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,