Childish Recollections
'I
cannot
but
remember
such
things
were,
And
were
most
dear
to
me.'
WHEN
slow
Disease,
with
all
her
host
of
pains,
Chills
the
warm,
tide
which
flows
along
the
veins
When
Health,affrighted,
spreads
her
rosy
wing,
And
flies
with
every
changing
gale
of
spring;
Not
to
the
aching
frame
alone
confined,
Unyielding
pangs
avail
the
drooping
mind:
What
grisly
forms,
the
spectre-train
of
woe,
Bid
shuddering
Nature
shrink
beneath
the
blow
With
Resignaion
wage
relentless
strife,
While
Hope
retires
appall'd,
and
clings
to
life!
Yet
less
the
pang
when,
through
the
tedious
hour,
Remembrance
sheds
around
her
genial
power,
Calls
back
the
vanish'd
days
to
rapture
given,
When
love
was
bliss,
and
Beauty
form'd
our
heaven;
Or,
dear
to
youth,
portrays
each
childish
scene,
Those
farry
bowers,
where
all
in
turn
have
been.
As
when
through
clouds
that
pour
the
sumrner
storm
The
orb
of
day
unveils
his
distant
form,
Gilds
with
faiht
beams
the
crystal
dews
of
rain,
And
dimly
twinkles
o'er
the
watery
plain;
Thus,
while
the
future
dark
and
cheerless
gleams
The
sun
of
memory,
glowing
through
my
drearns
Though
sunk'
the
radiance
of
his
former
blaze,
To
scenes
far
distant
points
his
paler
rays;
Still
rules
my
senses
with
unbounded
sway,
The
past
confounding
with
the
present
day.
Oft
does
my
heart
indulge
the
rising
thought,
Which
still
recurs,
uniook'd
for
and
Unsought
My
soul
to
Fancy's
fond
suggestion
yields,
And
roams
romantic
o'er
her
airy
fields.
Scenes
of
my
youth,
developed,
crowd
to
view,
To
which
I
long
have
bade
a
last
adieu!
Seats
of
delight,
inspiring
youthful
themes;
Friends
lost
to
me
for
aye,
except
in
dreams;
Some
who
in
marble
prematurely
sleep.
Whose
forms
I
now
remember
but
to
weep;
Some
who
yet
urge
the
same
scholastic
course
Of
early
science,
future
fame
the
source;
Who,
still
contending
in
the
studious
race,
In
quick
rotation
fill
the
senior
place.
These
with
a
thousand
visions
now
unite,
To
dazzle,
though
they
please,
my
aching
sight
Ida
blest
spot,
where
science
holds
her
reign,
How
joyous
once
I
join'd
thv
youthful
train!
Bright
in
idea
gleams
thy
lofty
spire,
Again
I
mingle
with
thy
playful
quire;
Our
tricks
of
mischief,
every
childish
game,
Unchanged
by
time
or
distance,
seem
the
same.
Through
winding
paths
along
the
glade,
I
trace
The
social
smile
of
every
welcome
face;
My
wonted
haunts,
my
scenes
of
joy
and
woe,
Each
early
boyish
friend,
or
youthful
foe,
Our
feuds
dissolved,
but
not
my
friendship
past,-
I
bless
the
former
and
forgive
the
last.
Hours
of
my
youth!
when,
nurtured
in
my
breast,
To
love
a
stranger,
friendship
made
me
blest
Friendship,
the
dear
peculiar
bond
of
youth
When
every
artless
bosom
throbs
with
truth
Untaught
my
worldly
wisdom
how
to
feign,
And
check
each
impulse
with
prudential
rein;
When
all
we
feel,
our
honest
souls
disclose
In
love
to
friends,
in
open
hate
to
toes;
No
varnish'd
tales
the
lips
of
youth
repeat,
No
dear-bought
knowledge
purchased
by
deceit,
Hypocrisy,
the
gift
of
lengthen'd
years,
Matured
by
age,
the
garb
of
prudence
wears.
When
now
the
boy
is
ripen'd
into
man,
His
careful
sire
chalks
forth
some
wary
plan;
Instructs
his
son
from
candour's
path
to
shrink,
Smoothly
to
speak,
and
cauautiously
to
think;
Still
to
assent,
and
never
to
deny
-
A
patron's
praise
can
well
reward
the
lie:
And
who,
when
Fortune's
warning
voice
is
heard,
Would
lose
his
opening
prospects
for
a
word,
Although
against
that
word
his
heart
rebel,
And
truth
indignant
all
his
bosom
swell.
Away
with
themes
like
this!
not
mine
the
task
From
flattering
friends
to
tear
the
hateful
mask;
Let
keener
bards
delight
in
satire's
sting;
My
fancy
soars
not
on
Detraction's
wing:
Once,
and
but
once,
she
aim'd
a
deadly
blow,
To
hurl
defiance
on
a
secret
foe;
But
when
that
foe,
from
feeling
or
from
shame,
The
cause
unknown,
yet
still
to
me
the
same,
Warn'd
by
some
friendly
hint,
perchance,
retired,
With
this
submission
all
her
rage
expired.
From
dreaded
pangs
that
feeble
foe
to
save,
She
hush'd
her
young
resentment,
and
forgave;
Or,
my
muse
a
pedant's
portrait
drew,
POMPOSUS'
virtues
are
but
known
to
few:
I
never
fear'd
the
young
usurper's
nod,
And
he
who
wields
must
sometimes
feel
the
rod.
If
since
on
Granta's
failings,
known
to
all
Who
share
the
converse
of
a
college
hall,
She
sometimes
trifled
in
a
lighter
strain,
'Tis
past,
and
thus
she
will
not
sin
again;
Soon
must
her
early
song
for
ever
cease,
And
all
may
rsii
when
I
shall
rest
in
peace.
Here
first
remember'd
be
the
joyous
band,
Who
hail'd
me
chief,
obedient
to
command;
Who
join'd
with
rne
in
every
boyish
sport
-
Their
first
adviser,
and
their
last
resort;
Nor
shrunk
beneath
the
upstart
pedant's
frown,
Or
all
the
sable
glories
of
his
gown;
Who,
thus
transplanted
from
his
father's
school
-
Unfit
to
govern,
ignorant
of
rule
-
Succeeded
him,
whom
all
unite
to
praise,
The
dear
preceptor
of
my
early
days!
PROBUS,
the
pride
of
science,and
the
boast,
To
IDA
now,
alas!
for
ever
lost,
With
him,
for
years,
we
search'd
the
classic
page,
And
fear'd
the
master,
though
we
loved
the
sage:
Retired
at
last'
his
small
yet
peacefull
seat
From
learning's
labour
is
the
blest
retreat,
POMPOSUS
fills
his
magisterial
chair;
POMPOSUS
governs,-
but,
my
muse,
forbear:
Contempt,
in
silence,
be
the
pedant's
lot;
His
name
and
precepts
be
alike
forgot;
No
more
his
mention
shall
my
verse
degrade
To
him
my
tribute
is
already
paid.
High
through
those
elms,
with
hoary
branches
crown'd,
Fair
Ida's
bower
adorns
the
landscape
round;
There
Science,
from
her
favour'd
seat,
surveys
The
vale
where
rural
Nature
claims
her
praise;
To
her
awhile
resigns
her
youthful
train,
Who
move
in
joy,
and
dance
along
the
plain.
In
scatter'd
groups
each
favour'd
haunt
pursue,
Repeat
old
pastimes,
and
discover
new;
Flush'd
with
his
rays,
beneath
the
noon-tide
sun,
In
rival
bands,
between
the
wickets
run,
Drive
o'er
the
sward
the
ball
with
active
force,
Or
chase
with
nimble
feet
its
rapid
course.
But
these
with
slower
steps
direct
their
way,
Where
Brent's
cool
waves
in
limpid
currents
stray;
While
yonder
few
search
out
some
green
retreat
And
arbours
shade
them
from
the
summer
heat:
Others,
again,
a
pert
and
lively
crew,
Some
rough
and
thoughtless
stranger
placed
in
view,
With
frolic
quaint
their
antic
jests
expose,
And
tease
the
grumbling
rustic
as
he
goes;
Nor
rest
with
this,
but
many
a
passing
fray
Tradition
treasures
for
a
future
day:
'Twas
here
the
gather'd
swains
for
vengeance
fought,
And
here
we
earn'd
the
conquest
dearly
bought;
Here
have
we
fled
before
superior
might,
And
here
renew'd
the
wild
tumultuous
fight.'
While
thus
our
souls
with
early
passions
swell
In
lingering
tones
resounds
the
distant
bell,
Th'
allotted
hour
of
daily
sport
is
o'er,
And
Learning
beckons
from
her
temple's
door.
No
splendid
tablets
grace
her
simple
hall,
But
ruder
records
fill
the
dusky
wall;
There,
deeply
carved,
behold!
each
tyro's
name
Secures
its
owner's
academic
fame;
Here
mingling
view
the
names
of
sire
and
son
-
The
one
long
graved,
the
other
just
begun:
These
shall
survive
alike
when
son
and
sire
Beneath
one
common
stroke
of
fate
expire;
Perhaps
their
last
memorial
these
alone,
Denied
in
death
a
monumental
stone,
Whilst
to
the
gale
in
mournful
cadence
wave
The
sighing
weeds
that
hide
their
nameless
grave.
And
here
my
name,
and
many
an
early
friend's,
Along
the
wall
in
lengthen'd
line
extends.
Though
still
our
deeds
amuse
the
youthful
race,
Who
tread
our
steps,
and
fill
our
former
place,
Who
young
obey'd
their
lords
in
silent
awe,
Whose
nod
commanded,
and
whose
voice
was
law;
And
now,
in
turn,
possess
the
reins
of
power,
To
rule,
the
little
tyrants
of
an
hour;
Though
sometimes,
with
the
tales
of
ancient
day,
They
pass
the
dreary
winter's
eve
away
--
'And
thus
our
former
rulers
stemm'd
the
tide,
And
thus
they
dealt
the
combat
side
by
side;
Just
in
this
place
the
mouldering
walls
they
scaled,
Nor
bolts
nor
bars
against
their
strength
avail'd;
Here
PROBUS
came,
the
rising
fray
to
quell,
And
here
he
falter'd
forth
his
last
farewell;
And
here
one
night
abroad
they
dared
to
roam,
While
bold
POMPOSUS
bravely
stay'd
at
home;'
While
thus
they
speak,
the
hour
must
soon
arrive,
When
names
of
these,
like
ours,
alone
survive:
Yet
a
few
years,
one
general
wreck
will
whelm
The
faint
remembrance
of
our
fairy
realm.
Dear
honest
race!
though
now
we
meet
no
more,
One
last
long
look
on
what
we
were
before
--
Our
first
kind
greetings,
and
our
last
adieu
-
Drew
tears
from
eyes
unused
to
weep
with
you.
Through
splendid
circles,
fashion's
gaudy
world,
Where
folly's
glaring
standard
waves
unfurl'd,
I
plunged
to
drown
in
noise
my
fond
regret,
And
all
I
sought
or
hoped
was
to
forget.
Vain
wish!
if
chance
some
well-remember'd
face,
Some
old
companion
of
my
early
race,
Advanced
to
claim
his
friend
with
honest
joy,
My
eyes,
my
heart,
proclaim'd
me
still
a
boy;
The
glittering
scene,
the
fluttering
groups
around'
Were
quite
forgotten
when
my
friend
was
found;
The
smiles
of
beauty--(for,
alas!
I've
known
What
'tis
to
bend
before
Love's
mighty
throne)--
The
smiles
of
beauty,
though
those
smiles
were
dear,
Could
hardly
charm
me,
when
that
friend
was
near;
My
thoughts
bewilder'd
in
the
fond
surprise,
The
woods
of
IDA
danced
before
my
eyes;
I
saw
the
sprightly
wand'rers
pour
along,
I
saw
and
join'd
again
the
joyous
throng;
Panting,
again
I
traced
her
lofty
grove,
And
friendship's
feelings
triumph'd
over
love.
Yet
why
should
I
alone
with
such
delight
Retrace
the
circuit
of
my
former
flight?
Is
there
no
cause
beyond
the
common
claim
Endear'd
to
all
in
childhood's
very
name?
Ah!
sure
some
stronger
impulse
vibrates
here,
Which
whispers
friendship
will
be
doubly
dear
To
one
who
thus
for
kindred
hearts
must
roam,
And
seek
abroad
the
love
denied
at
home.
Those
hearts,
dear
IDA,
have
I
found
in
thee--
A
home,
a
worid,
a
paradise
to
me.
Stern
Death
forbade
my
orphan
youth
to
share
The
tender
guidance
of
a
father's
care.
Can
rank,
or
e'en
a
guardian's
name
supply
The
love
which
glistens
in
a
father's
eye?
For
this
can
wealth
or
title's
sound
atone,
Made,
by
a
parent's
early
loss,
my
own?
What
brother
springs
a
brother's
love
to
seek?
What
sister's
gentle
kiss
has
prest
my
cheek?
For
me
how
dull
the
vacant
moments
rise,
To
no
fond
bosom
link'd
by
kindred
ties!
Oft
in
the
progress
of
some
fleeting
dream
Fraternal
smiles
collected
round
me
seem;
While
still
the
visions
to
my
heart
are
prest,
The
voice
of
love
will
murmur
in
my
rest:
I
hear-I
wake-and
in
the
sound
rejoice;
I
hear
again,-but,
ah!
no
brother's
voice.
A
hermit,
'midst
of
crowds,
I
fain
must
stray
Alone,
though
thousand
pilgrims
fill
the
way;
While
these
a
thousand
kindred
wreaths
entwine
I
cannot
call
one
single
blossom
mine:
What
then
remains?
in
solitude
to
groan,
To
mix
in
friendship,
or
to
sigh
alone.
Thus
must
I
cling
to
some
endearing
hand,
And
none
more
dear
than
IDA'S
social
band.
Alonzo!
best
and
dearest
of
my
friends,
Thy
name
ennobles
him
who
thus
commends;
From
this
fond
tribute
thou
canst
gain
no
praise;
The
praise
as
his
who
now
that
tribute
pays.
Oh!
in
the
promise
of
thy
early
youth,
If
hope
anticipate
the
words
of
truth,
Some
loftier
bard
shall
sing
thy
glorious
name,
To
build
his
own
upon
thy
deathless
fame.
Friend
of
my
heart,
and
foremost
of
the
list
Of
those
with
whom
I
lived
supremely
blest,
Oft
have
we
drain'd
the
font
of
ancient
lore;
Though
drinking
deeply,
thirsting
still
the
more.
Yet,
when
confinement's
lingering
hour
was
done,
Our
sports,
our
studies,
and
our
souls
were
one:
Together
we
impell'd
the
flying
ball;
Together
waited
in
our
tutor's
hall;
Together
join'd
in
cricket's
manly
toil,
Or
shared
the
produce
of
the
river's
spoil;
Or,
plunging
from
the
green
declining
shore,
Our
pliant
limbs
the
buoyant
billows
bore;
In
every
element,
unchanged,
the
same,
All,
all
that
brothers
should
be,
but
the
name.
Nor
yet
are
you
forgot,
my
jocund
boy!
DAVUS,
the
harbinger
of
childish
joy;
For
ever
foremost
in
the
ranks
of
fun,
The
laughing
herald
of
the
harmless
pun;
Yet
with
a
breast
of
such
materials
made--
Anxious
to
please,
of
pleasing
half
afraid;
Candid
and
liberal,
with
a
heart
of
steel
In
danger's
path,
though
not
untaught
to
feel.
Sill
I
remember,
in
the
factious
strife,
The
rustic's
musket
aim'd
against
my
life:
High
pois'd
in
air
the
massy
weapon
hung,
A
cry
of
horror
burst
from
every
tongue;
Whilst
I,
in
combat
with
another
foe,
Fought
on,
unconscious
of
th'
impending
blow;
Your
arm,
brave
boy,
arrested
his
career--
Forward
you
sprung,
insensible
to
fear;
Disarm'd
and
baffled
by
your
conquering
hand,
Thc
grovelling
savage
roll'd
upon,the
sand:
An
act
like
this,
can
simple
thanks
repay?
Or
all
the
labours
of
a
grateful
lay?
Oh
no!
whene'er
my
breast
forgets
the
deed,
That
instant,
DAVUS,
it
deserves
to
bleed.
LYCUS!
on
me
thy
claims
are
justly
great:
Thy
milder
virtues
could
my
muse
relate,
To
thee
alone,
unrivall'd
would
belong.
The
feeble
efforts
of
my
lengthen'd
song.
Well
canst
thou
boast,
to
lead
in
senates
fit,
A
Spartan
firmness
with
Athenian
wit:
Though
yet
in
embryo
these
perfections
shine,
Lycus!
thy
father's
fame
will
soon
be
thine.
Where
learning
nurtures
the
superior
mind,
What
may
we
hope
from
genius
thus
re
fined!
When
time
at
length
matures
thy
growing
years,
How
wilt
thou
tower
above
thy
fellow
peers!
Prudence
and
sense,
a
spirit
bold
and
free,
With
honour's
soul,
united
beam
in
thee.
Shall
fair
EURYALUS
pass
by
unsung?
From
ancient
lineage,
not
unworthy
sprung:
What
though
one
sad
dissension
bade
us
part?
That
name
is
yet
embalm'd
within
my
heart;
Yet
at
the
mention
does
that
heart
rebound,
And
palpitate,
responsive
to
the
sound.
Envy
dissolved
our
ties,
and
not
our
will:
We
once
were
friends,
--I'll
think
we
are
so
still.
A
form
unmatch'd
in
nature's
partial
mould,
A
heart
untainted,
we
in
thee
behold:
Yet
not
the
senate's
thunder
thou
shalt
wield,
Nor
seek
for
glory
in
the
tented
field;
To
minds
of
ruder
texture
these
be
given--
Thy
soul
shall
nearer
soar
its
native
heaven.
Haply,
in
polish'd
courts
might
be
thy
seat,
But
that
thy
tongue
could
never
forge
deceit:
The
courtier's
supple
bow
and
sneering
smile,
The
flow
of
compliment,
the
slippery
wile,
Would
make
that
breast
with
indignation
burn,
And
all
the
glittering
snares
to
tempt
thee
spurn.
Domestic
happiness
will
stamp
thy
fate;
Sacred
to
love,
unclouded
e'er
by
hate;
The
world
admire
thee,
and
thy
friends
adore;
Ambition's
slave
alone
would
toil
for
more.
Now
last,
but
nearest
of
the
social
band,
See
honest,
open,
generous
CLEON
stand;
With
scarce
one
speck
to
cloud
the
pleasing
scene,
No
vice
degrades
that
purest
soul
serene.
On
the
same
day
our
studious
race
begun,
On
the
same
day
our
studious
race
was
run;
Thus
side
by
side
we
pass'd
our
first
career,
Thus
side
by
side
we
strove
for
many
a
year;
At
last
concluded
our
scholastic
life,
We
neither
conquer'd
in
the
classic
strife:
As
speakers
each
supports
an
equal
name,
And
crowds
allow
to
both
a
partial
fame:
To
soothe
a
youthful
rival's
early
pride,
Though
Cleon's
candour
would
the
palm
divide,
Yet
candour's
self
compels
me
now
to
own
Justice
awards
it
to
my
friend
alone.
Oh!
friends
regretted,
scenes
for
ever
dear,
Remembrance
hails
you
with
her
warmest
tear!
Drooping,
she
bends
o'er
pensive
Fancy's
urn,
To
trace
the
hours
which
never
can
return;
Yet
with
the
retrospection
loves
to
dwell,
And
soothe
the
sorrows
of
her
last
farewell!
Yet
greets
the
triumph
of
my
boyish
mind,
As
infant
laurels
round
my
head
were
twined,
When
PROBUS'
praise
repaid
my
lyric
song,
Or
placed
me
higher
in
the
studious
throng;
Or
when
my
first
harangue
received
applause,
His
sage
instruction
the
primeval
cause,
What
gratitude
to
him
my
soul
posseat,
While
hope
of
dawning
honours
fill'd
my
breast!
For
all
my
humble
fame,
to
him
alone
The
praise
is
due,
who
made
that
fame
my
own.
Oh!
could
I
soar
above
these
feeble
lays,
These
young
effusions
of
my
early
days,
To
him
my
muse
her
noblest
strain
would
give:
The
song
might
perish,
but
the
theme
might
live.
Yet
why
for
him
the
needless
verse
essay?
His
honour'd
name
requires
no
vain
display:
By
every
son
of
grateful
IDA
blest,
It
finds
an
echo
in
each
youthful
breast;
A
fame
beyond
the
glories
of
the
proud,
Or
all
the
plaudits
of
the
venal
crowd.
IDA!
not
yet
exhausted
is
the
theme,
Nor
closed
the
progress
of
my
youthful
dream.
How
many
a
friend
deserves
the
grateful
strain!
What
scenes
of
childhood
still
unsung
remain!
Yet
let
me
hush
this
echo
of
the
past,
This
parting
song,
the
dearest
and
the
last;
And
brood
in
secret
o'er
those
hours
of
joy,
To
me
a
silent
and
a
sweet
employ,
While
future
hope
and
fear
alike
unknown,
I
think
with
pleasure
on
the
past
alone;
Yes
to
the
past
alone
my
heart
confine,
And
chase
the
phantom
of
what
once
was
mine.
IDA!
still
o'er
thy
hills
in
joy
preside,
And
proudly
steer
through
time's
eventful
tide;
Still
may
thy
blooming
sons
thy
name
revere,
Smile
in
thy
bower,
but
quit
thee
with
a
tear,-
That
tear,
perhaps,
the
fondest
which
will
flow,
O'er
their
last
scene
of
happiness
below.
Tell
me,
ye
hoary
few,
who
glide
along,
The
feeble
veterans
of
some
former
throng,
Whose
friends,
like
autumn
leaves
by
tempests
whirl'd,
Are
swept
for
ever
from
this
busy
world;
Revolve
the
fleeting
moments
of
your
youth,
While
Care
has
yet
withheld
her
venom'd
tooth;
Say
if
remembrance
days
like
these
endears
Beyond
the
rapture
of
succeeding
years?
Say,
can
ambition's
fever'd
dream
bestow
So
sweet
a
balm
to
soothe
your
hours
of
woe?
Can
treasures,
hoarded
for
some
thankless
son,
Can
royal
smiles,
or
wreaths
by
slaughter
won,
Can
stars
or
ermine,
man's
maturer
toys
(For
glittering
baubles
are
not
left
to
boys),
Recall
one
scene
so
much
beloved
to
view,
As
those
where
Youth
her
garland
twined
for
you?
Ah,
no!
amidst
the
gloomy
calm
of
age
You
turn
with
faltering
hand
life's
varied
page;
Peruse
the
record
of
your
days
on
earth,
Unsullied
only
where
it
marks
your
birth;
Still
lingering
pause
above
each
chequer'd
leaf,
And
blot
with
tears
the
sable
lines
of
grief;
Where
passion
o'er
the
theme
her
mantle
threw,
Or
weeping
Virtue
sigh'd
a
faint
adieu;
But
bless
the
scroll
which
fairer
words
adorn,
Traced
by
the
rosy
finger
of
the
morn;
When
Friendship
bow'd
before
the
shrine
of
Truth,
And
Love
without
his
pinion,
smiled
on
Youth.
