Its a while since I have had something up on my blog. So I thought it time to stick something up. Here is a poem by a very famous Irish writer called Oliver Gold Smith. The Village Schoolmaster Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay, There, in his noisy mansion, skill'd to rule, The village master taught his little school; A man severe he was, and stern to view, I knew him well, and every truant knew; Well had the boding tremblers learn'd to trace The days disasters in his morning face; Full well they laugh'd with counterfeited glee, At all his jokes, for many a joke had he: Full well the busy whisper, circling round, Convey'd the dismal tidings when he frown'd: Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught, The love he bore to learning was in fault. The village all declar'd how much he knew; 'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too: Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage, And e'en the story ran...
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