Where West Point crouches, and with lifted shield Turns the whole river eastward through the pass; Whose jutting crags, half silver, stand revealed Like bossy bucklers of Leonidas;
Where buttressed low against the storms that wield Their summer lightnings where her eaglets swarm, By Freedom's cradle Nature's self has steeled Her heart, like Winkelried, and to that storm
Of leveled lances bares her bosom warm. But not to-night. The air and woods are still, The faintest rustle in the trees below, The lowest tremor from the mountain rill,
Come to the ear as but the trailing flow Of spirit robes that walk unseen the hill; The moon low sailing o'er the upland farm, The moon low sailing where the waters fill
The lozenge lake, beside the banks of balm, Gleams like a chevron on the river's arm. All space breathes languor: from the hilltop high, Where Putnam's bastion crumbles in the past,
To swooning depths where drowsy cannon lie And wide-mouthed mortars gape in slumbers vast; Stroke upon stroke, the far oars glance and die On the hushed bosom of the sleeping stream;
Bright for one moment drifts a white sail by, Bright for one moment shows a bayonet gleam Far on the level plain, then passes as a dream. Soft down the line of darkened battlements,
Bright on each lattice of the barrack walls, Where the low arching sallyport indents, Seen through its gloom beyond, the moonbeam falls. All is repose save where the camping tents
Mock the white gravestones farther on, where sound No morning guns for reveille, nor whence No drum-beat calls retreat, but still is ever found Waiting and present on each sentry's round.
Within the camp they lie, the young, the brave, Half knight, half schoolboy, acolytes of fame, Pledged to one altar, and perchance one grave; Bred to fear nothing but reproach and blame,
Ascetic dandies o'er whom vestals rave, Clean-limbed young Spartans, disciplined young elves, Taught to destroy, that they may live to save, Students embattled, soldiers at their shelves,
Heroes whose conquests are at first themselves. Within the camp they lie, in dreams are freed From the grim discipline they learn to love; In dreams no more the sentry's challenge heed,
In dreams afar beyond their pickets rove; One treads once more the piny paths that lead To his green mountain home, and pausing hears The cattle call; one treads the tangled weed
Of slippery rocks beside Atlantic piers; One smiles in sleep, one wakens wet with tears. One scents the breath of jasmine flowers that twine The pillared porches of his Southern home;
One hears the coo of pigeons in the pine Of Western woods where he was wont to roam; One sees the sunset fire the distant line Where the long prairie sweeps its levels down;
One treads the snow-peaks; one by lamps that shine Down the broad highways of the sea-girt town; And two are missing,— Cadets Grey and Brown! Much as I grieve to chronicle the fact,
That selfsame truant known as “Cadet Grey” Was the young hero of our moral tract, Shorn of his twofold names on entrance-day. “Winthrop” and “Adams” dropped in that one act
Of martial curtness, and the roll-call thinned Of his ancestors, he with youthful tact Indulgence claimed, since Winthrop no more sinned, Nor sainted Adams winced when he, plain Grey, was “skinned.”
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. 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. 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. 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 wo n't refer to me ).
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:—
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