So that the wind his airy breast assails;
Below, he wears the nether garb of males,
Of crimson plush, but non-plushed at the knee;-
Thence further down the native red prevails,
Of his own naked fleecy hosierie :
Two sandals, without soles, complete his cap-a-pee.
Nathless, for dignity, he now doth lap
His function in a magisterial gown,
That shows more countries in it than a map,-
Blue tinct, and red and green, and russet brown,
Besides some blots, standing for country-town;
And eke some rents, for streams and rivers wide;
But, sometimes, bashful when he looks adown,
He turns the garment of the other side,
Hopeful that so the holes may never be espied!
And soe he sits, amidst the little pack,
That look for shady or for sunny noon,
Within his visage, like an almanack,-
His quiet smile fortelling gracious boon:
But when his mouth droops down, like rainy moon,
With horrid chill each little heart unwarms,
Knowing, that infant show'rs will follow soon,
And with forebodings of near wrath and storms
They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their forms.
Ah! luckless wight, who can not then repeat
"Corduroy Colloquy," or "Ki, Ko, Kod,"-
Full soon his tears shall make his turfy seat
More sodden, tho' already made of sod,
For Dan shall whip him with the word of God,-
Severe by rule, and not by nature mild,
He never spoils the child and spares the rod,
But spoils the rod and never spares the child,
And soe with holy rule deems he is reconcil'd.
But, surely, the just sky will never wink
At men who take delight in childish throe,
And stripe the nether-urchin like a pink
Or tender hyacinth, inscribed with woe;
Such bloody Pedagogues, when they shall know,
By useless birches, that forlorn recess,
Which is no holiday, in Pit below,
Will hell not seem design'd for their distress,
A melancholy place that is all bottomlesse?
Yet would the Muse not chide the wholesome use
Of needful discipline, in due degree.
Devoid of sway, what wrongs will time produce,
Whene'er the twig untrained grows up a tree,
This shall a Carder; that a Whiteboy be,
Ferocious leaders of atrocious bands,
And Learning's help be used for infamie,
By lawless clerks, that, with their bloody hands,
In murder'd English write Rock's murderous commands
But ah! what shrilly cry doth now alarm
The sooty fowls that dozed upon the beam,
All sudden fluttering from the brandish'd arm,
And cackling chorus with the human scream,
Meanwhile, the scourge plies that unkindly seam
In Phelim's brogues, which bares his naked skin,
Like traitor gap in warlike fort, I deem,
That falsely let the fierce besieger in,
Nor seeks the Pedagogue by other course to win.
No parent dear he hath to heed his cries;-
Alas! his parent dear is far aloof,
And deep in Seven-Dial cellar lies,
Killed by kind cudgel-play, or gin of proof,
Or climbeth, catwise, on some London roof,
Singing, perchance, a lay of Erin's Isle,
Or, whilst he labors, weaves a fancy-woof,
Dreaming he sees his home,-his Phelim smile ;-
Ah me! that luckless imp, who weepeth all the while!
Ah! who can paint that hard and heavy time,
When first the scholar lists in Learning's train,
And mounts her rugged steep, enforc'd to climb,
Like sooty imp, by sharp posterior pain,
From bloody twig, and eke that Indian cane,
Wherein, alas! no sugar'd juices dwell,
For this, the while one stripling's sluices drain,
Another weepeth over childblains fell,
Always upon the heel, yet never to be well!
Anon a third, for this delicious root,
Late ravish'd from his tooth by elder chit,
So soon is human violence afoot,
So hardly is the harmless bitter bit!
Meanwhile, the tyrant, with untimely wit
And mouthing face, derides the small one's moan, Who, all lamenting for his loss, doth sit, Alack,-mischance comes seldomtimes alone, But aye the worried dog must rue more curs than one.
For lo! the Pedagogue, with sudden drub,
Smites his scald-head, that is already sore,-
Superfluous wound,-such is Misfortune's rub!
Who straight makes answer with redoubled roar,
And sheds salt tears twice faster than before,
That still, with backward fist, he strives to dry;
Washing, with brackish moisture, o'er and o'er,
His muddy cheek, that grows more foul thereby,
Till all his rainy face looks grim as rainy sky.
So Dan, by dint of noise, obtains a peace,
And with his natural untender knack,
By new distress, bids former grievance cease,
Like tears dried up with rugged huckaback,
That sets the mournful visage all awrack;
Yet soon the childish countenance will shine
Even as thorough storms the soonest slack,
For grief and beef in adverse ways incline,
This keeps, and that decays, when duly soaked in brine.
Now all is hushed, and, with a look profound,
The Dominie lays ope the learned page;
(So be it called) although he doth expound
Without a book, both Greek and Latin sage;
Now telleth he of Rome's rude infant age,
How Romulus was bred in savage wood,
By wet-nurse wolf, devoid of wolfish rage;
And laid foundation-stone of walls of mud,
But watered it, alas! with warm fraternal blood.
Anon, he turns to that Homeric war,
How Troy was sieged like Londonderry town;
And stout Achilles, at his jaunting-car,
Dragged mighty Hector with a bloody crown:
And eke the bard, that sung of their renown.
In garb of Greece, most beggar-like and torn,
He paints, with colly, wand'ring up and down.
Because, at once, in seven cities born;
And so, of parish rights, was, all his days, forlorn,
Anon, through old Mythology he goes,
Of gods defunct, and all their pedigrees,
But shuns their scandalous amours, and shows
How Plato wise, and clear-ey'd Socrates,
Confess'd not to those heathen hes and shes;
But thro' the clouds of the Olympic cope
Beheld St. Peter, with his holy keys,
And own'd their love was naught, and bow'd to Pope, Whilst all their purblind race in Pagan mist did groupe!
From such quaint themes he turns, at last aside,
To new philosophies, that still are green,
And shows what railroads have been track'd, to guide
The wheels of great political machine;
If English corn should grow abroad, I ween,
And gold be made of gold, or paper sheet;
How many pigs be born, to each spalpeen;
And, ah! how man shall thrive beyond his meat,With twenty souls alive, to one square sod of peat!
Here, he makes end; and all the fry of youth,
That stood around with serious look intense,
Close up again their gaping eyes and mouth,
Which they had opened to his eloquence,
As if their hearing were a three-fold sense.
But now the current of his words is done,
And whether any fruits shall spring from thence,
In future time, with any mother's son!
It is a thing, God wot! that can be told by none.
Now by the creeping shadows of the noon,
The hour is come to lay aside their lore;
The cheerful pedagogue perceives it soon,
And cries, "Begone!" unto the imps,--and four
Snatch their two hats and struggle for the door,
Like ardent spirits vented from a cask,
All blythe and boisterous, but leave two more,
With Reading made Uneasy for a task,
To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine bask,
Like sportive Elfins, on the verdent sod,
With tender moss so sleekly overgrown,
That doth not hurt, but kiss the sole unshod,
So soothly kind is Erin to her own!
And one, at Hare and Hound, plays all alone,—
For Phelim's gone to tend his step-dame's cow;
Ah! Phelim's step-dame is a canker'd crone !
Whilst other twain play at an Irish row,
And, with shillelah small, break one another's brow!
But careful Dominie, with ceaseless thrift;
Now changeth ferula for rural hoe;
But, first of all, with tender hand doth shift
His college gown, because of solar glow,
And hangs it on a bush, to scare the crow:
Meanwhile, he plants in earth the dappled bean,
Or trains the young potatoes all a-row,
Or plucks the fragrant leek for pottage green,
With that crisp curly herb, call'd Kale in Aberdeen.
And so he wisely spends the fruitful hours,
Linked each to each by labour, like a bee;
Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bow'rs ;-
Would there were many more such wights as he,
To sway each capital academie
Of Cam and Isis, for alack! at each
There dwells, I wot, some dronish Dominie, That does no garden work, nor yet doth teach, But wears a floury head, and talks in flow'ry speech!
THE NEW ENGLAND COUNTRY SCHOOL.
THE following sketch of a Country School in New England-" as it was," is copied from the "Columbian Muse, a selection of American Poetry, from various authors-published by Matthew Carey, Philadelphia, 1794,"-where it is credited to the New Hampshire Spy.
"Read in the bible,-tell the place-"
"Job twentieth and the seventeenth verse-
"Caleb, begin." "And-he-shall—suck—
Sir,-Moses got a pin and stuck———————”
"Silence,-stop Caleb-Moses! here!"
"What's this complaint?" "I didn't, Sir,”—
"Hold up your hand,—What is't a pin ?"
"O dear, I won't do so agin."
"Read on." "The increase of his b-b-borse-"
"Hold: H, O, U, S, E, spells house."
"Sir, what's this word? for I can't tell it."
"Can't you indeed! Why spell it." "Spell it."
Begin yourself, I say." "Who, I?"
"Yes, try. Sure you can spell it." "Try."
"Go, take your seats and primers, go,
You sha'n't abuse the bible so."
"Will pray Sir Master mend my pen?"
"Say, Master, that's enough. Here Ben,
Is this your copy?" "Can't you tell?"
"Set all your letters parallel."
"I've done my sum-'tis just a groat-"
"Let's see it." "Master, m' I g' out?
"Yes,-bring some wood in-What's that noise?"
"It isn't I, Sir, it's them boys."
"Come Billy, read-What's that!"
"Sir, Jim has snatch'd my rule away-"
"Return it, James. Here, rule with this-
Billy, read on,"-"That's crooked S."
"Read in the Spelling-book-Begin."
"The boys are out"-"Then call them in-"
"My nose bleeds, mayn't I get some ice,
And hold it in my breeches ?"—"Yes."
"John, keep your seat." My sum is more-
"Then do't again-Divide by four,
By twelve, and twenty-Mind the rule.
Now speak, Manassah, and spell tool."
"I can't"-"Well try"-"T, W, L."
"Not wash'd your hands yet, booby, ha?
You had your orders yesterday.
Give me the ferrule, hold your hand."
"Oh! Oh!" "There,-mind my next command."
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