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Kansas University Weekly.
"High were their deeds o'er whom our hearts are weeping!
Safe bides their fame in all men's love and praise ! Hallowed the mould in which their dust is sleeping. And sweet the memory that has crowned their days. "No more of lingering doubt, nor stern denial, Nor baffled toil, nor slow, embittering strife ! But now, at once, the crown of earthly trial,— The long, long summer of eternal life!"
And then, in closing, he calls upon all Nature to bow with our nation in its grief:
"Breathe low ye murmuring pines, ye whispering grasses!
Ye dews of summer night fall softly here!
Be sorrow's sigh in every breeze that passes,
And every rain drop be a mourner's tear!
"And O, ye stars, ye holy lights that cumber
The deep of heaven, pour benedictions down!
Shed your sweet incense on this sacred slumber-
Bright as our love, and pure as their renown!"
Even though the mournful strain is the most prominent in all the poems, still it is this which gives to them their chief beauty and we can scarcely conceive that William Winter without being pathetic could have been a poet at all. His poetic gift is evidently for the writing of laments and dirges. It is true, we tire of such constant melancholy, and if we read on continuously in the little book, the hopelessness depresses us and we are very apt to think that even the sentiment at times is common place.
Whatever faults the poems may have they at least possess the two elements, which alone he claimed for them, gentleness and simplicity. We feel after reading them that the poet has known only that sunshine which turned very quickly into shadow; and that he himself must have touched deeply the chords of human suffering to be so much in sympathy with the rest of the sorrowing world.
Let us leave him with the exquisite little poem which suggests the sad undertone of all his verse and which he calls "Asleep." I.
"He knelt beside her pillow, in the dead watch of the night,
And he heard her gentle breathing, but her face was still and white.
And on her poor, wan cheek a tear told how the heart can weep.
And he said, 'My love was weary—God bless her! she's asleep.'
II.
"He knelt beside her grave stone, in the shuddering autumn night.
And he heard the dry grass rustle and his face was thin and white,
And through his heart one tremor ran of grief that cannot weep.
And he said, 'My love was weary—God bless her! she's asleep.'"
NELLIE C. BORING.
Psychic Evolution.
We matched that game with Iowa And trained to baffle fate. At Omaha Thanksgiving day We had our mutual skate. But fate had foreordained it so The score stood nothing to zero.
Though virtual victory for us The pennant waved for Iowa We'd play the draw and clear the muss Hence chose last Saturday. We played with vim and iron will, But beef scored six against our skill.
Now that the foot-ball games are o'er We'll train our beef to brains And fill our brains with richer store To bleach athletic stains We'll swipe the Jay Hawks in debate Or blush to own we're from the State. —Hesperian.
A Freshman wrote a letter home,
The weather he said had been clear.
But what he dreaded most of all
Was its Hazy atmosphere.—The Sibyl.
That woman has no aim in life,
A thoughtful person owns,
And if you don't believe it, sir,
Just watch her throwing stones.
The Rose Technic.
Why it is Better.
Tis better to have loved and lost The poet sings in plaintive rhyme, Of course it is, for then you can Make love another time.
An Idle.
A tramp was sitting 'neath a tree,
It proved to be a peach;
A luscious one upon a bough
Was just beyond his reach.
Upon his back he laid him down,
His forehead he did mop,
He said, "By gosh, I guess I'll wait,
Until the fruit doth drop."
Miss E. G.: "Say, can any of you girls tell me who were the members of S.W.U. quartette last year?"
Miss H. G.: "There were four but I don't remember the names."-Ex.
There were ninety-four candidates for positions on the Harvard Freshman foot ball team this year. — Ex.