- Waters, Henry F.
John Harvard and His Ancestry; Part Second
New England Historic Genealogical Society, Boston, 1886, Wraps, , , Good
47 pp. Frontis, photographic print (heliotype) of the early home of John Harvard's mother. Wraps discolored with chipping all around, split at top of spine. Some pages unopened, generally very good within. John Harvard emigrated to New England in May 1637. In Charlestown, Mass. he was appointed minister, but in September 1638 he died of tuberculosis. Harvard bequeathed his library of 400 volumes and a considerable sum of money to the New College, Cambridge, which was subsequently named Harvard College in 1639. Much is unknown of the early history of Harvard College because it, and John Harvard's books, were destroyed by fire in 1674. Nevertheless the University bears his name. Considerable fascinating detail herein, including a probate of the will of Thomas Rogers of Stratford upon Avon, alleged to have known a playwright named Shakespeare. The heliotype frontis illustrates his wife Katherine's house. Katherine was Harvard's mother.
Roar, raging torrent! and thou, mighty river! Pour your white foam on the valley below; Frown, ye dark mountains! and shadow forever The deep rocky bed where the wild rapids flow. The green sunny glade, and the smooth flowing fountain, Brighten the home of the coward and slave; The flood and the forest, the rock and the mountain, Rear on their bosoms the free and the brave. Nurselings of nature, I mark your bold bearing, Pride in each aspect and strength in each form; Hearts of warm impulse and souls of high daring, Born in the battle and reared in the storm. The red levin flash and the thunder's dread rattle, The rock-riven wave, and the war-trumpets breath, The din of the tempest, the yell of the battle, Nerve your steeled bosoms to danger and death. High on the brow of the Alps' snowy towers, The mountain Swiss measures his rock-breasted moors, O'er his lone cottage the avalanche lowers, Round its rude portal the spring torrent pours. Sweet is his sleep amid peril and danger, Warm is his greeting to kindred and friends; Open his hand to the poor and the stranger, Stern on his foeman his sabre descends. Lo! where the tempest the dark waters sunder Slumbers the sailor boy, reckless and brave, Warmed by the lightning, and lulled by the thunder, Fanned by the whirlwind and rocked by the wave; Wildly the winter wind howls round his pillow, Cold on his bosom the spray showers fall; Creaks the strained mast at the rush of the billow, Peaceful he slumbers, regardless of all. Mark how the cheek of the warrior flushes, As the battle-drum beats and the war torches glare, Like a blast of the north to the onset he rushes, And his wide-waving falchion gleams brightly in air. Around him the death-shot of foemen are flying, At his feet friends and comrades are yielding their breath; He strikes to the groans of the wounded and dying, But the war-cry he strikes with is "conquest or death!" Then pour thy broad wave like a flood from the heavens, Each son that thou rearest, in the battle's wild shock, When the death-speaking note of the trumpet is given, Will charge like thy torrent, or stand like thy rock. Let his roof be the cloud, and the rock be his pillow, Let him stride the rough mountain, or toss on the foam, He shall strike fast and well, on the field or the billow, In triumph and glory, for God and his home!Joseph Rodman Drake