The Poetical Works of Jonathan E. Hoag/The Old Washington County Academy
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The Old Washington County Academy
Thy shades no more with jocund life abound;
Yet memories cluster round thine ancient walls,
And linger on the consecrated ground,
Till o'er the dream Time's sombre shadow falls.
What thoughts of bygone days are with me yet!
A deathlike silence brooding o'er the past!
Within thy walls are scenes we ne'er forget,
But clasp and hold, as priceless jewels, fast.
From out thy doors have passed, at duty's call,
Full many wearers of the scholar's gown,
Whose voices rang in legislative hall,
Whose feet pursued the road to high renown.
There stands the hall in which we oft beheld
The gleam of blades, which clashed with gleaming blades,
While eager maids the fears instinctive quelled;
But all too soon the scene of glory fades.
Oft have I gazed on those time-honored walls,
And marvelled at the secrets which they hold.
Adown the years a voice of wisdom calls,
Which I would heed before I grow too old.
And that old belfry, deeply scarred with names!
We scan them well, and vaguely query where
The hands that carved them on those window-frames,
And feet that pressed that ancient narrow stair.
Where now are they who erstwhile filled these seats,
From mountain homes, from placid lakes afar,
From rural farms, from swarming city streets?
How many a one has crossed the fatal bar!
Yet memories cluster round thine ancient walls,
And linger on the consecrated ground,
Till o'er the dream Time's sombre shadow falls.
What thoughts of bygone days are with me yet!
A deathlike silence brooding o'er the past!
Within thy walls are scenes we ne'er forget,
But clasp and hold, as priceless jewels, fast.
From out thy doors have passed, at duty's call,
Full many wearers of the scholar's gown,
Whose voices rang in legislative hall,
Whose feet pursued the road to high renown.
There stands the hall in which we oft beheld
The gleam of blades, which clashed with gleaming blades,
While eager maids the fears instinctive quelled;
But all too soon the scene of glory fades.
Oft have I gazed on those time-honored walls,
And marvelled at the secrets which they hold.
Adown the years a voice of wisdom calls,
Which I would heed before I grow too old.
And that old belfry, deeply scarred with names!
We scan them well, and vaguely query where
The hands that carved them on those window-frames,
And feet that pressed that ancient narrow stair.
Where now are they who erstwhile filled these seats,
From mountain homes, from placid lakes afar,
From rural farms, from swarming city streets?
How many a one has crossed the fatal bar!
1921