Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies;
Where yet they all the town-alert can see,
And distant plough-boys pacing o’er the lea. 
   These and the tasks successive masters brought —
The French they conn’d, the curious works they wrought;
The hours they made their taper fingers strike
Note after note, all dull to them alike;
Their drawings, dancings on appointed days,
Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays: 
The tender friendships made ’twixt heart and heart,
When the dear friends had nothing to impart:  —
   All! all! are over;—­now th’ accomplish’d maid
Longs for the world, of nothing there afraid: 
Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast,
And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest;
At the paternal door a carriage stands,
Love knits their hearts and Hymen joins their hands. 
Ah! world unknown! how charming is thy view,
Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new: 
Ah! world experienced! what of thee is told? 
How few thy pleasures, and those few how old! 
   Within a silent street, and far apart
From noise of business, from a quay or mart,
Stands an old spacious building, and the din
You hear without, explains the work within;
Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this noise
Loudly proclaims a “Boarding-School for Boys;”
The master heeds it not, for thirty years
Have render’d all familiar to his ears;
He sits in comfort, ’mid the various sound
Of mingled tones for ever flowing round: 
Day after day he to his task attends, —
Unvaried toil, and care that never ends: 
Boys in their works proceed; while his employ
Admits no change, or changes but the boy;
Yet time has made it easy;—­he beside
Has power supreme, and power is sweet to pride: 
But grant him pleasure; what can teachers feel,
Dependent helpers always at the wheel? 
Their power despised, their compensation small,
Their labour dull, their life laborious all;
Set after set the lower lads to make
Fit for the class which their superiors take;
The road of learning for a time to track
In roughest state, and then again go back: 
Just the same way, on other troops to wait, —
Attendants fix’d at learning’s lower gate. 
   The Day-tasks now are over—­to their ground
Rush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound;
Glad to elude the burthens of the day,
The eager parties hurry to their play: 
Then in these hours of liberty we find
The native bias of the opening mind;
They yet possess not skill the mask to place,
And hide the passions glowing in the face;
Yet some are found—­the close, the sly, the mean,
Who know already all must not be seen. 
   Lo! one who walks apart, although so young,
He lays restraint upon his eye and tongue,
Nor will he into scrapes or dangers get,
And half the school are in the stripling’s debt: 
Suspicious, timid, he is much afraid