Classic Poem

Once in a far and distant age,
So tells the ancient fable page,
Were seven sages wise and old:
Of whom a wondrous tale is told.

'Twas said a time there had been when
They were but wise as other men,
And that their skill was due above
To having touched a magic stone,
Which gave to them the secrets deep
That only gods are wont to keep.

Long had the virtues of this stone
In legendary tale been known,
Full many a bard had sung its praise
Full many a minstrel in his lays
Had told the story o'er and o'er
About its magic power.

But few would even for its sake
The perilous journey undertake;
For this the ancient legend ran
About this marv'lous talisman.

Far, far toward the flaming East
Where Phoebus breaks his nightly rest,
Far o'er a vast untrodden plain
Where never falls the dewy rain,
But where the sun's bright, scorching rays
Are blinding to the traveler's gaze.
And where as far as eye can see
He sees no trace of mortal man,
The traveler must go.
Beyond the lofty mountain brow
Enrobed in an eternal snow,
And where the wind's cold, chilling blast
Shrieks thro' the caverns deep and vast.

Where in a dark and gloomy cave
Three hundred-headed monsters rave,
And shake the mountain in their rage;
For nought their anger can assuage.

And having passed the mountain height
And reached the other side aright,
At length the traveler must embark
Across a river deep and dark.
O'er which there hangs by night and day
A fog, thro' which no single ray
Of light can ever penetrate
This gloomy food to illuminate.
And having reached the other side,
(should he escape the seething tide)
He still must wend his weary way
Towards the cradle of the day.

At last with toil and travel worn
He'll reach the rosy gates of morn,
But, here before these portals bright
Two dragons guard by day and night.
If these are passed the way thou lies
Beneath the blue (ethereal) skies,
Which fair Aurora's blushing cheek
Is wont with crimson tints to streak.
And into an ambrosial wood,
Where long the golden shrine has stood
Upon whose altar long has shown
The wondrous, gleaming magic stone,
Which if tis touched by human hand
He who has touched will understand
The hidden mysteries of Fate
And every secret small and great.
But once tis touched its light will fade
Its gleaming eye be rayless made,
Its charm will be forever lost
One touch its virtue will exhaust.

These seven men had heard this tale,
And well-determined not to fail,
They set out with a stalwart band
To seek this far and distant land.

A while they all befit on their way
With cheerful hearts and spirits gay,
For until now their way had been
This meadow, and o'er fields of green.
But soon they reached the desert plain,
Where never falls the dewy rain,
And here the sun with all his main
Beamed fiercely down upon the train.
Then many sore discouraged grew,
And turning, traced their steps anew.

The others journeyed on until
They reached that steep and rugged hill.
Whose summit mounts up to the stars,
Where speed the gods their winged cars,
And Jove his potent thunder hurls
And blazing coils of fire uncurls.

To climb this bare and barren peak
Taxed the endurance of the weak.
And one by one they backward fell,
What was their fate no one can tell.
Those who could scale this barren clift
And bear the chilling, wintry drift,
The raging monsters in their cave,
And all the other terrors brave,
Arrived at last at that dark stream
That borders on the earth's extreme,
Which they must cross the prize to gain
Or else their journey was in vain.

And many, tho' they bore the pain,
And suffering of the desert plain,
Altho' they sealed the rugged height
And braved the tempest in its might,
Now paused and trembled to behold
This murky stream so dark and cold.

The others boldly entered in,
Resolved the cherished prize to win,
And tho' they struggled hard and long
Against the current swift and strong,
But seven reached the other side:
The rest had perished in the tide.

The seven bravely journeyed on
Towards the fountains of the sun.
Before the gates of morn they drew,
The guarding dragons quickly slew,
And entered the ambrosial wood
Wherein the golden temple stood,
Upon whose altar all alone,
Resplendent lay the magic stone.
They kneeled around the burning flame,
Reward for all their toils to claim,
And at the giving of the wood
Each touched the stone with one accord.
There instantly its mystic light
Grew red and infinitely bright.
Then slowly died its fiery glow
Till nought brightness did it show,
But, quicker than the lightning flash,
Seen across a stormy sky to dash
More rapid than a thought can find
Its passage thro' the human mind,
To them as round the shrine they kneeled
The depths of knowledge were revealed.
They knew the future as the past,
Each mystery however cast;
For to the preserving seven
The minds of gods had there been given.

Not long ago another band
Set out to reach a distant land,
This was the purpose held in mind,
A greater talisman to find.
A talisman whose burning light
Remains forever clear and bright,
The more 'tis touched it brighter grows
And far more clear the light it shows,
The longer there the touch remains
The more the power that it gains.

But since this band set out that day
Many have fallen by the way.
Some, when they reached the sun-burnt plain
Grew faint-hearted and returned again.
Some others journeyed on until,
They reached that steep and rugged hill.
Those who have dared the foaming tide
And reached aright the other side,
Now stand inside the shining gate
And just before the temple wait,
They catch the fragrance of the trees
And it is borne upon the breeze,
There stands before them just in sight
The talisman so clear and bright
May each one enter at the door.
God bless the class of '94.