The Schoolboy
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- I love to rise in a summer morn,
- When the birds sing on every tree;
- The distant huntsman winds his horn,
- And the skylark sings with me:
- O what sweet company!
- But to go to school in a summer morn,—
- O it drives all joy away!
- Under a cruel eye outworn,
- The little ones spend the day
- In sighing and dismay.
- Ah then at times I drooping sit,
- And spend many an anxious hour;
- Nor in my book can I take delight,
- Nor sit in learning’s bower,
- Worn through with the dreary shower.
- How can the bird that is born for joy
- Sit in a cage and sing?
- How can a child, when fears annoy,
- But droop his tender wing,
- And forget his youthful spring!
- O father and mother if buds are nipped,
- And blossoms blown away;
- And if the tender plants are stripped
- Of their joy in the springing day,
- By sorrow and care’s dismay,—
- How shall the summer arise in joy,
- Or the summer fruits appear?
- Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,
- Or bless the mellowing year,
- When the blasts of winter appear?
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