The Village Schoolmaster

 Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way
 With blossom'd furze unprofitably gay,
 There, in his 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 that he could gauge.
 In arguing too, the person own'd his skill,
 For e'en though vanquish'd he could argue still;
 While words of learned length and thund'ring sound
 Amazed the gazing rustics rang'd around;
 And still they gaz'd and still the wonder grew,
 That one small head could carry all he knew.
 But past is all his fame. The very spot
 Where many a time he triumph'd is forgot.

Commentary

I am surprised that minstrels does not carry this poem. This is one of the poems that i remember from my early school days and was skilfully unearthed for me by my teacher.

It is surprising, how even now in these days of internet information sources, online education, advanced school curricula, etc. a very good teacher can literally change a person’s life by pointing her down a path of passion for a subject. Before I wax lyrical on the qualities of the “schoolmaster”, Goldsmith has so wonderfully given me a poem to remember him by.

“And still they gaz’d and still the wonder grew, That one small head could carry all he knew. “

/Deepak

Martin adds

Another excellent tribute to that most underappreciated of professions is Kipling’s “A School Song”, from “Stalky and Co.”:
http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poets/kipling/school_song.html

The Wondering Minstrels, poem #1220 · 9 April 2003

Guest poem submitted by Srinivasan Deepak

Fair use

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From the Wondering Minstrels mailing list, 1999–2008.

Supriya Nair · 9 April 2003

The History Teacher
Trying to protect his students’ innocence
he told them the Ice Age was really just
the Chilly Age, a period of a million years
when everyone had to wear sweaters.

And the Stone Age became the Gravel Age,
named after the long driveways of the time.

The Spanish Inquisition was nothing more
than an outbreak of questions such as
“How far is it from here to Madrid?”
“What do you call the matador’s hat?”

The War of the Roses took place in a garden,
and the Enola Gay dropped one tiny atom on Japan.

The children would leave his classroom
for the playground to torment the weak
and the smart,
mussing up their hair and breaking their glasses,

while he gathered up his notes and walked home past flower beds and white picket fences,
wondering if they would believe that soldiers in the Boer War told long, rambling stories
designed to make the enemy nod off.

- Billy Collins

And the new guru, straight out of Hollywood, but with more brains. :)

foshea · 9 April 2003

Poor old Goldsmith was a walking disaster. He was permanently in debt, a situation which in his day would have landed him in one of their unpleasant jails. He was kept uncertainly afloat by friends (here I am flying without access to reference books) by people like Sheridan(?) and Pepys or was it Johnson? The deserted village is supposed to be his old hamlet in Longford in the middle of Ireland, but is more likely an amalgam of many of the small towns in England which were being gradually depopulated by the flight to the cities. Anyway, the poem is a delightful one and will send me looking for something from my shelves on schools and schoolteachers.

Thanks, Srinivasan.

Frank

Edmund Burton · 9 April 2003

“In arguing too, the person own’d his skill,”

I believe it should be “parson”

Frank O'Shea · 10 April 2003

This is lovel, Supriya. Why not put it up on the site itself. It gets lost down here.

Doux Systems · 2 June 2004

This was one of my favourites in school and the rustic humour still holds its appeal. This is also one poem that I spent considerable time looking for. I hope students today get to read and enjoy works such as this. Getting to read this poem after all these years certainly made my day!!

Thank you Mr. Srinivasan

Meenakshi Naidu

RAJG · 24 November 2006

Thanks Deepak for reviving old memories. This was one of our favourite poems in school and it reminds me how we quoted its verse to express our awe and reverence for our English teacher. Today too, it brings a smile and nostalgic recollections of the good old school days. rajlaskhmi