A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. Он, when I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 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 stor❜d- My playful horse has slipt his string, And harness'd to the law! My kite-how fast and far it flew ' 'Twas paper'd 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, 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 lov'd are alter'd so, That change resides in me! O, for the garb that mark'd the boy, Well ink'd with black and red The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill- And (heaven's own type) that mild sky-blue That wash'd my sweet meals down ; The master even and that small Turk That fagg'd me!-worse is now my workA fag for all the town! O for the lessons learn'd by heart! Should mark those hours again; The Arabian Nights rehears'd in bed! The omne bene-Christmas come! But now I write for days and days, For fame-a deal of empty praise, Without the silver pen! Then home, sweet home! the crowded coachThe joyous shout-the loud appproach The winding horns like rams'! The meeting sweet that made me thrill, When that I was a tiny boy, My days and nights were full of joy, |