But Garfield’s literary efforts in college also took the form of poetry. The affectionate nature, and lofty imagination, made his heart the home of sentiment, and poetry its proper expression. We reproduce entire a poem entitled “Memory,” written during his senior year. At that time, his intended profession was teaching, and it is possible that the presidency of a Christian college was “the summit where the sunbeams fell,” but in the light of events the last lines seem almost prophetic. MEMORY. ’Tis beauteous night; the stars look brightly down Upon the earth, decked in her robe of snow, No light gleams at the window save my own, Which gives its cheer to midnight and to me. And, now, with noiseless step, sweet Memory comes And leads me gently through her twilight realms. What poet’s tuneful lyre has ever sung, Or delicatest pencil e’er portrayed, The enchanted, shadowy land where Memory dwells? It has its valleys, cheerless, lone, and drear, Dark shaded by the mournful cypress tree, And yet its sunlit mountain-tops are bathed In heaven’s own blue. Upon its craggy cliffs, Robed in the dreamy light of distant years, Are clustered joys serene of other days; Upon its gentle, sloping hillside bend The weeping willow o’er the sacred dust Of dear departed ones: and yet in that land, Where’er our footsteps fall upon the shore, They that were sleeping rise from out the dust Of death’s long, silent years, and ’round us stand, As erst they did before the prison tomb Received their clay within its voiceless halls. The heavens that bend above that land are hung With clouds of various hues; some dark and chill, Surcharged with sorrow, cast their somber shade Upon the sunny, joyous land below: Others are floating through the dreamy air, White as falling snow, their margins tinged: With gold and crimsoned hues; their shadows fall Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes, Soft as the shadow of an angel’s wing. When the rough battle of the day is done, And evening’s peace falls gently on the heart, I bound away across the noisy years, Unto the utmost verge of Memory’s land, Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet: And memory dim, with dark oblivion joins; Where woke the first remembered sounds that fell Upon the ear in childhood’s early morn; And wandering thence, along the rolling years, I see the shadow of my former self Gliding from childhood up to man’s estate. The path of youth winds down through many a vale And on the brink of many a dread abyss,