And over their tea, and muffins, and crumpets, Circulate many a scandalous word, And whisper tales they could only have heard No dawn no dusk no noon no proper time of day – No sky no earthly view -- no "t'other side the way No indications where the Crescents go- No recognitions of familiar people No courtesies for showing 'em No travelling at all-no locomotion, No inkling of the way no notion "No go". by land or ocean no post No park no ring―no afternoon gentility - No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. ALACK! 't is melancholy theme to think How Learning doth in rugged states abide, And, like her bashful owl, obscurely blink, In pensive glooms and corners, scarcely spied; Not, as in Founders' Halls and domes of pride, Served with grave homage, like a tragic queen, But with one lonely priest compelled to hide, In midst of foggy moors and mosses green, In that clay cabin hight the College of Kilreen! This college looketh South and West alsoe, Because it hath a cast in windows twain; Crazy and cracked they be, and wind doth blow Thorough transparent holes in every pane, Which Dan, with many paines, makes whole again With nether garments, which his thrift doth teach To stand for glass, like pronouns, and when rain Stormeth, he puts, once more unto the breach," Outside and in, though broke, yet so he mendeth each. And in the midst a little door there is, Whereon a board that doth congratulate With painted letters, red as blood I wis Thus written, “Children taken in to Bate;" And oft, indeed, the inward of that gate, Most ventriloque, doth utter tender squeak, And moans of infants that bemoan their fate In midst of sounds of Latin, French, and Greek, Which, all i' the Irish tongue, he teacheth them to speak. For some are meant to right illegal wrongs, Whom he doth teach to murder the dead tongues But some are bred for service of the sea, He keeps a parlor boarder of a pig, And picketh up the urchins' crumbs below,- And raise the wonderment of many a learned man. Alsoe, he schools some tame familiar fowls, While, sometimes, Partlet, from her gloomy perch, Meanwhile, with serious eye, he makes research No chair he hath, the awful pedagogue, Secure in high authority and dread: Large, as a dome for learning, seems his head And like Apollo's, all beset with rays, Because his locks are so unkempt and red, And stand abroad in many several ways: No laurel crown he wears, howbeit his cap is baize, And, underneath, a pair of shaggy brows O'erhang as many eyes of gizzard hue, His nose, Well nourished with Pierian potheen, For much he loves his native mountain dew; As for his coat, 't is such a jerkin short Two sandals, without soles, complete his cap-a-pie. Nathless, for dignity, he now doth lap That shows more countries in it than a map,- And soe he sits, amidst the little pack, Within his visage, like an almanack, His quiet smile foretelling gracious boon: But when his mouth droops down, like rainy moon, With horrid chill each little heart unwarms, Knowing that infant showers will follow soon, And with forebodings of near wrath and storms They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their forms. Ah! luckless wight, who cannot then repeat But surely the just sky will never wink Will hell not seem designed for their distress,- Yet would the Muse not chide the wholesome use Devoid of sway, what wrongs will time produce! |