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(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.
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