[At Graduation 1905]

by Eliot · Cluster: Education · Self-Made Man · Wheel

Abstract

A schoolboy graduation ode in fourteen sestets: pupils as colonists setting sail into the unknown future, valedictory on memory, time, progress and farewell to the school.

Connections

Topoi: Open Road Homecoming Motifs: Sea, Journey Themes & Concepts: Education, Memory and Time, Critique of Progress, Nostalgia Forms & Genres: Ode

Testo integrale / Full text

[At Graduation 1905]
I
Standing upon the shore of all we know
We linger for a moment doubtfully,
Then with a song upon our lips, sail we
Across the harbor bar — no chart to show
No light to warn of rocks which lie below,
But let us yet put forth courageously.
II
As colonists embarking from the strand
To seek their fortunes on some foreign shore
Well know they lose what time shall not restore,
And when they leave they fully understand
That though again they see their fatherland
They there shall be as citizens no more.
III
We go; as lightning-winged clouds that fly
After a summer tempest, when some haste
North, South, and Eastward o’er the water’s waste‚
Some to the western limits of the sky
Which the sun stains with many a splendid dye,
Until their passing may no more be traced.
IV
Although the path be tortuous and slow,
Although it bristle with a thousand fears,
To hopeful eye of youth it still appears
A lane by which the rose and hawthorn grow.
We hope it may be; would that we might know!
Would we might look into the future years.
V
Great duties call — the twentieth century
More grandly dowered than those which came before,
Summons — who knows what time may hold in store‚
Or what great deeds the distant years may see,
What conquest over pain and misery‚
What heroes greater than were e’er of yore!
VI
But if this century is to be more great
Than those before, her sons must make her so,
And we are of her sons, and we must go
With eager hearts to help mold well her fate,
And see that she shall gain such proud estate
As shall on future centuries bestow
VII
A legacy of benefits — may we
In future years be found with those who try
To labor for the good until they die,
And ask no other guerdon than to know
That they have helpt the cause to victory,
That with their aid the flag is raised on high.
VIII
Sometime in distant years when we are grown
Gray-haired and old, whatever be our lot‚
We shall desire to see again the spot
Which, whatsoever we have been or done
Or to what distant lands we may have gone,
Through all the years will ne’er have been forgot.
IX
For in the sanctuaries of the soul
Incense of altar-smoke shall rise to thee
From spotless fanes of lucid purity,
O school of ours! The passing years that roll
Between, as we press onward to the goal,
Shall not have power to quench the memory.
X
We shall return; and it will be to find
A different school from that which now we know;
But only in appearance t’will be so.
That which has made it great, not left behind,
The same school in the future shall we find
As this from which as pupils now we go.
XI
We go; like flitting faces in a dream;
Out of thy care and tutelage we pass
Into the unknown world — class after class,
O queen of schools — a momentary gleam,
A bubble on the surface of the stream,
A drop of dew upon the morning grass;
XII
Thou dost not die — for each succeeding year
Thy honor and thy fame shall but increase
Forever, and may stronger words than these
Proclaim the glory so that all may hear;
May worthier sons be thine, from far and near
To spread thy name o’er distant lands and seas!
XIII
As thou to thy departing sons hast been
To those that follow may’st thou be no less;
A guide to warn them, and a friend to bless
Before they leave thy care for lands unseen;
And let thy motto be, proud and serene‚
Still as the years pass by, the word ‘Progress!’
XIV
So we are done; we may no more delay;
Thus is the end of every tale: ‘Farewell’,
A word that echoes like a funeral bell
And one that we are ever loth to say.
But ’tis a call we cannot disobey,
Exeunt omnes‚ with a last ‘farewell’.

Song: ‘When we came home across the hill’
When we came home across the hill
   No leaves were fallen from the trees;
   The gentle fingers of the breeze
Had torn no quivering cobweb down.
The hedgerow bloomed with flowers still,
   No withered petals lay beneath;
   But the wild roses in your wreath
Were faded, and the leaves were brown.