VACATION.
O, MASTER, no more of your lessons!
For a season we bid them good by,
And turn to the manifold teachings
Of ocean, and forest, and sky.
We must plunge into billow and breaker;
The fields we must ransack anew;
And again must the sombre woods echo
The glee of our merry-voiced crew.
From teacher’s and preacher’s dictation—
From all the dreaded lore of the books—
Escaped from the thraldom of study,
We turn to the babble of brooks;
We hark to the field-minstrels’ music,
The lowing of herds on the lea,
The surge of the winds in the forest,
The roar of the storm-angered sea.
To the tree-tops we’ll climb with the squirrels;
We will race with the brooks in the glens;
The rabbits we’ll chase to their burrows;
The foxes we’ll hunt to their dens;
The woodchucks, askulk in their caverns,
We’ll visit again and again;
And we’ll peep into every bird’s nest
The copses and meadows contain.
For us are the blackberries ripening
By many a moss-covered wall;
There are bluehats enough in the thickets
To furnish a treat for us all;
In the swamps there are ground-nuts in plenty;
The sea-sands their titbits afford;
And, O, most delectable banquet,
We will feast at the honey-bee’s board!
O, comrades, the graybeards assure us
That life is a burden of cares;
That the highways and byways of manhood
Are fretted with pitfalls and snares.
Well, school-days have their tribulations;
Their troubles, as well as their joys.
Then give us vacation forever,
If we must forever be boys!
Beverly Moore.
“Escaped from the thraldom of study,
We turn to the babble of brooks.”