Smitten by breezes from the land of plague, To me all vernal luxuries are fables, O! where's the SPRING in a rheumatic leg, Stiff as a table's? I limp in agony--I wheeze and cough; And quake with Ague, that great Agitator, Nor dream, before July, of leaving off My Respirator. What wonder if in May itself I lack A peg for laudatory verse to hang on?-- Spring, mild and gentle!--yes, a Spring-heeled Jack To those he sprang on. In short, whatever panegyrics lie In fulsome odes too many to be cited, The tenderness of Spring is all my eye, And that is blighted! ODE. ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPHAM ACADEMY. THOMAS HOOD. Ah me! those old familiar bounds! That classic house, those classic grounds, My pensive thought recalls! What tender urchins now confine, What little captives now repine, Within yon irksome walls! Ay, that's the very house! I know Its ugly windows, ten a row! Its chimneys in the rear! And there's the iron rod so high, That drew the thunder from the sky And turned our table-beer! There I was birched! there I was bred! There like a little Adam fed From Learning's woeful tree! The weary tasks I used to con!-- The hopeless leaves I wept upon!-- Most fruitful leaves to me! The summoned class!--the awful bow!-- I wonder who is master now And wholesome anguish sheds! How many ushers now employs, How many maids to see the boys Have nothing in their heads! And Mrs. S * * *?--Doth she abet (Like Pallas in the palor) yet Some favored two or three-- The little Crichtons of the hour, Her muffin-medals that devour, And swill her prize--bohea? Ay, there's the playground! there's the lime, Beneath whose shade in summer's prime So wildly I have read!-- Who sits there NOW, and skims the cream Of young Romance, and weaves a dream Of Love and Cottage-bread? Who struts the Randall of the walk? Who models tiny heads in chalk? Who scoops the light canoe? What early genius buds apace? Where's Poynter? Harris? Bowers? Chase! Hal Baylis? blithe Carew? Alack! they're gone--a thousand ways! And some are serving in "the Greys," And some have perished young!-- Jack Harris weds his second wife; Hal Baylis drives the WAYNE of life; And blithe Carew--is hung! Grave Bowers teaches A B C To Savages at Owhyee; Poor Chase is with the worms!-- All are gone--the olden breed!-- New crops of mushroom boys succeeds, "And push us from our FORMS!" Lo! where they scramble forth, and shout, And leap, and skip, and mob about, At play where we have played! Some hop, some run (some fall), some twine Their crony arms; some in the shine, And some are in the shade! Lo there what mixed conditions run! The orphan lad; the widow's son; And Fortune's favored care-- The wealthy born, for whom she hath Macadamized the future path-- The nabob's pampered heir!