Extract from the conclusion of a poem, composed in anticipation of leaving school

Dear native regions, may I ne\'er forget
That buoyant spirit, that ecstatic frame
The joy, the exultation, and the fret,
The strange half-pity, half-indignant shame
I felt when from my boyhood I was met
With the stern summons of the school-day game,
And the stern voice which bid me to forget
The fields and streams, and to return the same
As all besides, to the dull tasks of life,
And to the rule of my appointed place,
But not on my own will, or with my own strife,
The master's eye alone was on my face,
The master's voice alone my senses knew,
And I was blind to all that was in view,
And deaf to all that was in hearing, save
The sound of my own step, the rustling leaves,
Which played at my feet, and the chirping sound
Of the grasshoppers, which flew all around,
And the buzzing of the bees, and the low hum
Of the beetle, passing at my feet.
And all the while I kept my head bent down,
And my eyes fixed upon the dusty ground,
And my thoughts were in a dream, and my heart was full
Of a strange and wondrous sadness, and my soul
Was filled with a great and loving tenderness,
For all the things that were in the world.
And I was glad to be on my own way,
And to be on my own path, and to be on my own journey,
And to be on my own voyage, and to be on my own quest.
And I was glad to be on my own way,
And to be on my own path, and to be on my own journey,
And to be on my own voyage, and to be on my own quest.