American watchman and Delaware advertiser., 1827-03-02
From the London Literary Souuenir.

From the London Literary Souvenr.
By NH. t. HOOD.
Oh when was a tiny boy
My days and nights were full of JOY,
My mates we're blthe and kind -
No wonder that sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear drop from my eye,
To cast look behind!
A hoop was an eternal round
OF pleasure. In those days found
A top joyous thing;- -
But now those past delights drop.
My head, alas is all my top,
And careful thoughts the string.
My marbles--once my bag was stored,-
Now must play with Elgin's lord,
With Theseus for a saw
My playful horse has slipt his string,
Forgotten all his capering,
And harness'd to the law
NV kite-how fast and far il few.
Whilst !, sort of Franklin, drew
My pleasure from the sky!
Twas paper'd o'e- with studious themes,
The tasks wrote-my present dreams
Will never soar SO high!
My Joys are wingless all and dead.
My dumps are made of more than lead,
My flights soon find fall;
My fears prevail, my fances droop,
Joy never cometh with hoop.
And seldom with call
My footballs laid upon the shelf
l Am shuttecock myself
The world knocks TO and fro;-
My archery is all unlearn'd,
And grief against myself has turn'd
My arrows and my bow!
No more in noon,ide sun bask;
Ny authorships All endless task,
Nv head's ne 'cr out of school
My heart is pain'd with scorn and slight,
have too many foes to fight,
And friends grown strangely cool!
The very chum that shared my cake
Holds out SO cold hand to shake,
L. makes me shrink and sigh
On this will not dwell and hang,
The changeling would not feel pang
Though these should never meet his eye!
No skies SO blue, or so serene
As then mo leaves look half SO green
As clothed the playground tree
All thingsI loved are alterd 50.
Nor does it ease my heart 70 know
That change resides in me!
Oh, for the garb that mark d the boy.
The trowsers made of corduroy,
Well mixed with black and red:
The crowness hat, ne'er deem'd an ILL
II only let the sunshine still
Repose upon my head!
Oh. for the riband round the neck:
The careless dogs cars apt TO deck
My book and collar both
How can this formal man be styled
Merely all Alexantrine child,
boy of larger growth
oh, for that small, small beer anew
And (heaven's own type) that milk, sky-blue,
That washed my sweet meals down;
The master even land that small Turk
That fagg'd me worse is now my work
A fag for all the town!
oh, for the lesson learn'd by heart
Ay, though the very blrchs smart
Should mark those hours again;
I'D kiss the rod, and be resign'd
Beneath the stroke, and even find
Some sugar in the cane
The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed,
The Fairy Tales in school time read,
BY stealth, twixt verb and noun
The angel form that always walk'd
III all my dreams, and look'd and talk'd
Exactly like Miss Brown!
The on,ne bene-- Christmas come
The prize of merit, won for home
Merit had prizes then!
Hut now write for days and days.
For fame-a deal of empty praise
Without the silver pen!
Then home, sweet home the crowded COACH
The JOYOUS shout--the loud approach
The winding horns like rams!
The meeting sweet that made me thrill,
The sweetmeats almost sweeter still,
No salts to the 'jamsn--
When that was tiny boy
My days and nights were full of joy
NV mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that sometimes sigh,
And dash the teardrcp from my eye.
To cast look behind!
There is no class or professio
n who appear 10 the world to have so little