Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life :: :: University of Virginia Library

'Twas a desolate spot on a drear, lonely lot,
Where the wild winter winds blew amain,
And the summer suns beat with a tropical heat
On the sands that reflected again,—
There the old school-house stood, all a ruin and rude,
With mosses o'erstrewed and o'erlain.

II.

O'er its roof rose a pine leaning off an incline
From its line, perpendicular base,
With a hole in its side where a bonfire had died,
And the bark warping wide from its face;
And its arms gaunt and bare, sprawled aloft in the air
Like the spectre of Care, o'er the place.

III.

O'er the threshold I stept, and a harvest I reapt
Of thoughts, as I swept with my eye
The walls, grim and old, with the stain and the mould,
And the carvings untold, and O, fie!

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And the sketchings in coal of some fanciful soul
Long ago o'er the goal of Good-by.

IV.

For I thought how of yore on the ruinous floor
Ranged the half-score, or more, of the “class,”
To be catechised well, or to read, or to spell,
On the grammar to dwell, and to “pass”;
The grown and the stout, the woman, about,
The little, the lout, and the lass;

V.

Of the “master” severe, with his pen o'er his ear,
And the eye piercing clear through and through;
With his ferule in hand, and the word of command
That was sore to withstand, I tell you;
Of the awe that was felt when with culprits he dealt,
The outcry, the welt black and blue.

VI.

Of the “schoolma'am” so kind, so obligingly blind
As never to mind little failings;
Of her love for her care; of no learning to spare,
But of heart prompt to share in their ailings;
Of the “last day” so sad, when, in holiday clad,
Her last tokens were had with loud wailings.

VII.

They are gone! all are gone; and the ruin is lone,
And the wind with a moan whistles through,
And the voice of the Past I detect in the blast—
O dreamer! at last, so with you!

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What is life but a school? The great Master gives rule;
Act the wise, shun the fool, and be true.