The school where, loud warned by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o’er the precepts by pedagogues taught.
Again I behold where for hours I have ponder’d,
As, reclining at eve, on yon tombstone I lay;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard I wander’d,
To catch the last gleam of the sun’s setting ray.
I once more view the room, with spectators surrounded,
Where, as Zanga, I trod on Alonzo overthrown;
While to swell my young pride, such applauses resounded,
I fancied that Mossop himself was outshone;
Or, as Lear, I poured forth the deep imprecation,
By my daughters of kingdoms and reason deprived;
Till, fired by loud plaudits and self-adulation,
I regarded myself as Garrick revived.
Ye dreams of my boyhood, how much I regret you!
Unfaded your memory dwells in my breast;
Though sad and deserted, I ne’er can forget you,
Your pleasures may still be in fancy possest.
To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me,
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll!