MOVING DOWN THE ROAD, BEYOND THE HOUSES, WE LOOK

BACK AT THE OLD SCHOOL, TO WHICH, WITH SHINING

MORNING FACES, THE YOUNG STILL CREEP UNWILLINGLY.

THERE IN THIS NOISY MANSION, SKILLED TO RULE,

THE VILLAGE MASTER TAUGHT HIS LITTLE SCHOOL;

A MAN SEVERE HE WAS, AND STERN TO VIEW;

WE KNEW HIM WELL, AND EVERY TRUANT KNEW;

WELL HAD THE BODING TREMBLERS LEARNED TO TRACE

THE DAYS DISASTERS IN HIS MORNING FACE;

YET HE WAS KIND, OR IF SEVERE IN OUGHT,

THE LOVE HE BORE TO LEARNING WAS IN FAULT,

BUT PAST IS ALL HIS FAME. THE VERY SPOT

WHERE MANY A TIME HE TRIUMPHED, IS FORGOT.