tV\A' 
 
 PS 3503 
 
 '^785 ^^OM GENERATION 
 
 ■7 
 898 
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 TO GENERATION 
 
 ■'•".' i 6'/, 
 
 BROWN 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 COPYRIGHT OFFICE. 
 
 No registration of titl@^"g0!his 
 article as a. preliminary to copyright 
 protection has been found. 77^^/^ 
 
 Forwarded to ] ^trmr [ Division ^A^. .19_._19(}9 
 
 v r"iH 11 to 
 
 (1, iii, 1906—5,000.) 
 
 (Datej 
 
FROM GENERATION 
 TO GENERATION 
 
 A POEM 
 
 Read before the Alumni Association of 
 
 Vanderbilt University 
 
 June 14, 1897 
 
 By Calvin S. Brown 
 
 BOSTON 
 
One hundred copies privately printed. 
 
 Kecei'i/ed from 
 Copyright Orfica 
 
 ,.. .if D9 
 
 Printed by 
 
 Remington Printing Co. 
 
 Boston 
 
prom QeQeratior} to depi^ratioQ. 
 
 ^* ^^ t^ 
 
 As children over games and toys 
 
 Their voices lift in gladsome noise, 
 
 Or fowls in wild excitement squawk 
 
 When suddenly there swoops a hawk ; 
 
 So grannies set in great commotion 
 
 A tumult raise like waves of ocean 
 
 When baby having winged its flight 
 
 On mundane sphere vouchsafes to light. 
 
 Thou type of innocence and love, 
 
 Descended angel from above, 
 
 Thy eyes shall mingle smiles and tears, 
 
 Thy hands shall pull thy father's ears, 
 
 Thy feet shall tangle in his beard. 
 
 Thy face with dirt and grease be smeared. 
 
 And after days of fun and frolic 
 
 Shall follow nights of squalls and colic. 
 
 Great bottles filled with soothing syrup 
 
 Shall help to make the cherub cheer up ; 
 
And mother's love shall charm the gum 
 When baby's teeth begin to come ; 
 And to it talk such nonsense rare 
 As makes old bachelors to swear : 
 " My 'itsy-bitsy tootsey-wootsey, 
 It 'oves its mammy, 'es it dootsey." 
 " Goo-goo " replies the baby dear 
 And mother smiles from ear to ear ; 
 So well to talk and yet so young 
 Has ne'er before been granted tongue. 
 O noble gift, the gift of speech ; 
 Without it, how could soul e'er reach 
 Another soul, or thoughts that glow 
 Themselves unto another show ? 
 Or how could babe at dead of night 
 His father call to strike a light. 
 Or else invoke his kindly aid 
 At two o'clock for promenade ? 
 
 Not Wellington at Waterloo, 
 Who fought as soldiers ought to do. 
 Nor Solomon in all his glory. 
 Nor proudest king in ancient story, 
 E'er felt one half the throbbing joy 
 That enters into heart of boy 
 
The day when free from earthly cares 
 He first a pair of trousers wears. 
 He may have joy in after years 
 When fame his name to glory rears 
 Through poesy's immortal song 
 Or victory achieved o'er wrong, 
 When opulence and honor meet 
 To do their homage at his feet, 
 But ne'er again so high it reaches 
 As when he first puts on his breeches. 
 
 What treasure hopeful's pockets hold 
 
 Has never or but half been told 
 
 Of tops and knives and spools and strings, 
 
 Of buttons, marbles, nails and slings, 
 
 And odds and ends both great and small ; 
 
 Nor dare 1 hope to tell it all. 
 
 How sad to girls must be their lot 
 
 To see these things and have them not. 
 
 How many deeds of valor done 
 
 And victories in battle won 
 
 O'er frogs and snakes and bumble-bees, 
 
 How many feats of climbing trees, 
 
 Inspire with pride his youthful breast, 
 
 And keep his mother's heart distressed ; 
 
How often sister weeps for woe 
 When brother entertains her beau. 
 
 Yet comes a day when books and slate 
 
 Reveal the frowning" face of fate, 
 
 And teacher's knocks and scholar's thumps 
 
 Succeed to mother's sugar lumps. 
 
 Not Icarus in space atloat 
 
 Nor Jonah in torpedo boat 
 
 More out of place or ill at ease 
 
 Could feel than boy at A B C's. 
 
 But time goes on and as it goes 
 
 It brings relief to mortal woes : 
 
 The schoolhouse once an ogre's den 
 
 No longer seems a slaughter-pen 
 
 And ogre's head whene'er he nods 
 
 is now a mark for paper wads. 
 
 Thus usage makes of strangest sight 
 
 A commonplace, like air or light : 
 
 1 he sea no terror has for sailor, 
 
 Nor savage beast for mountain trailer, 
 
 And woman e'en by long restraint 
 
 At sight of mouse may cease to faint. 
 
 Old Cicero by yards is spouted 
 And Cataline again is routed ; 
 
Demonsthenes remounts the stage 
 
 And for his crown begins to rage ; 
 
 Mark Anthony comes, while grief dismays him, 
 
 To bury Caesar, not to praise him; 
 
 Rienzi wakes Eternal City, 
 
 And Emmet stirs all hearts to pity ; 
 
 The boy again on burning deck 
 
 Proceeds to view the battle's wreck ; 
 
 And Patrick Henry, out of breath, 
 
 Prefers his liberty to death. 
 
 O golden youth, how sweet thy dreams. 
 How bright from out the future gleams 
 The star of hope ; what visions rise 
 Before thy hope-enkindled eyes. 
 Dream on, O youth, nor dream in vain, 
 But let thy heart with might and main 
 Pursue thy dream, and ere life tlees 
 Tny dreams m.iy prove realities. 
 
 By slow deg-rees there comes a change 
 Betrayed by actions sly and strange ; 
 He combs his hair, begins to shave, 
 Considers how he shall behave ; 
 He pats his dog and hugs his sister. 
 And likes to hear himself called Mister. 
 
At night in bed he rolls and tumbles, 
 hi waking- hours he dreams and stumbles. 
 At length, his soul in anguish stewing, 
 He feels within some verses brewing ; 
 No use to stop or face about, 
 Like love and murder rime will out. 
 Through thirteen copies, day and night, 
 He labors hard to get one right ; 
 Then scents it o'er with flower dew 
 And binds it up with ribbon blue ; 
 Then seals it with a turtledove 
 And sends it forth to greet his love. 
 
 O beautiful maid, 
 
 Come out in the shade. 
 Where grass-hoppers their lays are chiming. 
 
 We will tell love's tales, 
 
 And play with the snails, 
 As slowly the stumps they are climbing. 
 
 The spring is now here, 
 
 O maiden so dear ; 
 The crawfish in the mud are working ; . 
 
 The hogs root the ground, 
 
 And give out a sound 
 Like a rope through a knot-hole jerking. 
 
The birds in the tree 
 
 Call forth you and me ; 
 1 hear the woodpecker chatter, 
 
 O jewel so rare, 
 
 Come out in the air. 
 Or I shall go mad as a hatter. 
 
 The maiden yields, as maids will do. 
 
 And gives true love to lover true. 
 
 He treads the air and basks in ether ; 
 
 She likewise rests with naught beneath her ; 
 
 Content in one another's love, 
 
 They tloat serene in realms above. 
 
 Alas, alas, how cruel fate 
 
 The truest loves may separate ; 
 
 For parents see, though love is blind, 
 
 And rivals sue and favor tind. 
 
 And time itself, though changing never. 
 
 May alter destiny forever. 
 
 For seven days, in deep dejection, 
 
 Grim sorrow gnaws at his complexion ; 
 
 No star from out the future gleams 
 
 And gone are all his golden dreams; 
 
 On death he calls, but still refuses 
 
 Its gurgling streams and running nooses ; 
 
For though of love men sometimes die, 
 
 'Tis after not before the tie. 
 
 But sorrow's pangs, by time revealed, 
 
 At length by time are also healed. 
 
 E'en widows doomed to years of grief 
 
 In months have found a sweet relief. 
 
 So after twelve or fifteen days 
 
 He takes to food and former ways ; 
 
 And ere a month has folded wing 
 
 Another has him on her string. 
 
 The world spread out before him lies, 
 And o'er it dance his eager eyes ; 
 Not large enough by h^ilf it seems 
 To one who dreams such mighty dreams. 
 To give his name to fame and story 
 How light the task, how great the glory ; 
 And wealth he'll get beyond all measure 
 Some afternoon when out for pleasure. 
 Thus hopeful for the coming years 
 He laughs away his mother's tears. 
 Receives his father's parting word. 
 And at the gate his voice is heard 
 As back he shouts a last adieu ; 
 And then his form is lost to view. 
 
A sigh heaves at his yearning breast, 
 
 But ere 'tis uttered is repressed. 
 
 1 he heart of youth uncramped by fears 
 
 But little time can give to tears. 
 
 Now, world, prepare to yield thy treasure, 
 
 A youth has come to take thy measure ; 
 
 Like poet hunting for a rime 
 
 He'll search thee o'er from clime to clime. 
 
 And pounce on all thy rich profusion, 
 
 As women jump at a conclusion. 
 
 Alas, this poor old world at best 
 Ne'er satisfies the human breast. 
 For things go wrong whate'er we do, 
 And half our visions prove untrue. 
 Though fortune's blind it's hard to nab her; 
 She dodges when we try to grab her. 
 And fame is shy like maiden coy; 
 And Cupid a capricious boy. 
 Yes, through we plan for good and strive 
 To reach the good which we contrive. 
 Our plans may fail, our good be lost. 
 Ourselves on seas of doubt be tossed. 
 Our dreams are nobler than our deeds; 
 The grain is smothered by the weeds. 
 
Our days are few and full of trouble 
 For pains and microbes bend us double ; 
 The lawyers take our goods by law, 
 The demists breaks our under jaw, 
 The doctors cut off our nutrition. 
 And preachers preach us to perdition ; 
 Ah happy we if we escape 
 With soul or body from the scrape. 
 
 in strife and tumult precious years 
 Are wasted — cause for bitter tears ; 
 And nations join — more tears and Salter - 
 hi language tierce as old Gibralter, 
 Or meet in armies on their border 
 And tight like beasts to keep good order. 
 Why kill the innocent like gophers 
 When earth is full of scamps and loafers ? 
 The creatures known as dudes are useless 
 And their existance here excuseless ; 
 The demagogues who stir the masses 
 Should go to grass like other asses; 
 And all the bores and parasites. 
 Should sail for Saturn's satellites. 
 'Tis thus the progress of the race 
 Advances at but half its pace. 
 
So learns the youth ere many moons 
 That all the months aren't Mays and Junes, 
 That hopes before the breeze are swept 
 And promises not all are kept, 
 That smiles aren't always from the heart 
 And cheeks are sometimes works of art. 
 The world itself may smile on Sunday 
 And frown again before 'tis Monday ; 
 Permitting" man to reach the top, 
 It shakes him off to hear him drop; 
 But then the frown in shortest while 
 May turn again to brightest smile. 
 And he who's made of proper stuff 
 Will not recoil at each rebuff'. 
 
 At length the worst is past and over 
 
 And he begins to roll in clover, 
 
 Which is to say, he has ahead 
 
 Enough to pay for meat and bread ; 
 
 No more his soul he has to vex 
 
 By writing to his pa for checks. 
 
 As springtime changes burnished dove 
 
 And turns man's heart to thoughts of love. 
 
 So knowing that he's self-supporting 
 
 May also turn his thoughts to courting. 
 
All lovers see in loved ones' eyes 
 The beauties that they highest prize, 
 And tell to them the same old story 
 That Adam told to Eve in glory. 
 He wooes his Eve ; the maiden meek 
 For manner's sake desires a week. 
 The days she spends to learn what dress 
 A maid should wear to answer yes ; 
 And when at length are passed the seven 
 She lifts the man from earth to heaven. 
 He seeks her father, wins approval, 
 And maid is ready for removal. 
 The knot is tied; no fate can sever 
 The chord that binds their hearts forever. 
 Now, wisdom, fly, and let them be, 
 in honeymoon no need for thee ; 
 Such precious folly — let us flee it ; 
 The Sphinx herself would grin to see it. 
 
 Then when this moon has waned and they 
 
 Back to the earth have come to stay, 
 
 T'is worth a fortnight of one's life 
 
 To hear him when he calls her *' wife," 
 
 Or see her try to hide the blushes 
 
 As to her cheek the crimson rushes. 
 
They get acquainted by degrees 
 And tind themselves somewhat at ease, 
 Discuss their plans, their hopes, their fears, 
 Anticipate the coming years, 
 Acknowledge, as they ne'er had done, 
 That though in flesh the twain are one 
 They eat enough in truth for two 
 And that one suit for both won't do. 
 
 The years go by. — But hark, what's that ? 
 
 Oh, nothing but a squalling brat, 
 
 A type of innocence and love. 
 
 Descended angel from above, 
 
 Who spends his days in fun and frolic 
 
 And bawls the nights away in colic. 
 
 15 
 
018 602 333 A