IX.

Grave Bowers teaches A B C
To savages at Owhyee;
  Poor Chase is with the worms!—­
All, all are gone—­the olden breed!—­
New crops of mushroon boys succeed,
  “And push us from our forms!”

X.

Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout,
And leap, and skip, and mob about,
  At play where we have play’d! 
Some hop, some run, (some fall,) some twine
Their crony arms; some in the shine,—­
  And some are in the shade!

XI.

Lo there what mix’d conditions run! 
The orphan lad; the widow’s son;
  And Fortune’s favor’d care—­
The wealthy-born, for whom she hath
Mac-Adamised the future path—­
  The Nabob’s pamper’d heir!

XII.

Some brightly starr’d—­some evil born,—­
For honor some, and some for scorn,—­
  For fair or foul renown! 
Good, bad, indiff’rent—­none may lack! 
Look, here’s a White, and there’s a Black
  And there’s a Creole brown!

XIII.

Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep,
And wish their frugal sires would keep
  Their only sons at home;—­
Some tease their future tense, and plan
The full-grown doings of the man,
  And plant for years to come!

XIV.

A foolish wish!  There’s one at hoop;
And four at fives! and five who stoop
  The marble taw to speed! 
And one that curvets in and out,
Reining his fellow Cob about,—­
  Would I were in his steed!

XV.

Yet he would glady halt and drop
That boyish harness off, to swop
  With this world’s heavy van—­
To toil, to tug.  O little fool! 
While thou canst be a horse at school,
  To wish to be a man!

XVI.

Perchance thou deem’st it were a thing
To wear a crown,—­to be a king! 
  And sleep on regal down! 
Alas! thou know’st not kingly cares;
For happier is thy head that wears
  That hat without a crown!

XVII.

And dost thou think that years acquire
New added joys?  Dost think thy sire
  More happy than his son? 
That manhood’s mirth?—­Oh, go thy ways
To Drury-lane when—­plays,
  And see how forced our fun!

XVIII.

Thy taws are brave!—­thy tops are rare!—­
Our tops are spun with coils of care,
  Our dumps are no delight!—­
The Elgin marbles are but tame,
And ’tis at best a sorry game
  To fly the Muse’s kite!