Transcribed from the 1881 John Hawthorn edition by David Price, email [email protected]
HEAD MASTER OF UPPINGHAM SCHOOL LATE FELLOW OF KING’S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY C. ROSSITER _ENGRAVED BY DALZIEL BROTHERS_
THOSE who took part in that strange camping out of the School in 1876 and 1877 will be glad to be reminded of their experiences now they are over. And perhaps the School at Uppingham, in years to come, may like to have some hint, however imperfect, of that medley of ruin and safety, fear and fun, which passed from risk and danger, which seemed almost impossible to be faced, to a happy ending.
THE SCHOOL-HOUSE, UPPINGHAM, _August_, 1880.
TO MR. T. H. BIRLEY AND MR. W. T. JACOB, THE TWO SCHOOL TRUSTEES WITHOUT WHOSE HELP THE SCHOOL WOULD HAVE BEEN LOST;
TO SIR PRYSE PRYSE, BART., AND THE KINDLY WELSH PEOPLE, WHO MADE SAFETY POSSIBLE AND SUCCESSFUL;
TO THE PARENTS, WHO TRUSTED THE SCHOOL, AND SENT IN FULL NUMBERS ON THE EVENTFUL NIGHT OF APRIL 4, 1876;
TO ALL FAITHFUL COLLEAGUES, WHO DID TRUE WORK THROUGH THOSE DANGEROUS AND ANXIOUS MONTHS,
THIS MEMORIAL OF A COMMON CAUSE IS DEDICATED BY
BORTH FROM THE NORTH _Frontispiece_ POSTERN IN QUAD _Title_ PORTION OF SCHOOL-HOUSE, GARDEN FRONT _to face page_ 9 SCHOOL-HOUSE QUAD 10 BORTH FROM THE SOUTH 12 THE LERY ABOVE TAL-Y-BONT 19 THE BEACH BY MOEL YNYS 21 THE MARSH BEHIND BORTH 24 CHAPEL AND SCHOOL-HOUSE FROM MIDDLE GROUND 30
O SWALLOW, with resistless wing, that hold’st the air in fee, O swallow, with thy joyous sweep o’er earth and sunlit sea, O swallow, who, if night were thine, would’st wheel amongst the stars, Why linger round the eaves? Unhappy! free of all the world hast knit thy soul to clay? And glued thy heart up on the wall, thou swiftest child of day? Claim, glorious wing, thy heritage; break, break thy prison bars, Nor linger round the eaves.
Sweep, glorious wings, adown the wind; fly, swallow, to the west; Before thee, life and liberty; behind, a ruined nest. Blow, freshening breeze, sweep, rapid wing, for all the winds are thine, The nest is only clay. The rapid wings were stretched in flight, the swallow sped away, And left its nest beneath the eaves, the much-loved bit of clay, Turned with the sun, to go where’er the happy sun might shine, And passed into the day.