I

Oh, 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!


II

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!


III

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!


IV

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!


V

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!


VI

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!


VII

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!


VIII

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!


IX

No skies so blue or so serene
As then;-no leaves look half so green
As clothed the playground tree!
All things I loved are altered so,
Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me!


X

Oh for the garb that marked 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!


XI

Oh for the riband round the neck!
The careless dogs-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?


XII

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!


XIII

Oh for the lessons learned 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!


XIV

The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed!
The Fairy Tales in school-time read,
By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun!
The angel form that always walk'd
In all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd
Exactly like Miss Brown!


XV

The omne bene-Christmas come!
The prize of merit, won for home-
Merit had prizes then!
But now I write for days and days,
For fame-a deal of empty praise,
Without the silver pen!


XVI

Then 'home, sweet home!' the crowded coach-
The joyous shout-the loud approach-
The winding horns like rams'!
The meeting sweet that made me thrill,
The sweetmeats, almost sweeter still,
No 'satis' to the 'jams'!-


XVII

When that 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!