And see how FORCED our fun!

Thy taws are brave!--thy tops are rare!--
OUR tops are spun with coils of care,
Our DUMPS are no delight!--
The Elgin marbles are but tame,
And 'tis at best a sorry game
To fly the Muse's kite!

Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead,
Our topmost joys fall dull and dead,
Like balls with no rebound!
And often with a faded eye
We look behind, and send a sigh
Toward that merry ground!

Then be contented. Thou hast got
The most of heaven in thy young lot;
There's sky-blue in thy cup!
Thou'lt find thy manhood all too fast--
Soon come, soon gone! and age at last
A sorry BREAKING UP!




SCHOOL AND SCHOOL-FELLOWS.
W. MACKWORTH PRAED.

Twelve years ago I made a mock