THERE is a balmy dew from heaven,
A solace unto mortals given,
Which from the silent moon distils,
And men with rest and pleasure fills;
Which comes at eventide when stars
In fullest glory shine, and bars
From mortal eyes, with gentle might,
The glorious mysteries of the night;
Far be it from my speech to show
How patriarchs of long ago
Mount up the dome of night;
Far be it from me to record
How, glorious with his shining sword,
Around his waist a golden cord,
Orion rules in might.
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Princeton, 11; Harvard, 2.