Only a boy, with his noise and fun,
The veriest mystery under the sun;
As brimful of mischief, and wit, and glee,
As ever human frame can be;
And as hard to manage, as--ah!--ah, me!
'Tis hard to tell,
Yet we love him well.
Only, a boy, with his fearful tread,
Who cannot be driven, but must be led;
Who troubles the neighbors' dogs and cats,
And who tears more clothes and spoils more hats,
Loses more tops, and kites, and bats,
Than would stock a store,
For a year or more.
Only a boy, who will be a man,
If nature goes on with her first great plan;
If water, or fire, or some fatal snare
Conspire not to rob us of this, our heir.
Our blessing, our trouble, our rest, our care;
Our torment, our joy--
"Only, a boy."
[Illustration]