TALES OF THE HALL.
BOOK III.
BOYS AT SCHOOL.
The School—School-Boys—The Boy-Tyrant—Sir Hector Blane— School-Boys in after Life, how changed—how the same—The patronized Boy, his Life and Death—Reflections—Story of Harry Bland.
TALES OF THE HALL.
BOOK III.
BOYS AT SCHOOL.
We name the world a school, for day by day We something learn, till we are call’d away; The school we name a world,—for vice and pain, Fraud and contention, there begin to reign; And much, in fact, this lesser world can show Of grief and crime that in the greater grow. “You saw,” said George, “in that still-hated school How the meek suffer, how the haughty rule; There soft, ingenuous, gentle minds endure Ills that ease, time, and friendship fail to cure; 10 There the best hearts, and those, who shrink from sin, Find some seducing imp to draw them in, Who takes infernal pleasure to impart The strongest poison to the purest heart. Call to your mind this scene—Yon boy behold: How hot the vengeance of a heart so cold! See how he beats, whom he had just reviled And made rebellious—that imploring child; How fierce his eye, how merciless his blows, And how his anger on his insult grows; 20 You saw this Hector and his patient slave, Th’ insulting speech, the cruel blows he gave. Mix’d with mankind, his interest in his sight, We found this Nimrod civil and polite; There was no triumph in his manner seen, He was so humble you might think him mean. Those angry passions slept till he attain’d His purposed wealth, and waked when that was gain’d; He then resumed the native wrath and pride, The more indulged, as longer laid aside; 30 Wife, children, servants, all obedience pay, The slaves at school no greater slaves than they; No more dependant, he resumes the rein, And shows the school-boy turbulence again. “Were I a poet, I would say, he brings To recollection some impetuous springs; See one that issues from its humble source, To gain new powers, and run its noisy course: Frothy and fierce among the rocks it goes, And threatens all that bound it or oppose; 40 Till wider grown, and finding large increase, Though bounded still, it moves along in peace; And, as its waters to the ocean glide, They bear a busy people on its tide; But there arrived, and from its channel free, Those swelling waters meet the mighty sea; With threat’ning force the new-form’d billows swell, And now affright the crowd they bore so well.” “Yet,” said the rector, “all these early signs Of vice are lost, and vice itself declines; 50 Religion counsels; troubles, sorrows rise, And the vile spirit in the conflict dies. “Sir Hector Blane, the champion of the school, Was very blockhead, but was form’d for rule; Learn he could not; he said he could not learn, But he profess’d it gave him no concern. Books were his horror, dinner his delight, And his amusement to shake hands and fight; Argue he could not, but in case of doubt, Or disputation, fairly box’d it out. 60 This was his logic, and his arm so strong, His cause prevail’d, and he was never wrong; But so obtuse—you must have seen his look, Desponding, angry, puzzled o’er his book. “Can you not see him on the morn that proved His skill in figures? Pluto’s self was moved— ‘Come, six times five?’ th’ impatient teacher cried; In vain, the pupil shut his eyes, and sigh’d. ‘Try, six times count your fingers; how he stands!— Your fingers, idiot!’—‘What, of both my hands?’ 70 “With parts like these his father felt assured, In busy times, a ship might be procured; He too was pleased to be so early freed: He now could fight, and he in time might read. So he has fought, and in his country’s cause Has gain’d him glory, and our hearts’ applause. No more the blustering boy a school defies;} We see the hero from the tyrant rise, } And in the captain’s worth the student’s dulness dies.” } “Be all allow’d;” replied the squire, “I give 80 Praise to his actions; may their glory live! Nay, I will hear him in his riper age Fight his good ship, and with the foe engage; Nor will I quit him when the cowards fly, Although, like them, I dread his energy. “But still, my friend, that ancient spirit reigns; His powers support the credit of his brains, Insisting ever that he must be right, And for his reasons still prepared to fight. Let him a judge of England’s prowess be, 90 And all her floating terrors on the sea; But this contents not, this is not denied; He claims a right on all things to decide, A kind of patent-wisdom; and he cries, ‘’Tis so!’ and bold the hero that denies. Thus the boy-spirit still the bosom rules, And the world’s maxims were at first the school’s.” “No doubt,” said Jacques, “there are in minds the seeds Of good and ill, the virtues and the weeds; But is it not of study the intent 100 This growth of evil nature to prevent? To check the progress of each idle shoot That might retard the ripening of the fruit? Our purpose certain, and we much effect, We something cure, and something we correct; But do your utmost: when the man you see, You find him what you saw the boy would be, Disguised a little; but we still behold What pleased and what offended us of old. Years from the mind no native stain remove, 110 But lay the varnish of the world above. Still, when he can, he loves to step aside And be the boy, without a check or guide; In the old wanderings he with pleasure strays, And reassumes the bliss of earlier days. “I left at school the boy with pensive look, Whom some great patron order’d to his book; Who from his mother’s cot reluctant came, And gave my lord, for this compassion, fame; Who, told of all his patron’s merit, sigh’d, 120 I know not why, in sorrow or in pride; And would, with vex’d and troubled spirit, cry, ‘I am not happy; let your envy die.’ Him left I with you; who, perhaps, can tell If fortune bless’d him, or what fate befell. I yet remember how the idlers ran To see the carriage of the godlike man, When pride restrain’d me; yet I thought the deed Was noble, too—and how did it succeed?” Jacques answer’d not till he had backward cast 130 His view, and dwelt upon the evil past; Then, as he sigh’d, he smil’d;—from folly rise Such smiles, and misery will create such sighs. And Richard now from his abstraction broke, Listening attentive as the rector spoke.