The little Crichtons of the hour, And swill her prize — bohea? Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime, Who sits there now, and skims the cream Who struts the Randall of the walk? Who scoops the light canoe ? Where's Poynter? Harris ? Bowers? Chase? Hal Baylis ? blithe Carew? Alack! they're gone a thousand ways! And some are serving in "the Greys,” And some have perished young! Jack Harris weds his second wife ; Grave Bowers teaches A B C Poor Chase is with the worms! All, all are gone the olden breed! Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, At play where we have played! Some hop, some run, (some fall,) some twine Their crony arms; some in the shine, And some are in the shade! Lo there what mixed conditions run! The nabob's pampered heir! Some brightly starred some evil born, For fair or foul renown! Good, bad, indifferent none they lack ! Look, here's a white, and there's a black! And there's a creole brown! Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, And wish their frugal sires would keep Their only sons at home; Some tease the future tense, and plan A foolish wish! There's one at hoop; And one that curvets in and out, Would I were in his steed! Yet he would gladly halt and drop While thou canst be a horse at school Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing Alas! thou know'st not kingly cares; And dost thou think that years acquire That manhood's mirth? - O, go thy ways And see how forced our fun! 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! Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, Our topmost joys fall dull and dead, Like balls with no rebound! And often with a faded eye We look behind, and send a sigh Then be contented. Thou hast got Thou'lt find thy manhood all too fast A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. O, WHEN I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, A hoop was an eternal round But now those past delights I drop; And careful thoughts the string! Now I must play with Elgin's lord, With Theseus for a taw! My playful horse has slipt his string! And harnessed to the law! My kite - how fast and far it flew ! 'Twas papered o'er with studious themes, The tasks I wrote my present dreams Will never soar so high! My joys are wingless all and dead ; My dumps are made of more than lead My flights soon find a fall; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, Joy never cometh with a hoop, And seldom with a call! My football's laid upon the shelf; The world knocks to and fro; No more in noontide sun I bask: And friends grown strangely cool! The very chum that shared my cake It makes me shrink and sigh:- No skies so blue or so serene As then ; -no leaves look half so green All things I loved are altered so, O, for the garb that marked the boy, Well inked with black and red! Repose upon my head! O, for the riband round the neck! |