XXVI.

Now by the creeping shadows of the noon, The hour is come to lay aside their lore; The cheerful pedagogue perceives it soon, And cries, 'Begone!' unto the imps,--and four Snatch their two hats, and struggle for the door, Like ardent spirits vented from a cask, All blythe and boisterous,--but leave two more, With Reading made Uneasy for a task, To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine bask.