MINOR POEMS.

1827.

A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

Oн, when I was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!—
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!

A hoop was an eternal round

Of pleasure. In those days I found
A top a joyous thing;-

But now those past delights I drop,
My head, alas! is all my top,

And careful thoughts the string!

My marbles-once my bag was stored,—
Now I must play with Elgin's lord,
With Theseus for a taw!

My playful horse has slipt his string,
Forgotten all his capering,

And harness'd to the law!

My kite-how fast and far it flew !
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew
My pleasure from the sky!

'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 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;
I am a shuttlecock myself

The world knocks to and fro;—
My archery is all unlearn'd,
And grief against myself has turn'd
My arrows and my bow!

No more in noontide sun I bask;
My authorship 's an endless task,

My head's ne'er out of school:
My heart is pain'd with scorn and slight,
I have too many foes to fight,

And friends grown strangely cool!

The very chum that shared my cake
Holds out so cold a hand to shake,

It makes me shrink and sigh:-
On this I will not dwell and hang,
The changeling would not feel a pang
Though these should meet his eye!

No skies so blue or so serene

As then ;-no leaves look half so green
As clothed the play-ground tree!

All things I loved are alter'd so,
Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me!

Oh, for the garb that mark'd the boy,
The trousers made of corduroy,

Well ink'd with black and red;

The crownless hat, ne'er deem'd an ill—
It only let the sunshine still

Repose upon my head!

Oh, for the riband round the neck!
The careless dog's-ears apt to deck
My book and collar both!
How can this formal man be styled
Merely an Alexandrine child,
A boy of larger growth?

Oh, for that small, small beer anew!
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 work—
A fag for all the town!

Oh, for the lessons learn'd by heart!
Ay, though the very birch's smart

Should mark those hours again;
I'd "kiss the rod," and be resign'd
Beneath the stroke, and even find
Some sugar in the cane!