- 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.
America I love, as one that loves A friendly shelter, when he houseless roves: America is mine, if she'll receive The humble name I all ingenious give. America I view, as one that views A noble lion wet with spangled dews: But, as he rises from his morning lair, A gilded serpent curls around him there— I see a giant, like Delilah's, bound With silken cords, his locks still flowing round; I see the sun stained on his golden shield, The silver moon shows a discolored field; Yet why should one of all thy rivers bear To ocean's salty waves the captive's tear? Why in thy rich savannahs, evergreen, Around a human form are fetters seen, Hast thou not wealth and power to burst the chain, To cast the captive's fetters in the main: And purchase thee a diadem more bright Than blazing Phoebus or the queen of night. Let not earth's despots point across the wave, And say my song of freedom mocks the slave; And when the chaunt of liberty goes by Let no sad captive with a groan reply, Thus Herbert sung by Mississippi's side, And tun'd his numbers to the silver tide Above where red Missouri rolls along His turbid current, burst this artless song. The waters listened and around his feet Rolled crimson agates for a tribute meet; Green islands seemed uplifted from the wave To not applause; the winds forgot to rave: Glad spirits rustled round his lov'd one's tomb, And from her dust bright lilies seemed to bloom.Philip Bevan [1811-1890]