Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip, and mob about, At play where we have played! Some hop, some run, (some fall), some twine Lo there what mixed conditions run ! The wealthy born, for whom she hath The nabob's pampered heir! Some brightly starred some evil born, For honor some, and some for scorn, 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, 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 With this world's heavy van 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 - plays, 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, Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead, 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 fastSoon come, soon gone! and age at last A sorry breaking up! A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. O, WHEN I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. In those days I found But now those past delights I drop; And careful thoughts the string! My marbles, once my bag was stored,- My playful horse has slipt his string! And harnessed to the law! My kite how fast and far it flew ! 'T was 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 flights soon find a fall; My fears prevail, my fancies droop, My football's laid upon the shelf; The world knocks to and fro; No more in noontide sun I bask: My head's ne'er out of school: 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! The crownless hat, ne'er deemed an ill It only let the sunshine still O, for the riband round the neck! O, for that small, small beer anew! That fagged me! worse is now my work- O, for the lessons learned by heart! The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed! The omne bene Christmas come! The prize of merit, won for home Merit had prizes then! But now I write for days and days, |