Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1922-06-21
of the companionship that the scholar

OF the companionship that the scholar
would have if he could.
The scholars service to his kind is
not spectacular. not that of the en-
pire builder, not of the millionaire
benefactor, the founder of museums
and hospitals. His life has not been
among the great Of the earth. In gen.
eral it has been humble and obscure,
and we may not even have heard his
name until he was gone. His gifts 20
the world of another sort. But it is
his steps that We follow when we, too,
seek high companionship. We must
tread the path that he has beaten for
us. Whithersoeyer we life our eyes,
and wherever we turn our feet, he has
been there befor US. In the heavens
above he has mapped the stars and
told us their names And the little
flower that we chance upon in the
depths of the forest. the Rhodora his
eye discovered and he has told US his
secret in unforgotten verse. Through
him the poet bestows upon US his ge-
MUS. the artist his inspiration. the
philosopher his wisdom, the SAINT his
conservation, and the traveller his
knowledge of the cities and the minds
of men. In childhood even, we learn
to guide our pen by copying the worCs
of his maxirns; and in manhood we
train ourselves to meet life's crises by
recalling his precepts. Our small wor-
ries and miseries we forget in the
srell that he has wrought. and at la
we lay ourselves down in the grave.
from which his words have helped to
4; sting.
And it is the same wien we would
penetrate the mysteries of the human
teart. There. too he has been bcfo.e
us. His Othellos and Hamlets. his Ro-
J las and Gwendolyns, his Abou Ben
Adhems and bis Bishop Blougrams
have made US all wiser. and perhaps
better
Once when there were no seers,
mems wisdom was limited by their
own experiences. Now. thanks to the
| scholar and the poet, our wisdom may
appropriate that of the human race.
! l am owner of the sphere.
OF the stars and the solar year,
OF Caesars hand and Platos brain.
speare's strains
| Perhaps Science, looking down upon
our group from 'yonder hall. would
scott at our poet scholar, -" Sentiment
! talist" and Mystic" But are there to
| be no more, mysteries? Is that primal
! instinct, implanted in man at the be-
ginning of time. to be disregarded
81; -
The poet need no answer; and no more
can the philosopher do without it than
can he. Human life can not do with
out il. Religion cannot do without il.
| Without it here would be nothing for
man but despair. Muses. and nymphs
and naiads may he unrealities, but
! Hope and Faith and Love are not: and
what are thy but mysteries? We ask
then that our mysteries may not be
/ taken from uS.-the mysteries of life
and death AMI etenity,--if not for the
| poets sake, at least for our souls
sake. II romance is worth keeping.
| if the faith in higher things is worth
! keeping. if humanity is worth keep
| ing then leave us our mysteries.
| And what now we may call mys-
! teries may b. only names for realities
that as yet our finite powers are in
adequate to appreh nd,-destinod, per-
| haps, to be no mysteries to a vision
not yet ours. but that may be. AS
the schoolbOy's stretched cord yields
music to the ca held close.
Materiahstic science, then. shall not
lay waste to our Academic Shades.
George Bernard Shaw was lately asked
what would happen if all the churches
. and what they imply were abolished.
lie replied thai they would be restored
at once and religion with them. And
if it were asked what would happen
if letters and TIE liberal arts were in
stantly annihillted the answer must be
that there would have to be another
Gibson to write the story of another
Decline and Fail.
Let not the poet scholar then he
grudged his claim upon this spot
as dear to fancy as TO memory. The
practical man is here. with his scales
and his measuring rod to tell us
exactly how much excellent pulp
Nood these trees would yield: and
the scholars voice of protest is not
easy TO hear amid the thunder of
railroad trains and the clatter Of
mills and factories. Yet those of US
here in this group will join our
voice TO his Let them build. we say
their labora tories, their stadiums, and
their Vocational workshops; but let
them leave to the scholar this sylvan
corner of the old college for his books.
his mcditations. his mysteries, and
his BOardman willows.
For many year yet, gaining in
reverence what they lose in beauty,
may the old trees stand, If only to
offer their familiar welcome to the
old graduate, that pathetic figure
whom we see grizzled and gray,
wandering slowly along the paths
where once his light foot trod, and his
young voice rang. Stranger faces all
about him; no kinship in their
glance, with his thoughts or his
memories: divided from him by that
deep gulf that separates youth from
age.
But the old willows have a greet
ing for him, greeting responsive to
his own mood, for their roots like his
take hold
Upon a past unknown
To newer generations,
Battered and broken they are, and
bearing the scars Of years like
himself, for
He too. has tossed in tempest,
faced the cry