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Rock-side, or margin of the winding brook.
Eager I sought where earliest blossoms grew,
Of liver-leaf and columbine, each nook,
Where sweetest scented, in the morning dew,
The Azalea, May Flower, Lily of the Vale,
The Eglantine, and Pancy, on the gale
Their bloom and fragrance, all unheeded, threw.
Thus lone, yet happy, passed each busy hour,
Gay as the bird, expanding like the flower.

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Nurtured in solitude, this feeling grew
A sense, a passion, a reflective joy,

Ingrained, or native, e'en while yet a boy;
And still, in age, survives, unchanged as true.
Half murmuring to myself, or wandering oft,
In social silence pleased, afar I strayed,
Sister! with thee, in rapture through the glade,
Too happy for discourse! Pervading soft,
Resistless though unseen, the gentle force
Of genial nature guided still our course :
Bird, beast, field, forest, summer shower, or wind,
Hill, valley, streamlet, to the softened breast
Could each, in turn, enduring thoughts suggest,

And mould, with plastic power, the yielding mind.

MY NATIVE PLACE.

Sweet interchange

Of hill, and valley, river, woods, and plains.

What wonder if the love of nature then

MILTON.

Was strong within me; e'en from childhood's dawn; Ere yet I mingled with the herd of men,

Or wandered, from my native vale withdrawn. The genius of this quiet spot serene

Wrought on my heart, and sways its movements still : The gentle curvature of yonder hill,

Clothed to its cultured top with living green,

The river's steady flow, the clattering mill,
Yon blue-topped mountain, far and faintly seen,
With wooded hills, and verdant vales between,

The farm-house's busy group, yon winding rill,
Each on my infant mind left lasting trace,
Heart bound, and wedded to my native place.

LEAVING HOME FOR SCHOOL.

I.

And then the whining school boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping, like snail,
Unwillingly to school!

SHAKSPEARE.

The loss of home, how poignant was the grief,

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When, from the parent roof constrained to part, Its bitter pang transfixed my youthful heart! The world's cold kindness gave not then relief,

But sickened rather. Oft the tear would start, Unbidden, while the dear domestic scene Rose on my view, with bitter thoughts between : But then, with scornful laugh, came one, who, young Yet early hardened, could such pain deride,

And taunt my weakness with sarcastic tongue,
That shamed, at once, and roused me: manly pride
And just resentment dashed the tear aside;

Yet could not long the rising grief o'rrule,
Home sick, heart riven, by that first week at school.

II.

Shades of the prison house begin to close
Upon the growing boy.

WORDSWORTH.

Possessions that, while held, are, in our eyes,

Deemed little worth, to tenfold value rise,

When held no more. 'Tis thus, in nightly dream,

My home sick fancy revels mid the joys
Of untasked youth, and sports of happy boys.

Night still restores me to my native stream,

An infant architect, where oft my hand

The mud-dam built, or water wheel had planned;
Or, panting from the summer's sultry beam,
Framed leafy arbours in the secret dell,

Or chambers hollowed in the yielding sand;
Of these more proud than, since, in larger scheme
Of later life can vaunting manhood tell

Why better worth, since ne'er enjoyed so well?

THE BOY TYRANT.

See how he beats, whom he has just reviled,
And made rebellious, that imploring child.

CRABBE.

Among my early inmates there was one,
The scorn alike and terror of the school;
Subtle, unfeeling, in his malice cool,

And patient in revenge, no favours done
Moved his base soul, or e'er to kindness won.
Fearless as false, he aims alike to rule

By force and fraud: each idler is his tool,
The timid fear him, and the prudent shun.
In vice unwearied, 'tis his daily joy
To gull the ignorant, the good betray;

But chief, the sensitive and tender boy,
Now to his arts, to lure, unwares, astray;
Then turn informer, and his dupe defame,
Himself unharmed, and glorying in his shame.

THE LATIN GRAMMAR.

The drilled dull lesson, forced down, word by word.

The Latin Grammar

can I think again,

BYRON.

In patience, on that sickness of the heart,

When words of uncouth sound and rules of art,

To me unmeaning, as replete with pain,

Sought entrance first on my reluctant brain,

Till then indulged, I ne'er had known the smart Of task enforced my memory could retain The hymn, or prayer, or ballad's simple strain,

Caught from those lips maternal, which impart Knowledge at once and pleasure, eye and ear To that mild teacher open still and clear;

But closed on him who seemed not to discern How kindness quickens, while disgust and fear Palsy the mind, which ceases thence to learn.

END OF THE TERM.

In thoughtless gaiety, I course the plain,
And Hope itself is all I know of Pain.

WORDSWORTH.

THE TERM IS ENDED! what more grateful sound
To mortal ears! to toil-worn judge sedate,
To weary lawyer, doomed on courts to wait,
And client, not less wearied, who has found
His endless law-suit, for a rood of ground,

Engulfing acres! Welcome is the date,
That turns the 'prentice from his master's gate,
Or sees the minor with full freedom crowned.
But nor to minor, swelling with the pride
Of coming freedom; not when courts decide,

Or jurors can agree; not from the bar

When learned counsel hasten, is their joy Like his, the rapture of that term-worn boy, Released, and journeying to his home afar.

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