Nor could they bear to wait from meal to meal, Did they not slily to the chamber steal, And there the produce of the basket seize, The mother's gift! still studious of their ease. Poor Alma, thus oppress'd forbears to rise, But rests or revels in the arms and thighs. "But is it sure that study will repay The more attentive and forbearing?"--Nay! The farm, the ship, the humble shop, have each Gains which severest studies seldom reach. At College place a youth, who means to raise His state by merit and his name by praise; Still much he hazards; there is serious strife In the contentions of a scholar's life: Not all the mind's attention, care, distress, Nor diligence itself, ensure success: His jealous heart a rival's powers may dread, Till its strong feelings have confused his head, And, after days and months, nay, years of pain, He finds just lost the object he would gain. But grant him this and all such life can give, For other prospects he begins to live; Begins to feel that man was form'd to look And long for other objects than a book: In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees, And farms and talks with farmers at his ease; And time is lost, till fortune sends him forth To a rude world unconscious of his worth; There in some petty parish to reside, The college boast, then turn'd the village guide: And though awhile his flock and dairy please, He soon reverts to former joys and ease, Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest, And speak of all the pleasures they possess'd, Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whom They shared those pleasures, never more to come; Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd, Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd. But fix our Scholar, and suppose him crown'd With all the glory gain'd on classic ground; Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd, And to his college all his care confined; Give him all honours that such states allow, The freshman's terror and the tradesman's bow; Let his apartments with his taste agree, And all his views be those he loves to see; Let him each day behold the savoury treat, For which he pays not, but is paid to eat; These joys and glories soon delight no more, Although, withheld, the mind is vex'd and sore; The honour too is to the place confined, Abroad they know not each superior mind: Strangers no wranglers in these figures see, Nor give they worship to a high degree; Unlike the prophet's is the scholar's case, His honour all is in his dwelling-place: And there such honours are familiar things; What is a monarch in a crowd of kings? Like other sovereigns he's by forms address'd, By statutes governed and with rules oppress'd. When all these forms and duties die away, And the day passes like the former day, Then of exterior things at once bereft, He's to himself and one attendant left; Nay, John too goes; nor aught of service more Remains for him; he gladly quits the door, And, as he whistles to the college-gate, He kindly pities his poor master's fate.