 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
142
THE TRUANT.
Ah! why did I, unthinking youth,
From school a truant stay;
To parents why not tell the truth,
And then for pardon pray!
From school a truant stay;
To parents why not tell the truth,
And then for pardon pray!
My parents both are good and kind,
Though master is severe:
With weeping I am almost blind:
Oh! I shall perish here.
Though master is severe:
With weeping I am almost blind:
Oh! I shall perish here.
The night comes on, the air is sharp,
And now it blows a storm;
The pinching wind my skin doth warp,
My features soft deform.
And now it blows a storm;
The pinching wind my skin doth warp,
My features soft deform.
As in the stream my face I viewed,
That face to me was new;
The buffetings of breezes rude
Have changed it black and blue.
That face to me was new;
The buffetings of breezes rude
Have changed it black and blue.
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My clothes are by the brambles torn,
My legs are wounded sore;
My friends to see my limbs would mourn,
These limbs all stained with gore.
My legs are wounded sore;
My friends to see my limbs would mourn,
These limbs all stained with gore.
I in some well or ditch may fall,
And there, when I am found,
Strangers will pity me, and all
Will say, “The boy is drowned!”
And there, when I am found,
Strangers will pity me, and all
Will say, “The boy is drowned!”
This place is lonely, wild, and drear,
Nor stay the night I durst;
I'll lay me down and perish here,
With hunger and with thirst.
Nor stay the night I durst;
I'll lay me down and perish here,
With hunger and with thirst.
I see a light! a light 'tis plain!
A Jack o' Lantern? no!
It comes from yonder cottage pane,
And to that cot I'll go.
A Jack o' Lantern? no!
It comes from yonder cottage pane,
And to that cot I'll go.
No beggar-boy, alas! am I:
Oh give me shelter, pray;
Or else with hunger I shall die,
For I have lost my way.
Oh give me shelter, pray;
Or else with hunger I shall die,
For I have lost my way.
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Or on some straw, or on the floor,
This night, oh! let me lie;
Or else the cold I must endure,
Beneath this bitter sky.
This night, oh! let me lie;
Or else the cold I must endure,
Beneath this bitter sky.
And let me wash my face and feet;
Then give a little food;
The plainest fare will be a treat,
Dear woman, kind and good.
Then give a little food;
The plainest fare will be a treat,
Dear woman, kind and good.
To-morrow morning take me home;
You'll hearty thanks receive:
My father 's rich, though wild I roam:
My tale you may believe.
You'll hearty thanks receive:
My father 's rich, though wild I roam:
My tale you may believe.
If you should have a child distressed,
My grief with pity see;
With such a friend may he be blessed,
As you shall pity me.
My grief with pity see;
With such a friend may he be blessed,
As you shall pity me.
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |