THE minstrel of the classic lay

Of love and wine who sings Still found the fingers run astray That touched the rebel strings.

Of Cadmus he would fain have sung,
Of Atreus and his line;

But all the jocund echoes rung

With songs of love and wine.

Ah, brothers! I would fain have caught
Some fresher fancy's gleam;

My truant accents find, unsought,
The old familiar theme.

Love, Love! but not the sportive child
With shaft and twanging bow,
Whose random arrows drove us wild
Some threescore years ago;

Not Eros, with his joyous laugh,
The urchin blind and bare,
But Love, with spectacles and staff,
And scanty, silvered hair.

Our heads with frosted locks are white,
Our roofs are thatched with snow,
But red, in chilling winter's spite,
Our hearts and hearthstones glow.

Our old acquaintance, Time, drops in,
And while the running sands
Their golden thread unheeded spin,
He warms his frozen hands.

1 The last of the poems written for the class of '29. See the letter from Samuel May to F. J. Garrison, quoted in Morse's Life of Holmes, vol. i, p. 78: After the Curfew" was positively the last. "Farewell! I let the curtain fall." The curtain never rose again for 29." We met once more a year later - at Parker's. But three were present, Smith, Holmes, and myself. No poem - very quiet-something very like tears. The following meetings—all at Dr. H.'s house - were quiet, social, talking meetings- the Doctor of course doing the live talking. At one of these meetings four were present, all the survivors but one; and there was more general talk. But never another Class Poem.'

This poem, and the three following, appeared in Over the Teacups.

The personal reference is to our greatly beloved and honored classmate, James Freeman Clarke. (HOLMES.)

Tell reddening rosebuds not to blow!
Wait not for spring to pass away,
Love's summer months begin with May!