 | Poems |  |
221
THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
ADAPTED TO A PICTURE.
How doth this picture's art relume
Of childhood's scenes the buried bloom!
How from oblivion's sweeping stream
Each floating flower and leaf redeem!
From neighbouring spire, the iron chime
That told the school's allotted time,
The lowly porch where woodbine crept,
The floor with careful neatness swept,
The hour-glass in its guarded nook,
Which oft our busy fingers shook
By stealth, if flowed too slow away
The sands that held us from our play;
The murmured task, the frequent tear,
The timid laugh, prolonged and dear,
These all on heart, and ear, and eye,
Come thronging back, from years gone by.
Of childhood's scenes the buried bloom!
How from oblivion's sweeping stream
Each floating flower and leaf redeem!
From neighbouring spire, the iron chime
That told the school's allotted time,
The lowly porch where woodbine crept,
The floor with careful neatness swept,
The hour-glass in its guarded nook,
Which oft our busy fingers shook
By stealth, if flowed too slow away
The sands that held us from our play;
The murmured task, the frequent tear,
The timid laugh, prolonged and dear,
These all on heart, and ear, and eye,
Come thronging back, from years gone by.
And there thou art! in peaceful age
With brow as thoughtful, mild and sage,
As when upon thy pupil's heart
Thy lessons breathed—yes there thou art!
And in thy hand that sacred book
Whereon it was our pride to look,
Whose truths around thy hoary head,
A never-fading halo shed,
Whose glorious hopes in holy trust
Still blossom o'er thy mouldering dust.
Even thus it is, where'er we range,
Throughout this world of care and change,
Though Fancy every prospect gild,
Or Fortune write each wish fulfilled,
Still, pausing 'mid our varied track,
To childhood's realm we turn us back,
And wider as the hand of time
Removes us from that sunny clime,
And nearer as our footsteps urge
To weary life's extremest verge,
With fonder smile, with brighter beam,
Its far-receding landscapes gleam,
And closer to the withered breast,
Its renovated charms are prest.
With brow as thoughtful, mild and sage,
As when upon thy pupil's heart
Thy lessons breathed—yes there thou art!
And in thy hand that sacred book
Whereon it was our pride to look,
Whose truths around thy hoary head,
A never-fading halo shed,
Whose glorious hopes in holy trust
Still blossom o'er thy mouldering dust.
222
Throughout this world of care and change,
Though Fancy every prospect gild,
Or Fortune write each wish fulfilled,
Still, pausing 'mid our varied track,
To childhood's realm we turn us back,
And wider as the hand of time
Removes us from that sunny clime,
And nearer as our footsteps urge
To weary life's extremest verge,
With fonder smile, with brighter beam,
Its far-receding landscapes gleam,
And closer to the withered breast,
Its renovated charms are prest.
And thus the stream, as on it flows,
'Neath summer-suns, or wintry snows,
Through vale, or maze, or desert led,
Untiring tells its pebbly bed,
How passing sweet the buds that first
Upon its infant marge were nurst,
How rich the violet's breath perfumed,
That near its cradle-fountain bloomed,
And deems no skies were e'er so fair
As kindled o'er its birth-place there.
'Neath summer-suns, or wintry snows,
Through vale, or maze, or desert led,
Untiring tells its pebbly bed,
How passing sweet the buds that first
Upon its infant marge were nurst,
How rich the violet's breath perfumed,
That near its cradle-fountain bloomed,
And deems no skies were e'er so fair
As kindled o'er its birth-place there.
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