who, when his College course is done, and he has
his anchor, dropped down the harbok, and sail&
the sea, shall not, as lie furls' his sail aniiing' the
Rest" after battling with th`e' storm, dream' of the
ays of laughter and of song.
AFTER BOHEMIA'S SEAS.
My sail is down. The Isles of Rest
Loom sweet upon the shadowy lea;
I've dropped my rattling anchor chain.
In the mirror tide of an idle sea.
Out of the West the even-glow
Sinks soft upon my weary soul.
I would not grasp the helm'anew
Nor breast the beckoning billovii's roll.
Yet sometimes when a truant breeze
Lisps of the song of a wind-swept main,
I love to drift in memory
Back to the old, old days again.
Back to the ring of glasses,
Back to the bursts of song,
Back to the smiles of lasses,
And laughter echoing long.
Back to an endless summer
With never an autumn's haze,
Where skies were blue
And friends were true,
Back to the old, old days 1 Yale Lit.
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41,t ) c es :4 )