And wayside paths around the fields he rov'd
Might guide the pilgrim to his place of rest.

Pluck'd in his noon-day prime ere weakening age
Or waning powers with slow destruction rife
Could make him lag superfluous on the stage,
Here sleeps the apostle of the Strenuous Life.

Time no suggestion of the oak's decay

Had trac'd upon the towering tree. At length Death met him armor'd on his conquering way, A giant in the flower of his strength.

With an insatiate longing to explore,

Life's unknown lands beyond the mystic main,
He fell asleep, perchance to wake once more
And to the breezes spread his sails again.

Our lov'd Ulysses! What imperial youth
Is left in Ithaca to bend his bow!
But, o'er the sunset sea, his quest of Truth
Is quench'd at fountains that forever flow.

His epitaph? To marble we entrust

Naught but the syllables which sound his nameFor Freedom here will shrine his deathless dust Where Glory will forever guard his fame.

RETROSPECTION, OR THIRTY-FIVE YEARS

AFTER.

A Poem, Read at a Class Reunion of the Class of 1888, in Athens, Ga., June 19, 1923.

Thirty-five years! Ye gods! How fast the wheels of Time are flying!

Except for these gray heads, I'd think the almanac was

lying.

But true it is;-for, there's Tom Reed1, the youngest of

us all,

His hair, once raven black, has caught the frost of many

a fall.

The crow-feet, 'round his eagle eyes, by many a year un

loos'd,

Tattle too well of evening-time, when birds come home to roost.

Tom's now the college Treasurer, nor be his fingers slack, In coin, if not in kind, to pay the old professors back.

Nash Broyles2 is on an august bench-our Chief Judge of Appeals,

But what an age-long slice of time that pate of his reveals!

Nash, of his once Samsonian strength, has been a trifle shorn,

His locks would tell of snow-time, too, but all his locks are gone!

1. Thos. W. Reed, Secretary and Treasurer, Board of Trustees.

2. Nash R. Broyles, Chief Judge, Court of Appeals.

Arnold3, if I'm correct, was once the older of the twain, But now he's younger. If there's doubt, then, doubter, look again.

In every test of strength he brought Sir Rival to his knees And prov'd himself to all the field an uncrown'd Hercules.

Victor4, who thumb'd the light guitar-now well beyond life's ridge

Still blithely wears the laurel leaf he won at Mitchell's Bridge.

If Vic has wan'd he's also wax'd-some charm is o'er him cast,

He's younger, by a full decade, than when we saw him last!

Bondurant there, 's still debonair;—and be it gain or loss, His smile's the same, but even he has gather'd winsome Moss.*

In field-day sports for prizes bright, our Emmet was a gunner,

No athlete, in Olympian games, was e'er so fleet a runner.

But if he undertook to sprint today for any prize

A tomb-stone at the goal would squint: "hic jacet-here he lies."

Ned Cohen! It was marvelous what Ned's young legs could do!

In jumping, he out-kangeroo'd old Barnum's kangaroo.

3. Arnold Broyles, Clerk, Superior Court, Fulton County.

4. Victor L. Smith, of Atlanta, Lawyer.

5. Emmet J. Bondurant, Athens, Merchant.

His wife's maiden name was Birdie Moss.

6. E. B. Cohen, Athens, Merchant.

But if he ventured to repeat today those self-same pranks, 'Twould take Frank Coile's utmost skill to mend his broken

shanks.

Frank Coile's" a doctor.

But winter's frost has
Winterville.

He can cure a fever or a chill. nipp'd him, too, he hails from

Albert, how well you edited our Eighty-Eight Pandora!— But even you have come to need a tip-top hair-restorer.

Thou reasonest, like Plato, well-a prince among logiciansBut ill at ease and ne'er at home, among the politicians. (?)

John' there has fill'd the Speaker's chair. By not one jot or tittle,

Would I detract from Georgia's John-but he's our John de Little.

I'd wish for him the Governorship-in robes of state array'd

Did I not know of what raw stuff some Governors are made.

William10, of Liberty! That lad, with tallow cheeks of tan, Who quarter gave to none of yore, is now a Quarter-man.

Time robs the oak tree of its strength. Then let us all take heed.

Tom11 led the class of Eighty-Eight. Now Tom is but a Reed.

7. F. W. Coile, Winterville, Physician.

8. Albert Howell, Atlanta, Lawyer.

9. John D. Little, Atlanta, Lawyer, ex-Speaker Georgia House of Representatives. 10. Wm. H. Quarterman, Winder, Lawyer.

11. Thos. W. Reed, Athens, Secretary and Treasurer.

What sounds must serenade his sleep, expell'd from lusty

lungs,

Whose home's the Hall of Languages—a Babel-tower of

tongues!

What sparkling wine, on which to dine! Aye, in those regions upper,

What luscious fruits, from rare old roots, on which to feast at supper!

Heyman's12 a lawyer;-'round him now, big fees, like snowflakes, fall,

Whose budding oratory wak'd the Demosthenean Hall.

No bee political has buzz'd about his busy bonnet,
And to the Lady of the Law his life has been a sonnet.

Unminted is the yellow gold which can this Cato bribeA prince of Judah's royal line the lion of his tribe.

Wilmer13, like our majestic rock, your head's a peak of gray,

Insurance pays, but doesn't keep the silver threads away.

Full many a summer's sun has set behind these hills of Grady's,

But we have not forgotten yet how well you lov'd the ladies.

Joe Boston14, buried in his books-Bostonian to the coreWas cast in somewhat different molds from dashing Wilmer Moore.

12. Arthur Heyman, Atlanta, Lawyer.

13. Wilmer L. Moore, Atlanta, Insurance, ex-President Chamber of Commerce. 14. Joseph E. Boston, Atlanta, Banker.