THE YOUNG DESTRUCTIVE.
In truth, I do not wonder
To see them scatter’d round;
So many leaves of knowledge—
Some fruit must sure be found.
The Eton Latin Grammar
Has now its verbs declin’d;
And those of Lindley Murray
Are not so far behind.
Oh! days of bread and water—
How many I recall,
Past—sent into the corner;
Your face towards the wall.
Oh! boundaries of Europe!
Oh! rivers great and small!
Oh! islands, gulfs, and capitals!
How I abhorr'd ye all!
And then those dreadful tables
Of shillings, pence, and pounds!
Though I own their greater trouble
In after life abounds.
’Tis strange how memory lingers
About those early hours;
And we talk of happy childhood,
As if such had been ours.
But distance lends enchantment
To all we suffer’d then;
Thank Heaven, that I never
Can be a child again!
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