X.

O you who forth along the highway ride, Whose quest the whispering wood shall close around, Be all adventure high that may betide, And gentle all enchantments therein found! I would my song were as a trumpet-sound To nerve you and speed, and weld its notes with power To the remembrance of your perfect hour; To ring again and again, and to recall With the might of music, all: The prescience proud, the morning aspiration, But most the unuttered vow, the inward consecration!

THE OLIVE BOUGH.

A SONG FOR THE END.

A Memorial Poem, read to the Associate Alumnae of the New York Normal College, June 30th, 1883.