Fly Leaves — The Schoolmaster

THE SCHOOLMASTER

ABROAD WITH HIS SON.

O WHAT harper could worthily harp it, Mine Edward!

this wide-stretching wold (Look out _wold_) with its wonderful carpet Of emerald, purple, and gold!

Look well at it—also look sharp, it Is getting so cold.

The purple is heather (_erica_);

The yellow, gorse—call’d sometimes “whin.

” Cruel boys on its prickles might spike a Green beetle as if on a pin.

You may roll in it, if you would like a Few holes in your skin.

You wouldn’t?

Then think of how kind you Should be to the insects who crave Your compassion—and then, look behind you At you barley-ears!

Don’t they look brave As they undulate—(_undulate_, mind you, From _unda_, _a wave_).

The noise of those sheep-bells, how faint it Sounds here—(on account of our height)!

And this hillock itself—who could paint it, With its changes of shadow and light?

Is it not—(never, Eddy, say “ain’t it”)— A marvellous sight?

Then yon desolate eerie morasses, The haunts of the snipe and the hern— (I shall question the two upper classes On _aquatiles_, when we return)— Why, I see on them absolute masses Of _filix_ or fern.

How it interests e’en a beginner (Or _tiro_) like dear little Ned!

Is he listening?

As I am a sinner He’s asleep—he is wagging his head.

Wake up!

I’ll go home to my dinner, And you to your bed.

The boundless ineffable prairie;

The splendour of mountain and lake With their hues that seem ever to vary;

The mighty pine-forests which shake In the wind, and in which the unwary May tread on a snake;

And this wold with its heathery garment— Are themes undeniably great.

But—although there is not any harm in’t— It’s perhaps little good to dilate On their charms to a dull little varmint Of seven or eight.