Pictured in memory's mellowing glass, how sweet Our infant days, our infant joys, to greet; To roam in fancy in each cherish'd scene, The village churchyard, and the village green, The woodland walk remote, the greenwood glade, The mossy seat beneath the hawthorn shade, The whitewashed cottage, where the woodbine grew, And all the favourite haunts our childhood knew! How sweet, while all the evil shuns the gaze, To view the unclouded skies of former days! Beloved age of innocence and smiles, When each wing'd hour some new delight beguiles. When the gay heart, to life's sweet dayspring true, Still finds some insect pleasure to pursue. Bless'd Childhood, hail!--Thee simply will I sing, And from myself the artless picture bring; These long-lost scenes to me the past restore, Each humble friend, each pleasure now no more, And every stump familiar to my sight Recalls some fond idea of delight. This shrubby knoll was once my favourite seat; Here did I love at evening to retreat, And muse alone, till in the vault of night, Hesper, aspiring, show'd his golden light. Here once again, remote from human noise, I sit me down to think of former joys; Pause on each scene, each treasured scene, once more, And once again each infant walk explore, While as each grove and lawn I recognize, My melted soul suffuses in my eyes. And oh! thou Power, whose myriad trains resort To distant scenes, and picture, them to thought; Whose mirror, held unto the mourner's eye, Flings to his soul a borrow'd gleam of joy; Bless'd Memory, guide, with finger nicely true, Back to my youth my retrospective view; Recall with faithful vigour to my mind Each face familiar, each relation kind; And all the finer traits of them afford, Whose general outline in my heart is stored. In yonder cot, along whose mouldering walls In many a fold the mantling woodbine falls, The village matron kept her little school, Gentle of heart, yet knowing well to rule; Staid was the dame, and modest was her mien; Her garb was coarse, yet whole, and nicely clean; Her neatly border'd cap, as lily fair, Beneath her chin was pinn'd with decent care; And pendent ruffles, of the whitest lawn, Of ancient make, her elbows did adorn. Faint with old age, and dim were grown her eyes, A pair of spectacles their want supplies; These does she guard secure, in leathern case, From thoughtless wights, in some unweeted place. Here first I enter'd, though with toil and pain, The low vestibule of learning's fane; Enter'd with pain, yet soon I found the way, Though sometimes toilsome, many a sweet display. Much did I grieve on that ill fated morn When I was first to school reluctant borne; Severe I thought the dame, though oft she tried To soothe my swelling spirits when I sigh'd; And oft, when harshly she reproved, I wept, To my lone corner broken-hearted crept, And thought of tender home, where anger never kept.