I love to rise on a summer morn, When birds are singing on every tree; The distant huntsman winds his horn, And the skylark sings with me: Oh what sweet company! But to go to school in a summer morn, -- Oh 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 drooping sit, And spend many an anxious hour; Nor in my book can I take delight, Nor sit in learning's bower, Worn through with the dreary shower. How ...

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