Classic Poem

Our city's sons and daughters,
When old New York was new,
Explored Manhattan's waters
And hills and valleys, too,
For strong they were and ruddy
And made for sport and play;
And still they had to study,
As children must, today.
No pedagogue was sterner
Than theirs — the profiteer
Who charged for every learner
Two beaver skins a year!
The windows needed glasses,
The benches needed pads
For the burghers' winsome lasses
And the burghers' lively lads.

From sum-books and from hornbooks
They learned to add and spell;
From other worn and torn books
They learned to read as well.
They lunched on " oly koekies. "
In Spring, the boys were much
Too fond of " cutting hoekies. "
That's " truancy " in Dutch.
But those abandoned sinners
With dunderpates who tripped
In " Latin for Beginners "
Were roundly, soundly whipped.
They had no dancing classes
Or other frills and fads —
The burghers' hearty lasses
And the burghers' sturdy lads.

In mild September weather
Began the master's rule:
In pairs and groups together
The pupils trudged to school
Till June, with rosy garlands,
Came in and set them free
To range our near and far lands,
Our glens, our woods, our sea.
No streets were dark and sooty,
No squares were racked with din —
Oh, isle of banished beauty,
How dear it must have been
Your ferny ways or grassy
To wander, free and glad,
A burgher's laughing lassie
Or a burgher's happy lad!