The School-Taught Youth.

His step was light, and his looks as bright      As the beams of the morning sun,     And his boyish dreams, as the rippling streams      That gently onward run,     Without a shock from rugged rock      To check their course of glee,     As they wound their way, day after day,      To their destin'd goal, the sea.     He had come from the schools brimful of rules,      His head and note-book cramm'd     With varied lore; from many a shore      Pack'd solid in, e'en jamm'd.     He'd learn'd a part of many an art,      Had studied mathematics,     And thought he knew how people grew,      In palaces or attics.     He'd scann'd the page of many a sage,      And did his mind adorn     With classic sweets, and varied treats,      Preserv'd ere he was born.     "And now," says he, "upon life's sea,      I'll steer my bark so truly;"     "She is," he thought, "so trim and taut,      She cannot prove unruly."     He look'd each morn, with cultur'd scorn      On homely barks beside him,     And pass'd them by right merrily,      Whenever he espied them.     "O do but note how well they float,"      An aged man did say;     He pass'd him by with flashing eye:      "I've mark'd me out my way."     "And did you see how easily      Those ships their helm obey'd,     When in that storm your vessel's form      So near the rocks was laid.     Young man so stern, you've yet to learn      That sailing on life's sea     Is not an art to get by heart,      Just like the rule of three.     "You'll have to know this 'fleeting show,'      Tho' fleeting it may be,     Requires tact to think and act,      That is not known to thee."     Thus the old man said, but this youth so read      In varied arts and lore,     Bent not his neck, but trod the deck,      And calmly look'd on shore.     But soon the shore was seen no more,      The sea, so calm, got troubl'd;     The billows wild, no more beguil'd,      But round him boil'd and bubbl'd.     The craft it sway'd; the boy, dismay'd,      Saw how she rode unsteady;     The helm in vain they tug and strain,      For storms she is not ready.     She pitch'd and toss'd; she's lost! she's lost!      For see the rocks beside her;     Each effort's vain; she's cleft in twain,      And now, O woe betide her!     The old man spoke, as through her broke      The cruel rocks around her.     "Advice was vain; you took the chain,      And helplessly you bound her.     "For all your store of varied lore,      Tho' guidance and defence,     Was quite in vain to stand the strain,      Like rocks of common sense."