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Ye, knights of the blackboard, accustomed to

ponder The mysteries of Davies and awful Legendre, May part with your chalk and your problems pro

found, And, like Newton, make figures awhile on the

ground.

Ye Natural Philosophers, full of abstractions,
Of forces and courses, repulsions, attractions,
Your fine-jointed theories give over to batter,
And study a season in contact with matter.
The breezes will teach you Pneumatics forever,
And Hydraulics enough you can get in the River !

Ye disciples of Gummere, who carry the chain, May rove without Jacob's staffs over the plain; Protractors and compass aside you may lay, And freely the beauties of nature survey.

And O! ye poor wretches, forever who hammer At the persons, and moods, and hard cases of

grammar; Who have sighed over mysteries made only to

bother, And groaned interjections from one end to t'other ; Rejoice that your star at last mounts the ascendant, And you're in the “ nominative case independent !"

But why need we mention each class in its

order ? Let geographers study their own native border; ’Mongst the hills and sweet vales, where they wan

der so often, They'll find the best map in the world of old

Dauphin.

The historians may put up their books on their

shelves,
And enact a small history heroic themselves;
And the class in arithmetic close their review,
And

go

into PRACTICE and FELLOWSHIP too!

But why do we linger? no parting sigh Disturbs the joy of our glad good-bye! Good-bye to the books !—the eternal books, That have stood in our paths with threatening looks, And haunted our ever-aching sight, From dawning day to dusky night! Good-bye to the ring of the study-bell, Its morning chimes—ah, who can tell How oft they have thrilled through the heart of fun, And broken up games that were just begun ! Good-bye to lessons that split the head, Good-bye! to the blackboard dark and dread;

Good-bye! to Latin, Greek, and French,
Good-bye! to the recitation bench.
Big .G's the reward of studious zeal,
Long • F's' like a whip for the dunce to feel,
And • T's' that tardy tales will tell-
We bid you all at last farewell !

And now, boys, we'll try how a new scheme

will go,

Our study gymnastics, our school room below!
We'll work “Involution” upon a new rule,
Nor need “ Explanations” that come after school.
Such summersets there we shall know how to turn-
Politicians themselves may look on and learn.
And many a winding and intricate feat,
No lawyer in Harrisburg easy could beat.
The swing and the ladder, the quoits and the glove;
The jumping beneath, and the climbing above;
O! these are the lessons we'll study, nor fear
But each shall earn G's' of the biggest sort here!
And then when the fervors of noon have gone by,
Away to the sports of the river we'll hie;
And where Sol's evening splendours turn golden

the tide,
Our boats o'er the surface shall merrily glide;

Or plunging beneath the red billows that glow,
We'll sport in the depths of their coolness below.
And oft at the island, with angle and bait,
While nibbles are plenty, with patience we'll wait;
Or at night, with a spear and torch blazing ahead,
We'll startle the eels in their watery bed!
And then to the mountains we'll make a campaign,
And the rabbits and wood-chucks shall mourn o'er

their slain;
The squirrels shall suffer a terrible rout,
And no woodpecker dare from his hole to look out.
We'll find where the apples are mellow to eat,
Where the berties are thickest and earliest sweet,
Where the peach soonest ripens, where melons are

fine, And the clusters of wild grapes hang thick on the

vine. And over the mountain, and valley, and plain, As we rove with the breezes new vigour we'll gain, And the health that hard study had stolen before, The sports of vacation shall fully restore.

. And stronger, and brighter, and fresher than ever, We'll come from the forest, the field, and the river, To meet our old books in the desks where they've

lain, And grapple anew with hard study again.

TRANSLATIONS.

.

HORACE.BOOK 1. ODE XIII.

Oh Lydia, when you thoughtless speak

The praises of another,
And praise his form and glowing cheek,
Ah me! this jealous heart is weak,

Its bursting pain to smother!

Then reason drowned in passion's tide,

And pale brow clothed in mourning, And down these cheeks the tears that glide, Betray the grief that fain would hide,

In this sad bosom burning.

I've wept to see thy gentle form

In his too close embraces;
To see the track of passion's storm
On that dear lip, where kisses warm

Have left their burning traces.

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