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From “The Schoolmistress”
AH me! full sorely is my heart forlorn, | |
| To think how modest worth neglected lies, | |
| While partial Fame doth with her blasts adorn | |
| Such deeds alone as pride and pomp disguise; | |
| Deeds of ill sort, and mischievous emprise. | 5 |
| Lend me thy clarion, goddess! let me try | |
| To sound the praise of merit, ere it dies, | |
| Such as I oft have chauncèd to espy, | |
| Lost in the dreary shades of dull obscurity. | |
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| In every village marked with little spire, | 10 |
| Embowered in trees, and hardly known to fame, | |
| There dwells, in lowly shed and mean attire, | |
| A matron old, whom we Schoolmistress name; | |
| Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame: | |
| They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent, | 15 |
| Awed by the power of this relentless dame; | |
| And ofttimes, on vagaries idly bent, | |
| For unkempt air, or task unconned, are sorely shent. | |
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| And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, | |
| Which Learning near her little dome did stow, | 20 |
| Whilom a twig of small regard to see, | |
| Though now so wide its waving branches flow, | |
| And work the simple vassals mickle woe; | |
| For not a wind might curl the leaves that blew, | |
| But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse beat low; | 25 |
| And as they looked, they found their horror grew, | |
| And shaped it into rods, and tingled at the view. * * * * * | |
| Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, | |
| Emblem right meet of decency does yield: | |
| Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trowe, | 30 |
| As is the harebell that adorns the field: | |
| And in her hand, for sceptre, she does wield | |
| Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear entwined, | |
| With dark distrust, and sad repentance filled; | |
| And steadfast hate, and sharp affliction joined, | 35 |
| And fury uncontrolled, and chastisement unkind. | |
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| A russet stole was o’er her shoulders thrown; | |
| A russet kirtle fenced the nipping air: | |
| ’T was simple russet, but it was her own; | |
| ’T was her own country bred the flock so fair, | 40 |
| ’T was her own labor did the fleece prepare; | |
| And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around, | |
| Through pious awe, did term it passing rare; | |
| For they in gaping wonderment abound, | |
| And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground. | 45 |
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| Albeit ne flattery did corrupt her truth, | |
| Ne pompous title did debauch her ear; | |
| Goody, good-woman, gossip, n’aunt forsooth, | |
| Or dame, the sole additions she did hear; | |
| Yet these she challenged, these she held right dear: | 50 |
| Ne would esteem him act as mought behove, | |
| Who should not honor eld with these revere; | |
| For never title yet so mean could prove, | |
| But there was eke a mind which did that title love. * * * * * | |
| In elbow-chair (like that of Scottish stem, | 55 |
| By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced, | |
| In which, when he receives his diadem, | |
| Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is placed) | |
| The matron sat; and some with rank she graced, | |
| (The source of children’s and of courtiers’ pride!) | 60 |
| Redressed affronts,—for vile affronts there passed; | |
| And warned them not the fretful to deride, | |
| But love each other dear, whatever them betide. | |
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| Right well she knew each temper to descry, | |
| To thwart the proud, and the submiss to raise; | 65 |
| Some with vile copper-prize exalt on high, | |
| And some entice with pittance small of praise; | |
| And other some with baleful sprig she ’frays: | |
| Even absent, she the reins of power doth hold, | |
| While with quaint arts the giddy crowd she sways; | 70 |
| Forewarned, if little bird their pranks behold, | |
| ’T will whisper in her ear, and all the scene unfold. | |
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| Lo! now with state she utters her command; | |
| Eftsoons the urchins to their tasks repair, | |
| Their books of stature small they take in hand, | 75 |
| Which with pellucid horn securèd are, | |
| To save from finger wet the letters fair: | |
| The work so gay, that on their back is seen, | |
| Saint George’s high achievements does declare; | |
| On which thilk wight that has y-gazing been, | 80 |
| Kens the forthcoming rod,—unpleasing sight, I ween! * * * * * | |
| But now Dan Phœbus gains the middle sky, | |
| And Liberty unbars her prison door; | |
| And like a rushing torrent out they fly; | |
| And now the grassy cirque han covered o’er | 85 |
| With boisterous revel rout and wild uproar; | |
| A thousand ways in wanton rings they run. | |
| Heaven shield their short-lived pastimes, I implore; | |
| For well may freedom erst so dearly won | |
| Appear to British elf more gladsome than the sun. | 90 |
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