The poor bees William had affrighted
In more terror did not haste,
Than he from bush to bush, benighted
And alone amid the waste.
Late in the night the child was found:
He who these two bees had crush'd
Was lying on the cold damp ground,
Sleep had then his sorrows hush'd.
A fever follow'd from the fright,
And from sleeping in the dew;
He many a day and many a night
Suffer'd ere he better grew.
His aching limbs while sick he lay
Made him learn the crush'd bees' pain;
Oft would he to his mother say,
"I ne'er will kill a bee again."
THE JOURNEY FROM SCHOOL AND TO SCHOOL
O what a joyous joyous day
Is that on which we come
At the recess from school away,
Each lad to his own home!
What though the coach is crammed full,
The weather very warm;
Think you a boy of us is dull,
Or feels the slightest harm?
The dust and sun is life and fun;
The hot and sultry weather
A higher zest gives every breast,
Thus jumbled all together.
Sometimes we laugh aloud aloud,
Sometimes huzzah, huzzah.
Who is so buoyant, free, and proud,
As we home-travellers are?
But sad, but sad is every lad
That day on which we come,
That last last day on which away
We all come from our home.