The Student Vagabond

This must be by way of valedictory. The lanterns are swaying in the quadrangles, new wine has been poured into old, salt washed bottles, girls have bought new dresses. Strange shadows of far off greatness move in the Yard among us, and pause to stare at Holworthy 14. Families have come, fiancees have come, the girl from Cotuit last summer has come, sight unseen they have come. There is music, and silence, and darkness, and a great light, and a throb, and a happy laugh. There is confetti and a band, and tall gentlemen in reds, and blues, and even whites. There are prayers and poems, and songs, and hymns and odes. They will not weep for Adonais.

A handful of boys are leaving Harvard. They leave behind a few great names, a few thousand dollars, a few thrilling moments, and Harvard. That is the heritage which they pass on "that generations yet unkown may tell it to their heirs." With them they take away an education, a sheaf of memories, and the name of Harvard. They have obtained more than they can ever give. They have seen the cabs drive up in an October fog to the Somerset, they have seen Sever in twilight, they have heard great men, they have wandered home at night arm and arm singing, they have spent money, and danced and drank, and studied. They have called on the Dean, they have said, "Oh, yes, I go to Harvard." They have laughed at Williams men on the Century after a vacation. They have cheered a football team, they have smiled at jokes, they have jeered at classmates. They have felt the bitterness of defeat and the warmth of victory. They have sneered at graduates and laughed at freshmen.

They have been off on week-ends and house parties. They have smoked in the Old Howard, and they have dined on Beacon Hill. They have tried for magnas and they have tried for C's. They have lived for four terribly short years in the richest, greatest, most impersonal, greatly loved, best known, most revered, finest University in America. And now they are graduating. Four days of foam upon a charted ocean. Who would not weep for Adonais?