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قراءة كتاب The New England Magazine Volume 1, No. 6, June, 1886, Bay State Monthly Volume 4, No. 6, June, 1886

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‏اللغة: English
The New England Magazine Volume 1, No. 6, June, 1886, Bay State Monthly Volume 4, No. 6, June, 1886

The New England Magazine Volume 1, No. 6, June, 1886, Bay State Monthly Volume 4, No. 6, June, 1886

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 4

scriptures and for prayer; and on the Sabbath religious services are conducted after the customary manner of the churches. Studies in natural theology and in the catechism also form a part of the college course. The religious atmosphere which surrounds the college is as genial and cheerful as the natural atmosphere which bathes the hills and valleys around in October days. It has no element of sectarianism or bigotry. Free alike from cant, from looseness and indifference, the religious tone of the college is altogether wholesome.

Williams, the westernmost of our New England colleges, blends in harmonious combination the puritan spirit of the East with the progressive spirit of the West, and offers to all who come to her doors an education based upon tried principles, and conducted in a healthful spirit. At his inauguration to the office of its presidency, Dr. Hopkins said, "I desire and shall labor that this may be a safe college; that here may be health, and cheerful study, and kind feelings, and pure morals." No words perhaps could better describe the character which, under his wise management, and that of his associates, the college has maintained.

President Carter's inaugural address contained an urgent plea for a professorship of the "History and Polity of the Hebrew Theocracy," and although the funds for such a professorship are still wanting, the college stands faithfully by the old traditions of reverence and worship and sound morality.



From proud Mycenæ's lion-guarded gate,
Where King Eurystheus reigned in regal state,
One springtime morn when every field was fair
And song-birds carolled in the azure air,
A man of mighty stature swiftly strode,
And took his way along the winding road
That led to well-walled Argos and the sea.
From Lerna's fens a salty breeze blew free,
And stirred the locks that fell his shoulders down
And wreathed his forehead like a golden crown.
Upon his shield—a sight to hold men mute—
Was seen the head of the Nemean brute;
Within one hand a gnarlèd club he bore,
Hewn from an oak bole in the forest hoar.
The shafts of Hermes, and the wondrous bow,
The helm of Vulcan with its fiery glow,
The fine-wrought peplus fluttering in the breeze,
Proclaimed the hero valiant Hercules.
Beside the torrent Perseia that won
Its way to join the sweet Asterion,
Through flowery meads and field of greening grain,
The hero's pathway led him o'er the plain;
But ere the walls of Argos met his view,
Or ere he saw the Ægean shining blue,
He turned, and toward the mountain peaks that rose
Along the far horizon, capped with snows
Of lands Arcadian, pursued his quest.
And many days he fared with meagre rest
Taken in starlit hours 'neath forest boughs,
Where nightly Queen Titania's elves carouse.
By day he hasted with unflagging pace
Through woodland depths where Dian's hounds gave chase
To startled deer, through fields by yeomen tilled,
Through vineyards whence the winepress would be filled
When teeming Autumn with her purple fine
Had tinged the grape upon the yielding vine;
Through olive groves that, in good time, would bear
A bounteous fruitage 'neath the pruner's care:
And those who saw him as he sped along
Paused 'mid their work, or hushed the jocund song
To do him homage. None in all the land
But felt the blessings that his potent hand
Had widely wrought; remote were they and few
But that his face and stately presence knew.
Where'er his many wanderings led, he heard
In field or household no unwelcome word;
Whene'er he came, though bread and wine were spent,
He saw no frown nor look of ill content.
At last, when many nights the vernal moon
Had risen and set, and song-birds presaged June,
One sultry eve the weary hero came
To mountain hamlet where his matchless fame
Had been on all men's lips, but where his face
Was known to none; and in the market-place
He found a throng with wreaths and garlands bound,
And one who blew with clear, harmonious sound
Upon a hollow reed. Amidst the folk
A goodly ox, unfettered by the yoke,
Stood gayly decked with flowers in skilful wise
As though prepared for godly sacrifice.
When they beheld the noble-visaged man,
They bade him join the festal rites of Pan;
For some at heart believed that he might be,
In mortal guise, a heavenly deity;
And much they marveled at his kingly mien,
As with the throng he sought the forest green.
Within a glade where drooping birches stirred
Their silvery leaves, and where the drowsy bird
Sang plaintively a tender twilight lay,
An altar stood entwined by tendrils gay.
And soon thereon the mighty ox, new-slain,
Was sprinkled o'er with wine and barley grain;
Then one, amid the sound of choral song,
The seemly leader of the pastoral throng,
With reverent hand brought forth the sacred fire,
And prayerful knelt and lit the holy pyre.
Amid the roar of sacrificial flame
The devotees besought their God by name;
And while they worshipped, Hercules unheard,
Through flowering, fragrant thickets scarcely stirred
By evening's breezes, softly slipped away,
His vows fulfilled. The golden orb of day
Had ceased to flush the placid western sky;
With slowly lengthening shadows night drew nigh,
But still the hero with unslackened stride
Went hurrying onward, till a