For sale by Veery Books:

Waters, Henry F., John Harvard and His Ancestry; Part Second
• 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.

  
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On a Honey Bee

Thou born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wing?—
Does Bacchus tempting seem—
Did he, for you, the glass prepare?—
Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harrass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay—
Did wars distress, or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way?—
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome!—I hail you to my glass:
All welcome, here, you find;
Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here, be all care resigned.—
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the griefs of men or bees.

What forced you here, we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell—
But cheery we would have you go 
And bid a glad farewell:
On lighter wings we bid you fly,
Your dart will now all foes defy.

Yet take not oh! too deep a drink,
And in the ocean die;
Here bigger bees than you might sink,
Even bees full six feet high.
Like Pharaoh, then, you would be said
To perish in a sea of red.

Do as you please, your will is mine;
Enjoy it without fear—
And your grave will be this glass of wine,
Your epitaph—a tear—
Go, take your seat in Charon’s boat,
We’ll tell the hive, you died afloat.