XXXI.

  Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers
  Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes
  Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers
  The Oriental sun began to rise,
  Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies;
  Wherewith that sable Serpent far away
  Fled, like a part of night—­delicious sighs
  From waking blossoms purified the day,
And little birds were singing sweetly from each spray.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY.[5]

[Footnote 5:  No connection with any other Ode.]

I.

Ah me! those old familiar bounds! 
That classic house, those classic grounds
  My pensive thought recalls! 
What tender urchins now confine,
What little captives now repine,
  Within yon irksome walls?

II.

Ay, that’s the very house!  I know
Its ugly windows, ten a-row! 
  Its chimneys in the rear! 
And there’s the iron rod so high,
That drew the thunder from the sky
  And turn’d our table-beer!

III.

There I was birch’d! there I was bred! 
There like a little Adam fed
  From Learning’s woeful tree! 
The weary tasks I used to con!—­
The hopeless leaves I wept upon!—­
  Most fruitless leaves to me!—­

IV.

The summon’d class!—­the awful bow!—­
I wonder who is master now
  And wholesome anguish sheds! 
How many ushers now employs,
How many maids to see the boys
  Have nothing in their heads!

V.

And Mrs. S——?—­Doth she abet
(Like Pallas in the parlor) yet
  Some favor’d two or three,—­
The little Crichtons of the hour,
Her muffin-medals that devour,
  And swill her prize—­bohea?

VI.

Ay, there’s the playground! there’s the lime,
Beneath whose shade in summer’s prime
  So wildly I have read!—­
Who sits there now, and skims the cream
Of young Romance, and weaves a dream
  Of Love and Cottage-bread?

VII.

Who struts the Randall of the walk? 
Who models tiny heads in chalk? 
  Who scoops the light canoe? 
What early genius buds apace? 
Where’s Poynter?  Harris?  Bowers?  Chase? 
  Hal Baylis? blithe Carew?

VIII.

Alack! they’re gone—­a thousand ways! 
And some are serving in “the Greys,”
  And some have perish’d young!—­
Jack Harris weds his second wife;
Hal Baylis drives the wane of life;
  And blithe Carew—­is hung!