Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime,
Beneath whose shade in summer's prime
So wildly I have read!—
Who sits there NOW, and skims the cream
Of young Romance, and weaves a dream
Of Love and Cottage-bread?
Who struts the Randall of the walk?
Who models tiny heads in chalk?
Who scoops the light canoe?
What early genius buds apace?
Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase!
Hal Baylis? blithe Carew?
Alack! they're gone—a thousand ways!
And some are serving in "the Greys,"
And some have perished young!—
Jack Harris weds his second wife;
Hal Baylis drives the WAYNE of life;
And blithe Carew—is hung!
Grave Bowers teaches A B C
To Savages at Owhyee;
Poor Chase is with the worms!—
All are gone—the olden breed!—
New crops of mushroom boys succeeds,
"And push us from our FORMS!"
Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout,
And leap, and skip, and mob about,
At play where we have played!
Some hop, some run (some fall), some twine
Their crony arms; some in the shine,
And some are in the shade!
Lo there what mixed conditions run!
The orphan lad; the widow's son;
And Fortune's favored care—
The wealthy born, for whom she hath
Macadamized the future path—
The nabob's pampered heir!
Some brightly starred—some evil born—
For honor some, and some for scorn—
For fair or foul renown!
Good, bad, indifferent—none they lack!
Look, here's a white, and there's a black!
And there's a creole brown!
Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep,
And wish THEIR frugal sires would keep
Their only sons at home;—
Some tease the future tense, and plan
The full-grown doings of the man,
And pant for years to come!
A foolish wish! There's one at hoop;
And four at FIVES! and five who stoop
The marble taw to speed!
And one that curvets in and out,
Reining his fellow-cob about,
Would I were in his STEED!
Yet he would gladly halt and drop
That boyish harness off, to swop
With this world's heavy van—
To toil, to tug. O little fool!
While thou can be a horse at school
To wish to be a man!