  Bill is a bright boy; Do you know Bill? Marching cheerily Up and down hill; Bill is a bright boy At books and at play, A right and a tight boy, All the boys say. His face is like roses In flush of the June; His eyes like the welkin, When cloudless the noon; His step is like fountains That bicker with glee, Beneath the green mountains, Down to the sea. When Bill plays at cricket, No ball on the green Is shot from the wicket So sharp and so clean; He stands at his station As strong as a king When he lifts up a nation On Victory’s wing. When bent upon study, He girds to his books; No frown ever ploughs The smooth pride of his looks; I came, and I saw, And I conquered at will: This be the law For great CÆsar and Bill. Like Thor with the hammer Of power in his hand, He rides through the grammar Triumphant and grand; O’er bastions and brambles Which pedants up-pile, He leaps and he ambles Along with a smile. As mild as a maiden, Where mildness belongs,— He’s hot as Achilles, When goaded by wrongs; He flirts with a danger, He sports with an ill, To fear, such a stranger Is brave-hearted Bill! For Bill is a bright boy— Who is like Bill? Oft have I marched with him Up and down hill. When I hear his voice calling, I follow him still, And, standing or falling, I conquer with Bill! Do good by stealth and blush to find it fame. —Pope. |
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