_by Hector McPherson_.
All hail! my brothers of palette and pen;
Of science and buskin, too;
You daughters of beauty and tuneful mien—
The joy-ship’s merriest crew.
Can this be Bohemia, realm of mirth,
Where the grave and gay unite?
Where genius now finds its nobler birth
And shines with a lustre bright?
Men here tell stories, their pictures paint,
As they burn life’s flick’ring lamp;
They toil and they sweat, yea, mayhap they faint,
Yet with care they refuse to camp.
When hand grips hand in friendly grasp,
Just jot this down in your book:
It is Nature’s heart that you fondly clasp,
Not an empty, outward look.
The flower of friendship sweeter blooms
Where all hearts are good and true,
Each nobler art richer form assumes
And shines with a fairer hue.
Ye Pleiades of the heavenly throng,
Down here you do bravely shine.
May your hearts be light and your way be long,
Lit by genius most divine!
Then forward from conquering field to field,
Nor heeding life’s battle-scars;
Nor malice, nor envy’s tongue shall make yield,
Who brothers are to the stars!