Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum
hath,
With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of
lath;
A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair,
Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a
hair;
There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in
search of their prey;
Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day;
[Illustration:
"A CLASS IN THE FRONT, WITH THEIR READERS, WERE TELLING, WITH
DIFFICULT PAINS, HOW PERISHED BRAVE MARCO BOZZARIS WHILE BLEEDING AT
ALL OF HIS VEINS."]
The square stove it puffed and it thundered, and broke out in
red-flaming sores,
Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush
out-o'-doors;
White snow-flakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips
to the cracks;
And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were
freezing their backs.