(The following poem was submitted on the occasion of the Band's annual dinner which is to be held this evening--Ed. Note.)

There's a clarion sound of music

In the cool crisp autumn air--

And it's sounding nearer, nearer

To the crowd down at the Square

For the loyal sons of Harvard

Are marching "Up the Street",

The boys who wave the Crimson

Are on their way to beat.

The piccolos are screeching,

The trumpets in full blast.

The drums in rhythm rolling

The trombones sliding fast,

And the saxophones are sobbing

In an under-alto key,

But their leader, their drum major

Is who appeals to me.

With head cocked up towards heaven,

His eyes with joy alight

He swings the magic baton

As nearer towards the fight

His bandsmen lead the "rooters".

The underclassmen true

Who know the while they're marching

What Harvard's team will do.

O that leader! O that leader!

Where did he learn the trick

Of swinging a "shillelagh".

His magic music stick

That twirling through his fingers

And swung from left to right

Keeps the merry men of Harvard

In spirits for the fight!

You may tell me of your Sousa,

Your Goldman and the rest

Who in the past and present

As leaders rank the best.

But hats off to the youngster

Who in this happy land

Now leads the sons of Harvard To

victory with his band! Percy W. Reynolds.