Hurra! my boy! I'm going down,
While you toil up; but never frown;
The far hill-top you soon will gain,
And then, with all your might and main,
You'll dash by me; while, full of glee,
I'll up again to dash by thee!
So on we glide—O, life of joy;
What pleasure has the glad school-boy!
THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET.
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view;
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,