1827.*

Valediction.

I once was fond of fools,

And bid them come each day;
Then each one brought his tools

The carpenter to play;
The roof to strip first choosing,

Another to supply,
The wood as trestles using,

To move it by-and-by,
While here and there they ran,

And knock’d against each other;
To fret I soon began,

My anger could not smother,
So cried, “Get out, ye fools!”

At this they were offended
Then each one took his tools,

And so our friendship ended.

Since that, I’ve wiser been,

And sit beside my door;
When one of them is seen,

I cry, “Appear no more!”
“Hence, stupid knave!” I bellow: 

At this he’s angry too: 
“You impudent old fellow!

And pray, sir, who are you? 
Along the streets we riot,

And revel at the fair;
But yet we’re pretty quiet,

And folks revile us ne’er. 
Don’t call us names, then, please!”—­
At length I meet with ease,

For now they leave my door—­
’Tis better than before!

1827.*
-----
The country schoolmaster.

I.

A master of a country school
Jump’d up one day from off his stool,
Inspired with firm resolve to try
To gain the best society;
So to the nearest baths he walk’d,
And into the saloon he stalk’d. 
He felt quite. startled at the door,
Ne’er having seen the like before. 
To the first stranger made he now
A very low and graceful bow,
But quite forgot to bear in mind
That people also stood behind;
His left-hand neighbor’s paunch he struck
A grievous blow, by great ill luck;
Pardon for this he first entreated,
And then in haste his bow repeated. 
His right hand neighbor next he hit,
And begg’d him, too, to pardon it;
But on his granting his petition,
Another was in like condition;
These compliments he paid to all,
Behind, before, across the hall;
At length one who could stand no more,
Show’d him impatiently the door.

* * * *

May many, pond’ring on their crimes,
A moral draw from this betimes!

II.

As he proceeded on his way
He thought, “I was too weak to-day;
To bow I’ll ne’er again be seen;
For goats will swallow what is green.” 
Across the fields he now must speed,
Not over stumps and stones, indeed,
But over meads and cornfields sweet,
Trampling down all with clumsy feet. 
A farmer met him by-and-by,
And didn’t ask him:  how? or why? 
But with his fist saluted him.

“I feel new life in every limb!”
Our traveller cried in ecstasy. 
“Who art thou who thus gladden’st me? 
May Heaven such blessings ever send! 
Ne’er may I want a jovial friend!”