His upraised forefingers and forehead portentous,
The terror we felt when we found that he meant us;
Eyes gleaming below that great frontlet of hair,—
Ah, could we have known of what really was there,
And fathomed that grand heart, so gentle and true,
Beneath the stern front that bent o’er me and you!
Those lessons—how useless and tiresome they seemed,
While we “mulled” over Cæsar, drew pictures, and dreamed;
How Xenophon’s mighty Anabasis came
To cloud our young lives, till we hated his name,