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 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 can the bird that is born for joy Sit in a cage and sing? How can a child, when fears annoy, But drehis tender wing. And forget the youthful spring!