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m MEM0RIAM 
 George Davidson 
 
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 V POEM, 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF A DINNER 
 
 GIVEN IN CELEBRATION OF 
 
 l^ijef €tDentp^firj0et 25irtfjtiap 
 
 BY MR. H. H. FURNESS, JR., TO DIVERS OF 
 HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 YOUNG'S HOTEL, FEB. 13. 1886. 
 
 LLOYD McKIM GARRISON. 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED. 
 
 WILLIAM H. WHEELER, PRINTER, 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 
Ulh 
 
POEM, ^ 
 
 ON THE OCCASION OF A DINNER 
 
 t_^<r>^ 
 
 GIVEN IN CELEBRATION OF 
 
 J^i^ €tDcntp^ftrjeft 25irtJjDap 
 
 BY MR. H. H. FURNESS, JR.. TO DIVERS OF 
 HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 YOUNG'S HOTEL, FEB. 13, 1886. 
 
 LLOYD McKIM GARRISON. 
 
 PRIVATELY PRINTED. 
 
 WILLIAM H. WHEELER, PRINTER, 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 
 
HORACE HOWARD FURNESS, Jr- 
 
 

 POEM 
 
 I. 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 Ye Poet sing- 
 eth of ye Olden 
 Time. 
 
 In those old days, — the boyhood of the world, — 
 
 When lazy goatherds piped melodious strains 
 To languid nymphs on mossy couches curled ; 
 
 When rosy maidens with their awkward swains 
 Wandered among the vales of Arcady, 
 
 Tasting a mild, Platonic sort of love, 
 Such as one sees on antique pottery, — 
 
 A blushing couple, and two cooing doves 
 Perched overhead, to signify how chaste 
 Is Daphnis' arm round Chloe's gentle waist : — 
 
 II. 
 
 Ye Poet sing- 
 eth of Modern 
 
 In those old days, I say, did one but know it, 
 Without regard for rules of rhyme or metre, 
 
 The very meanest rustic was a poet, 
 
 And John, untaught, sang songs divine to Peter: 
 impiety and ye I3^,t now, whcu Mother Earth looks mournfullv 
 
 dilhculty of Po- 
 etizing. At her fair bosom scarred by impious men ; 
 
 Each sparkling stream fouled by a factory, 
 
 And each tall forest turned into a fen ; 
 
 She scorns to nourish all the poet host. 
 
 And chills them to the heart with nipping frost. 
 
 ivi^90195 
 
III. 
 
 Ye 
 ctl 
 
 Ye Poet sing- And tlic pooi" musc, ne'er pi-aiscd but always blamed 
 
 cm of ye Muse 
 
 iind begsjTcth In- B\' the rudc cvowd which pushed and fought around her, 
 
 dul'j^ence for her 
 
 andhyrn. Flcd from the cruel earth, her soft arms lamed 
 
 By the harsh rules with which grammarians bound her. 
 And now, if from her melancholy eyes 
 
 Upon some favorite's page she drop a tear, 
 A loud dispute arises round the prize 
 
 From the great uninspired ; — your poet here 
 In vain indulgence from the muse implores, 
 And, poring o'er his rhymester, strives for yours. 
 
 END OF YE PROLOGUE. 
 
 Ye Poet now But to turn from this musmg, with delicate wit, 
 
 turneth to ye i • i i • 
 
 Gang. Let s look at ourselves lor a wee little bit ; 
 
 Ye Poet singeth Hcrc's my excellent chum who appears just as grave 
 
 ofhysChuni.ve ^ ,.■.,,, 
 
 esteemed Mr. G. As thougli he had made up his mind to behave 
 
 H. Brewer. ^ ° , , , , , , i 
 
 Like a sour old monk ; but these monks, let me say, 
 Were terribly apt to get goatful and gay ; 
 And when, once in a while, Graham gets oil' his level. 
 Take the word of his chum, he's a regular devil ! 
 But Graham is winking, which means I must stop. 
 For I fear his commands more than those of a cop ; 
 Here he recount- go x'll show you the ucxt man I'll put to the blush ; 
 
 eth ye praises ot •' ^ 
 
 Mr. R. II. Fill- 'Tis he who's so quick with his i^cncil and brush. 
 And who, on account of his nest up in Thayer, 
 Is supposed to be helped by the sprites of the air 
 In his paintings and verses, — and what is still finer, — 
 They say that his muse is the spirit of Heine ! 
 
He is one of these modest, retiring men 
 Tliat have to be looked for with lanterns, and when 
 You have finally found 'em, who shiver with fright 
 As they find themselves suddenly brought into light ; 
 And Rob, had he always been left to himself, 
 Would be still hid away on some dusty old shelf 
 With other rare bric-a-brac, centuries old. 
 Which brings fabulous prices when found out and sold ; 
 But modest men wince when they hear themselves praised, 
 And Rob's getting more and more nervous and dazed : 
 Next, those So I'll tum to the next man, our sly little Frank, 
 
 of Mr. F. W. , 1 r 1 
 
 Knowics, Who always is up to some deuce ot a prank, 
 
 But who always has managed to neatly evade 
 The chapters unpleasant of each escapade ; 
 And who comes up with temper as sugared as honey 
 To waltz on the fragments of Mrs. Jane Mooney. 
 He's a poet himself, is this same little coxswain. 
 With a muse that's as stout as a couple of oxen — 
 To get a good rhyme to that word is what knocks one — 
 And last summer he steered our bold 'SS crew 
 To signally vanquish the white and the blue. 
 But Frank's getting tired of hearing his praises 
 Sung by any one else than by oxen-eyed daises. 
 Also finding So I'll talk to this quiet young chap on my right 
 
 ofMr.c.j.Liv- Who hardly has spoken a word here to-night ; 
 
 '"S"o • jjg,g ^ ^g^.y gQQfj fellow this warbler from Swarthmore 
 
 Though, Charlie, I really do think } ou might talk more : 
 But we'll try to excuse you, provided you sing 
 "Rosalie," "Yale Men Say," and (of course) "Ching-a Ling 
 But talking of singing, and musical men 
 He bestoweth Here's our wandering minstrel, — the jocular Ben ! 
 
 some remarks . \ . ^ a !.• j. 
 
 upon Mr. B. He s a warbler, pianist, cornetist, and Hutist, 
 .irpcn cr. Bass-drummcr, rum-tnmmer, and general tootist 
 
 On all kinds of instruments, wooden or brass. 
 Which he plays in the yard while you lie on the grass 
 Of a warm summer's evening when Yale is laid low 
 When tlie crackers explode and the red fires glow. 
 
Mr. W. H. 
 
 Furncss,3d,get- 
 teth his share 
 also. 
 
 Henext admin- 
 istereth merited 
 reproof to Mr- 
 P. L. Stern- 
 bergh, 
 
 Incidentally 
 mentioning Mr. 
 F.J.Reynolds. 
 
 He luggeth in a 
 personal griev- 
 ance. 
 
 And toyeth with 
 Mr. W. M. Van 
 Heusen. 
 
 He calleth atten- 
 tion to Messrs. 
 S. Emery, G. A. 
 Carpenter, and 
 C. Kcstner. 
 
 But there's one horn which even our Ben has not blown, — 
 
 For 'tis Harwood the graceful who toots the trombone. 
 
 And now Billy is laughing which means that he's trying 
 
 To catch some of the honeyed remarks I am shying. 
 
 You can tell by a glance at his roguish brown eyes 
 
 That he's just been remarking, — "Ah there, just my size!" 
 
 To the telephone girls, or, — it isn't a sin, — he 
 
 Has been to the " Coop" casting sheeps' eyes at Minnie; 
 
 There's nothing he cares for but girlies, and really 
 
 The girls on their side are just doating on Billy. 
 
 All this time our young Webster from Holworthy four 
 
 Has scowled at his plate, and looked fierce at the door. 
 
 He's a terrible fellow for knocking to pieces 
 
 All a fellow's best points in a speech or a thesis ; 
 
 And when no one else can be found to debate 
 
 He launches unuttered rem.arks at his plate ; 
 
 And with scorn that has seldom, if ever before. 
 
 Failed to crush an opponent when Pearl has the floor. 
 
 He looks speechless contempt, — at tlie dining-room door ! 
 
 This has made his chum laugh, and his chum, let me tell you 
 
 Is too much of a wise and responsible fellow 
 
 To go making up weak and " sarcastical " verses 
 
 About me, till he's ordered the blackest of hearses 
 
 To carry away his remains, — for you know it's 
 
 A dangerous thing to go fooling with poets ! 
 
 There's Van who's been aimlessly handling his spoon 
 
 While he cribbed a fresh joke for the musty Lampoon ; 
 
 But there's no use provoking so doughty a fighter, 
 
 For his wit's as bright as my own, if not brighter. 
 
 Now all this while, Sheldon and Sandy and Kess, 
 
 Have been busy concocting tlie deuce of a mess 
 
 In their little insides, and I'm ready to swear at 
 
 The gluttonous way they've been guzzling the claret ; 
 
 But Sandy has always, since the very first year, 
 
 Had a terrible penchant for Hpiri'ts^ — and beer. 
 
He then ad- 
 dresseth himself 
 to Mr. H. H. 
 Furness, Jr., to 
 whom he dedi- 
 cateth his rhyme 
 
 And finisheth 
 in a mild raid 
 on the " Pom- 
 merv." 
 
 Well, enough of you fellows, you're all of you jolly, 
 
 But I'll leave further praises to Maud, Nell or Polly ; 
 
 And turn to old Horace, our host here to-night, 
 
 Who's as virtuous, courteous, suave and polite. 
 
 Wise, dignified, courtly, sarcastic and keen. 
 
 As that old Roman Horace we've read with the Dean. 
 
 Old man, you have asked us to come here to-night, — 
 
 With a sort of Memorial-sharp appetite, — 
 
 To this glorious feast, and we'll wish when we're done. 
 
 That we were the next to become twenty-one. 
 
 In vain do I struggle and strive to express 
 
 The varied emotions which throng to my breast. 
 
 For my muse is a coy young maiden, who'll lend 
 
 Not one wee drop of gush to besprinkle a friend : 
 
 But in spite of the jade here's a rattling old toast 
 
 " To THE BEST OF GOOD FELLOWS, OUR FRIEND AND OUR 
 
 HOST !" 
 
 THE END. 
 
GAYLAMOUNT 
 
 PAMPHLET BINDER 
 
 Manu/aclured by 
 6AYLORD BROS. Inc. i 
 
 Syracut*, N. Y. 
 Stoohton, Calif. 
 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA UBRARY