The schoolmaster is termed, classically, Ludi Magister, because he deprives boys of their play.

The Book of Books Within this ample volume lies The mystery of mysteries. Happiest they of human race To whom their God has given grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, to force the way; But better had they ne'er been born That read to doubt or read to scorn.

I will tear this folly from my heart, though every fibre bleed as I rend it away!

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.

My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee.

Welcome as the flowers in May.

Breathes there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land.