And deep his Seven-Dial cellar lies,
Killed by kind cudgel-play, or gin of proof,
Or climbeth, catwise, on some London roof,
Singing, perchance, a lay of Erin's Isle,

Or, whilst he labours, weaves a fancy-woof,
Dreaming he sees his home,--his Phelim smile;
Ah me! that luckless imp, who weepeth all the while!

XVII.

Ah! who can paint that hard and heavy time,
When first the scholar lists in learning's train,
And mounts her rugged steep, enforc'd to climb,
Like sooty imp, by sharp posterior pain,
From bloody twig, and eke that Indian cane,
Wherein, alas! no sugar'd juices dwell?
For this, the while one stripling's sluices drain,
Another weepeth over chilblains fell,
lways upon the heel, yet never to be well!

XVIII.

Anon a third, for his delicious root,

Late ravish'd from his tooth by elder chit,
So soon is human violence afoot,

So hardly is the harmless biter bit!

Meanwhile, the tyrant, with untimely wit

And mouthing face, derides the small one's moan, Who, all lamenting for his loss, doth sit, Alack,-mischance comes seldom times alone, Eut aye the worried dog must rue more curs than one.

XIX.

For lo! the Pedagogue, with sudden drub,
Smites his scald head, that is already sore,-
Superfluous wound,-such is Misfortune's rub!
Who straight makes answer with redoubled roar.
And sheds salt tears twice faster than before,

That still, with backward fist, he strives to dry; Washing, with brackish moisture, o'er and o'er, His muddy cheek, that grows more foul thereby, Till all his rainy face looks grim as rainy sky.

XX.

So Dan, by dint of noise, obtains a peace, And with his natural untender knack, By new distress, bids former grievance cease, Like tears dried up with rugged huckaback, That sets the mournful visage all awrack; Yet soon the childish countenance will shine Even as thorough storms the soonest slack, For grief and beef in adverse ways incline, This keeps, and that decays, when duly soak'd in brine.

XXI.

Now all is hushed, and, with a look profound,

The Dominie lays ope the learned page;

(So be it called) although he doth expound
Without a book, both Greek and Latin sage;
Now telleth he of Rome's rude infant age,
How Romulus was bred in savage wood,
By wet-nurse wolf, devoid of wolfish rage;
And laid foundation-stone of walls of mud,
But watered it, alas! with warm fraternal blood.

XXII.

Anon, he turns to that Homeric war,

How Troy was sieged like Londonderry town;
And stout Achilles, at his jaunting-car,
Dragged mighty Hector with a bloody crown:
And eke the bard, that sung of their renown,
In garb of Greece most beggar-like and torn,
He paints, with colly, wand'ring up and down:
Because, at once, in seven cities born;
And so, of parish rights, was, all his days, forlorn.

XXIII.

Anon, through old Mythology he goes,
Of gods defunct, and all their pedigrees,
But shuns their scandalous amours, and shows
How Plato wise, and clear-ey'd Socrates,
Confess'd not to those heathen hes and shes;
But thro' the clouds of the Olympic cope
Beheld St. Peter, with his holy keys,

And own'd their love was naught, and bow'd to Pope. Whilst all their purblind race in Pagan mist did grope.

XXIV.

From such quaint themes he turns, at last, aside,

To new philosophies, that still are green,

And shows what rail-roads have been track'd to guide

The wheels of great political machine;

If English corn should grow abroad, I ween,
And gold be made of gold, or paper sheet;

How many pigs be born to each spalpeen;

And ah! how man shall thrive beyond his meat,— With twenty souls alive, to one square rod of peat !

XXV.

Here, he makes end; and all the fry of youth,
That stood around with serious look intense,
Close up again their gaping eyes and mouth,
Which they had opened to his eloquence,
As if their hearing were a threefold sense;
But now the current of his words is done,
And whether any fruits shall spring from thence
In future time, with any mother's son !
It is a thing, God wot! that can be told by none,

XXVI.

Now by the creeping shadows of the noon,
The hour is come to lay aside their lore;

N

The cheerful Pedagogue perceives it soon,
And cries, "Begone!" unto the imps, -and four
Snatch their two hats, and struggle for the door,
Like ardent spirits vented from a cask,

All blythe and boisterous,—but leave two more,
With Reading made Uneasy for a task,

To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine bask,

XXVII

Like sportive Elfins, on the verdant sod, With tender moss so sleekly overgrown, That doth not hurt, but kiss, the sole unshod, So soothly kind is Erin to her own! And one, at Hare and Hound, plays all alone,For Phelim's gone to tend his step-dame's cow; Ah! Phelim's step-dame is a canker'd crone ! Whilst other twain play at an Irish row, And, with shillelah small, break one another's brow!

XXVIII

But careful Dominie, with ceaseless thrift,
Now changeth ferula for rural hoe;
But, first of all, with tender hand doth shift
His college gown, because of solar glow,
And hangs it on a bush, to scare the crow:
Meanwhile, he plants in earth the dappled bean,
Or trains the young potatoes all a-row,

Or plucks the fragrant leek for pottage green, With that crisp curly herb, call'd Kale in Aberdeen.

XXIX.

And so he wisely spends the fruitful hours,
Link'd each to each by labour, like a bee;

Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bow'rs ;—
Would there were many more such wights as he,
To sway each capital academie

Of Cam and Isis; for, alack! at each

There dwells, I wot, some dronish Dominie,

That does no garden work, nor yet doth teach, But wears a floury head, and talks in flow'ry speech!

TO A FALSE FRIEND.

OUR hands have met, but not our hearts;

Our hands will never meet again.

Friends, if we have ever been,
Friends we cannot now remain :
I only know I loved you once,
I only know I loved in vain;

Our hands have met, but not our hearts;
Our hands will never meet again!

Then farewell to heart and hand!
I would our hands had never met:
Even the outward form of love
Must be resign'd with some regret.
Friends, we still might seem to be,
If I my wrong could e'er forget;

Our hands have join'd, but not our hearts;
I would our hands had never met!

ODE

AUTUMN.

I SAW Old Autumn in the misty morn
Stand shadowless like Silence, listening
To silence, for no lonely bird would sing
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn,