"'T is but the earliest, the warning peal!"
He sleeps again. Happy if bustling chum,
Footsteps along the entry, or perchance,
In the home bower, maternal knock and halloo,
Shall break the treacherous slumber. For behold
The youth collegiate sniff the morning zephyrs,
Breezes of brisk December, frosty and keen,
With nose incarnadine, peering above
Each graceful shepherd's plaid the chin enfolding.
See how the purple hue of youth and health
Glows in each cheek; how the sharp wind brings pearls
From every eye, brightening those dimmed with study,
And waste of midnight oil, o'er classic page
Long poring. Boreas in merry mood
Plays with each unkempt lock, and vainly strives
To make a football of the Freshman's beaver,
Or the sage Sophomore's indented felt.
Behold the foremost, with deliberate stride
And slow, approach the chapel, tree-embowered,
Entering composedly its gaping portal;
Then, as the iron tongue goes on to rouse
The mocking echoes with its call, arrive
Others, with hastier step and heaving chest.
Anon, some bound along divergent paths
Which scar the grassy plain, and, with no pause
For breath, press up the rocky stair. Straightway,
A desperate few, with headlong, frantic speed,
Swifter than arrow-flight or Medford whirlwind,
Sparks flying from iron-shod heels at every footfall,
Over stone causeway and tessellated pavement,--