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IX

He had known trials since we saw him last,
By sheer good luck had just escaped rejection,
Not for his learning, but that it was cast
In a spare frame scarce fit for drill inspection;
But when he ope’d his lips a stream so vast
Of information flooded each professor,
They quite forgot his eyeglass,–something past
All precedent,–accepting the transgressor,
Weak eyes and all of which he was possessor.

X

E’en the first day he touched a blackboard’s space–
So the tradition of his glory lingers–
Two wise professors fainted, each with face
White as the chalk within his rapid fingers:
All day he ciphered, at such frantic pace,
His form was hid in chalk precipitation
Of every problem, till they said his case
Could meet from them no fair examination
Till Congress made a new appropriation.

XI

Famous in molecules, he demonstrated
From the mess hash to many a listening classful;
Great as a botanist, he separated
Three kinds of “Mentha” in one julep’s glassful;
High in astronomy, it has been stated
He was the first at West Point to discover
Mars’ missing satellites, and calculated
Their true positions, not the heavens over,
But ‘neath the window of Miss Kitty Rover.

XII

Indeed, I fear this novelty celestial
That very night was visible and clear;
At least two youths of aspect most terrestrial,
And clad in uniform, were loitering near
A villa’s casement, where a gentle vestal
Took their impatience somewhat patiently,
Knowing the youths were somewhat green and “bestial”–
(A certain slang of the Academy,
I beg the reader won’t refer to me).

XIII

For when they ceased their ardent strain, Miss Kitty
Glowed not with anger nor a kindred flame,
But rather flushed with an odd sort of pity,
Half matron’s kindness, and half coquette’s shame;
Proud yet quite blameful, when she heard their ditty
She gave her soul poetical expression,
And being clever too, as she was pretty,
From her high casement warbled this confession,–
Half provocation and one half repression:–

NOT YET

Not yet, O friend, not yet! the patient stars
Lean from their lattices, content to wait.
All is illusion till the morning bars
Slip from the levels of the Eastern gate.
Night is too young, O friend! day is too near;
Wait for the day that maketh all things clear.
Not yet, O friend, not yet!

Not yet, O love, not yet! all is not true,
All is not ever as it seemeth now.
Soon shall the river take another blue,
Soon dies yon light upon the mountain brow.
What lieth dark, O love, bright day will fill;
Wait for thy morning, be it good or ill.
Not yet, O love, not yet!

XIV

The strain was finished; softly as the night
Her voice died from the window, yet e’en then
Fluttered and fell likewise a kerchief white;
But that no doubt was accident, for when
She sought her couch she deemed her conduct quite
Beyond the reach of scandalous commenter,–
Washing her hands of either gallant wight,
Knowing the moralist might compliment her,–
Thus voicing Siren with the words of Mentor.

XV

She little knew the youths below, who straight
Dived for her kerchief, and quite overlooked
The pregnant moral she would inculcate;
Nor dreamed the less how little Winthrop brooked
Her right to doubt his soul’s maturer state.
Brown–who was Western, amiable, and new–
Might take the moral and accept his fate;
The which he did, but, being stronger too,
Took the white kerchief, also, as his due.

XVI

They did not quarrel, which no doubt seemed queer
To those who knew not how their friendship blended;
Each was opposed, and each the other’s peer,
Yet each the other in some things transcended.
Where Brown lacked culture, brains,–and oft, I fear,
Cash in his pocket,–Grey of course supplied him;
Where Grey lacked frankness, force, and faith sincere,
Brown of his manhood suffered none to chide him,
But in his faults stood manfully beside him.