I love to rise in a summer morn

    When the birds sing on every tree；

    The distant huntsman winds his horn，

    And the skylark sings with me.

    O！ what sweet company.

    But to go to school in a summer morn，

    O！ it drives all joy away；

    Under a cruel eye outworn，

    The little ones spend the day

    In sighing and dismay.

    Ah！ then at times I drooping² sit，

    And spend many an anxious hour，

    Nor in my book can I take delight，

    Nor sit in learning's bower³，

    Worn thro' with the dreary⁴ shower.

    How can the bird that is born for joy

    Sit in a cage and sing？

    How can a child， when fears annoy，

    But droop¹ his tender wing，

    And forget his youthful spring？

    O！ father and mother， if buds are nipp'd

    And blossoms blown away，

    And if the tender plants are stripp'd

    Of their joy in the springing day，

    By sorrow and care's dismay，

    How shall the summer arise in joy，

    Or the summer fruits appear？

    Or how shall we gather what griefs destroy，

    Or bless the mellowing⁵ year，

    When the blasts of winter appear？

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