind;
Attend whatever title please thine ear,
Dean, Drapier, Bickerstaff, or Gulliver.
From thy Boeotia, lo! the fog retires,
Yet grieve not thou at what our isle acquires;
Here Dullness reigns, with mighty wings outspread,
And bring the true Saturnian age of lead

And thou, Dalhousie, the Great God of War,
Lieutenant-Colonel to the Earl of Mar.

And this is the way the baby woke:
As when in deepest drops of dew
The shine and shadows sink and soak.
The sweet eyes glimmered through and through;
And eddyings and dimples broke
About the lips, and no one knew
Or could divine the words they spoke, —
And this is the way the baby woke.

[Written by Dr. Bossidy for an alumni dinner of Holy Cross College.]

And THIS IS good old Boston,
The home of the bean and the cod,
Where the Lowells talk to the Cabots,
And the Cabots talk only to God.

And this is England! June's undarkened green
Gleams on far woods; and in the vales between
Gray hamlets, older than the trees that shade
Their ripening meadows, are in quiet laid,
Themselves a part of the warm, fruitful ground.
The little hills of England rise around;
The little streams that wander from them shine
And with their names remembered names entwine
Of old renown and honour, fields of blood
High causes fought on, stubborn hardihood
For freedom spent, and songs, our noblest pride
That in the heart of England never died,

And they have thrust our shattered dead away in foreign graves,
Exiled forever from the port the homesick sailor craves!
They trusted once in Spain,
They're trusting her again!
And with the holy care of our own sacred slain!
No, no, the Stripes and Stars
Must wave above our tars.
Bring them home!

On a thousand hills the darling dead of all our battles lie,
In nooks of peace, with flowers and flags, but now they seem to cry
From out their bivouac:
" Here every good man Jack
Belongs. Nowhere but here — with us.

And then it rained, oh, then it rained,
All night, all day, it rained and rained.
And the birds stayed home
And brooded their young.
And the waterfall, roaring,
Was brown with mud.

And then it stopped, oh, then it stopped.
Sun broke through, and the raining stopped.
And the birds came forth
And sang on the posts.
And the waterfall, thinning,
Was bright as glass.

And the traveller hopes: " Let me be far from any
Physician"; and the ports have names for the sea:
The citiless, the corroding, the sorrow;
And North means to all: " Reject."

And the great plains are for ever where the cold fish is hunted,
And everywhere; the light birds flicker and flaunt;
Under the scolding flag the lover
Of islands may see at last,

Faintly, his limited hope; and he nears the glitter
Of glaciers, the sterile immature mountain intense
In the abnormal day of this world, and a river's
Fan-like polyp of sand.

I
And the mist: and the rain in the west: and the wind steady:
There were elms in that place: and graven inflexible laws:
Men of Yale: and the shudder of Tap Day: the need for a man to make headway
MacLeish breaks an egg for his omelet.

Winning a way through the door in the windowless walls:
And the poems that came easy and sweet with a blurring of Masefield
(The same that I later denied): a young man smooth but raw

Eliot alarmed me at first: but my later abasement:
And the clean sun of France: and the freakish but beautiful fashion: