Past  and  future,  hence  away  !

Joy,  diffused  throughout  all  the  earth,

Centre  in  this  moment's  mirth

Of  ecstatic  holiday, :

Once  in  all  their  lives'  dark  story

Touch  them.  Fate !  with  April  glory  !

Mathiide  Blind.
452  A.   MARY  F.   ROBINSON.
THE  SCHOOL  CHILDREN.
These  at  least  are  clean  and  fresh,

All  I  wished  to  see  !
Hair  a  flaxen  flossy  mesh,

Waving  loose  and  free
Round  their  ruddy  English  flesh.
Now  at  last  they're  out  of  school,

Happy,  happy  time.
Now  a  truce  to  book  and  rule.
Task  in  prose  or  rhyme,
Thought  of  prize  or  dunce's  stool.
How  they  laugh  and  run  about !

What  if  now  and  then
Somewhat  overloud  a  shout

Reach  you  busier  men ;
Could  the  children  play  without  ?

What,  you  call  them  rude  and  rough,

Overprone  to  strife  ?
Still  I  find  them  good  enough

For  such  eager  life  ;
What  should  they  be  thinking  of?


A.    MARY  F.   ROBINSON.  453

Though  they  know  a  mint  of  things,

So  their  mothers  say,
Read  and  write,  and  rattle  strings

And  strings  of  dates  away,
Bible  judges,  English  kings,


I,  for  one,  should  never  dare

Such  a  gage  to  fate.
As  to  stand  with  any  there

Pouring  name  and  date.
Faster,  faster    .    .    .    O  despair !


That  one  passed  in  Euclid,  look !

This  can  draw  and  sing  !
And  the  girls,  I  think,  can  cook

Any  mortal  thing :
So  they  quote  their  cookery-book.
Ay — you  cry — too  much  they  know

For  their  lowlier  rank ;
Teach  them  but  to  plant  and  hoe,

But  to  beg  and  thank.
For  the  clown  needs  keeping  low.
Nay,  but  listen,  neighbour,  pray —

Once  a  Flemish  seer,
David  Joris,  so  they  say.
