And there's the iron rod so high,
That drew the thunder from the sky
And turn'd our table-beer!


III.

There I was birch'd! 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 fruitless leaves to me!--


IV.

The summon'd 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!


V.

And Mrs. S----?--Doth she abet
(Like Pallas in the parlor) yet
Some favor'd two or three,--