The Schoolboy

I love to rise in a summer morn<br>
When the birds sing on every tree;<br>
The distant huntsman winds his horn,<br>
And the skylark sings with me.<br>
O! what sweet company!<br>
But to go to school on a summer morn,<br>
O! it drives all joy away;<br>
Under a cruel eye outworn,<br>
The little ones spend the day<br>
In sighing and dismay.<br>
Ah! then at times I drooping sit,<br>
And spend many an anxious hour,<br>
Nor in my book can I take delight,<br>
Nor sit in learning’s bower,<br>
Worn thro’ with the dreary shower.<br>
How can the bird that is born for joy<br>
Sit in a cage and sing?<br>
How can a child, when fears annoy,<br>
But droop his tender wing,<br>
And forget his youthful spring?<br>
O! father and mother, if buds are nipped<br>
And blossoms blown away,<br>
And if the tender plants are stripped<br>
Of their joy in the springing day,<br>
By sorrow and care’s dismay,<br>
How shall the summer arise in joy,<br>
Or the summer’s fruits appear?<br>
Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy,<br>
Or bless the mellowing year,<br>
When the blasts of winter appear?