Produced by Al Haines

LYRA FRIVOLA

BY

A. D. GODLEY

AUTHOR OF "VERSES TO ORDER."

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.

LONDON

1900

Second Edition

Most of the pieces in this book have appeared in the St James's Gazette, the Oxford Magazine, or the National Observer. I have to thank the Proprietors of these papers for permission to republish.

A. D. G.

CONTENTS

  AFTER HORACE
  THE JOURNALIST ABROAD
  VERNAL VERSES
  PENSÉES DE NOEL
  AD LECTIONEM SUAM
  RUBÁIYYÁT OF MODERATIONS
  LINES TO AN OLD FRIEND
  THE PARADISE OF LECTURERS
  A DIALOGUE ON ETHICS
  PEDAGOGY
  SONG FOR THE NAVY LEAGUE
  A DREAM
  THE SCHOOL of AGRICULTURE
  THE LAST STRAW
  THE 1713 AGAINST NEWNHAM
  QUADRIVIAD, ll. 1-51
  MUSICAL DEGREES
  QUIETA MOVERE
  GRAECULUS ESURIENS
  THE ROAD TO RENOWN
  L'AFFAIRE (CHAPTER ONE)
  UNSELFISH DEVOTION
  THE ARREST
  "THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN"
  THE PATRIOT'S "POME"
  MR MORLEY'S APOLOGY
  HONESTY REWARDED
  THE END OF IT
  A NEW DEPARTURE
  MULLIGAN ON THE AUSTRIAN PARLIAMENT
  BROKEN VOWS
  THE TRUE REMEDY
  UNITED IRELAND
  JUSTICE FOR PRIVATE MULVANEY

AFTER HORACE

  What asks the Bard? He prays for nought
    But what the truly virtuous crave:
  That is, the things he plainly ought
        To have.

  'Tis not for wealth, with all the shocks
    That vex distracted millionaires,
  Plagued by their fluctuating stocks
        And shares:

  While plutocrats their millions new
    Expend upon each costly whim,
  A great deal less than theirs will do
        For him;

  The simple incomes of the poor
    His meek poetic soul content:
  Say, L30,000 at four
        Per cent.!

  His taste in residence is plain:
    No palaces his heart rejoice:
  A cottage in a lane (Park Lane
        For choice)—

  Here be his days in quiet spent:
    Here let him meditate the Muse:
  Baronial Halls were only meant
        For Jews,

  And lands that stretch with endless span
    From east to west, from south to north,
  Are often much more trouble than
        They're worth!

  Let epicures who eat too much
    Become uncomfortably stout:
  Let gourmets feel th' approaching touch
        Of gout,—

  The Bard subsists on simpler food:
    A dinner, not severely plain,
  A pint or so of really good
        Champagne—

  Grant him but these, no care he'll take
    Though Laureates bask in Fortune's smile,
  Though Kiplings and Corellis make
        Their pile:

  Contented with a scantier dole
    His humble Muse serenely jogs,
  Remote from scenes where authors roll
        Their logs:

  Far from the madding crowd she lurks,
    And really cares no single jot
  Whether the public read her works
        Or not!

THE JOURNALIST ABROAD

  When Parson, Doctor, Don,—
    In short, when all the nation
  Goes gaily off upon
    Its annual vacation,
  Their cares professional
    No more avail to bind them:
  They go at Pleasure's call
    And leave their trades behind them.

  Like them, departs afar
    From England's fogs and vapours
  The literary star,
    The writer for the papers:
  But not, like them, at home
    Leaves he his calling's fetters:
  Nought can release him from
    The tyranny of Letters!

  When classic scenes amid
    For rest and peace he hankers,
  Amari aliquid
    His joys aesthetic cankers:
  Whate'er he sees, he knows
    He has to write upon it
  A paragraph of prose
    Or possibly a sonnet:

  By mountain lakelets blue,
    'Mid wild romantic heath, he's
  A martyr always to
    Scribendi cacoethes:
  The Naiad-haunted stream
    Or lonely mountain-top he
  Considers as a theme
    Available for "copy."

  If on the sunlit main
    With ardour rapt he gazes,
  He's torturing his brain
    For neat pictorial phrases:
  When in a ship or boat
    He navigates the briny
  (And here 'tis his to quote
    Examples set by Heine)

  While fellow-passengers
    Lie stretched in mere prostration,
  He duly registers
    Each horrible sensation—
  He notes his qualms with care,
    And bids the public know 'em
  In "Thoughts on Mal de Mer,"
    Or "Nausea: a Poem."

* * * *

  Such is his earthly lot:
    Nor is it wholly certain
  If Death for him or not
    Rings down the final curtain,
  Or if, when hence he's fled
    To worlds or worse or better,
  He'll send per Mr St—d
    A crisp descriptive letter!

VERNAL VERSES

  When early worms began to crawl, and early birds to sing,
  And frost, and mud, and snow, and rain proclaimed the jocund spring,
  Its all-pervading influence the Poet's soul obeyed—
  He made a song to greet the Spring, and this is what he made:—

  They sadly lacked enlightenment, our ancestors of old,
  Who used to suffer simply from an ordinary cold:
  But we, of Science' mysteries less ignorant by far,
  Have nothing less distinguished than a Bronchial Catarrh!

  O when your head's a lump of lead and nought can do but sneeze:
  Whene'er in turn you freeze and burn, and then you burn and freeze:—
  It does not mean you're going to die, although you think you are—
  These are the primal symptoms of a Bronchial Catarrh.

  And when you've taken drugs and pills, and stayed indoors a week,
  Yet still your chest with pain opprest will hardly let you speak:
  Amid your darksome miseries be this your guiding star—
  'Tis simply the remainder of a Bronchial Catarrh.

  In various ways do various men invite misfortune's rods,—
  Some row within their College boat,—some Logic read for Mods.:
  But oh! of all the human ills our happiness that mar
  I do not know the equal of a Bronchial Catarrh!

PENSÉES DE NOEL

  When the landlord wants the rent
  Of your humble tenement,
  When the Christmas bills begin
  Daily, hourly pouring in,
  When you pay your gas and poor rate,
  Tip the rector, fee the curate,
  Let this thought your spirit cheer—
  Christmas comes but once a year.

  When the man who brings the coal
  Claims his customary dole:
  When the postman rings and knocks
  For his usual Christmas-box:
  When you're dunned by half the town
  With demands for half-a-crown,—
  Think, although they cost you dear,
  Christmas comes but once a year.

  When you roam from shop to shop,
  Seeking, till you nearly drop,
  Christmas cards and small donations
  For the maw of your relations,
  Questing vainly 'mid the heap
  For a thing that's nice, and cheap:
  Think, and check the rising tear,
  Christmas comes but once a year.

  Though for three successive days
  Business quits her usual ways,
  Though the milkman's voice be dumb,
  Though the paper doesn't come;
  Though you want tobacco, but
  Find that all the shops are shut:
  Bravely still your sorrows bear—
  Christmas comes but once a year.

  When mince-pies you can't digest
  Join with waits to break your rest:
  When, oh when, to crown your woe,
  Persons who might better know
  Think it needful that you should
  Don a gay convivial mood;—
    Bear with fortitude and patience
    These afflicting dispensations:
    Man was born to suffer here:
    Christmas comes but once a year.

AD LECTIONEM SUAM

  When Autumn's winds denude the grove,
    I seek my Lecture, where it lurks
  'Mid the unpublished portion of
    My works,

  And ponder, while its sheets I scan,
    How many years away have slipt
  Since first I penned that ancient man-
    uscript.

  I know thee well—nor can mistake
    The old accustomed pencil stroke
  Denoting where I mostly make
    A joke,—

  Or where coy brackets signify
    Those echoes faint of classic wit
  Which, if a lady's present, I
    Omit.

  Though Truth enlarge her widening range,
    And Knowledge be with time increased,
  While thou, my Lecture! dost not change
    The least,

  But fixed immutable amidst
    The advent of a newer lore,
  Maintainest calmly what thou didst
    Before:

  Though still malignity avows
    That unsuccessful candidates
  To thee ascribe their frequent ploughs
    In Greats—

  Once more for intellectual food
    Thou'lt serve: an added phrase or two
  Will make thee really just as good
    As new:

  And listening crowds, that throng the spot,
    Will still as usual complain
  That "Here's the old familiar rot
    Again!"

RUBÁIYYÁT OF MODERATIONS

I

  Wake! for the Nightingale upon the Bough
  Has sung of Moderations: ay, and now
    Pales in the Firmament above the Schools
  The Constellation of the boding Plough.

II

  I too in distant Ages long ago
  To him that ploughed me gave a Quid or so:
    It was a Fraud: it was not good enough;
  Ne'er for my Quid had I my Quid pro Quo.

III

  Yet—for the Man who pays his painful Pence
  Some Laws may frame from dark Experience:
    Still from the Wells of harsh Adversity
  May Wisdom draw the Pail of Common Sense—

IV

  Take these few Rules, which—carefully rehearsed—
  Will land the User safely in a First,
    Second, or Third, or Gulf: and after all
  There's nothing lower than a Plough at worst.

V

  Plain is the Trick of doing Latin Prose,
  An Esse Videantur at the Close
    Makes it to all Intents and Purposes
  As good as anything of Cicero's.

VI

  Yet let it not your anxious Mind perturb
  Should Grammar's Law your Diction fail to curb:
    Be comforted: it is like Tacitus:
  Tis mostly done by leaving out the Verb.

VII

  Mark well the Point: and thus your Answer fit
  That you thereto all Reference omit,
    But argue still about it and about
  Of This, and That, and T'Other—not of It.

VIII

  Say, why should You upon your proper Hook
  Dilate on Things which whoso cares to look
    Will find, in Libraries or otherwhere,
  Already stated in a printed Book?

IX

  Keep clear of Facts: the Fool who deals in those
  A Mucker he inevitably goes:
    The dusty Don who looks your Paper o'er
  He knows about it all—or thinks he knows.

X

  A Pipe, a Teapot, and a Pencil blue,
  A Crib, perchance a Lexicon—and You
    Beside him singing in a Wilderness
  Of Suppositions palpably untrue—

XI

  'Tis all he needs: he is content with these:
  Not Facts he wants, but soft Hypotheses
    Which none need take the Pains to verify:
  This is the Way that Men obtain Degrees!

XII

  'Twixt Right and Wrong the Difference is dim:
  'Tis settled by the Moderator's Whim:
    Perchance the Delta on your Paper marked
  Means that his Lunch has disagreed with him:

XIII

  Perchance the Issue lies in Fortune's Lap:
  For if the Names be shaken in a Cap
    (As some aver) then Truth and Fallacy
  No longer signify a single Rap.

XIV

  Nay! till the Hour for pouring out the Cup
  Of Tea post-prandial calls you home to sup,
    And from the dark Invigilator's Chair
  The mild Muezzin whispers "Time is Up"—

XV

  The Moving Finger writes: then, having writ,
  The Product of your Scholarship and Wit
    Deposit in the proper Pigeonhole—
  And thank your Stars that there's an End of it!

LINES TO AN OLD FRIEND

  When we're daily called to arms by continual alarms,
    And the journalist unceasingly dilates
  On the agitating fact that we're soon to be attacked
    By the Germans, or the Russians, or the States:
  When the papers all are swelling with a patriotic rage,
    And are hurling a defiance or a threat,
  Then I cool my martial ardour with the pacifying page
    Of the Oxford University Gazette.

  When I hanker for a statement that is practical and dry
    (Being sated with sensation in excess,
  With the vespertinal rumour and the matutinal lie
    Which adorn the lucubrations of the Press),
  Then I turn me to the columns where there's nothing to attract,
    Or the interest to waken and to whet,
  And I revel in a banquet of unmitigated fact
    In the Oxford University Gazette.

  When the Laureate obedient to an editor's decree
    Puts his verses in the columns of the Times;
  When the endless minor poet in an endless minor key
    Gives the public his unnecessary rhymes,
  When you're weary of the poems which they constantly compose,
    And endeavour their existence to forget,
  You may seek and find repose in the satisfying prose
    Of the Oxford University Gazette.

  In that soporific journal you may stupefy the mind
    With the influence narcotic which it draws
  From the Latest Information about Scholarships Combined
    Or the contemplated changes in a clause:
  Place me somewhere that is far from the Standard and the Star,
    From the fever and the literary fret,—
  And the harassed spirit's balm be the academic calm
    Of the Oxford University Gazette!

THE PARADISE OF LECTURERS

  When you might be a name for the world to acclaim,
      and when Opulence dawns on the view,
  Why slave like a Turk at Collegiate work
      for a wholly inadequate screw?
  Why grind at the trade—insufficiently paid—of
      instructing for Mods and for Greats,
  When fortunes immense are diurnally made
      by a lecturing tour in the States?

  Do you know that in scores they will pay at the doors—these
      millions in darkness who grope—
  For a glimpse of Mark Twain or a word from Hall Caine
      or a reading from Anthony Hope?
  We are ignorant here of the glorious career
      which conspicuous talent awaits:
  Not a master of style but is making his pile
      by the lectures he gives in the States!

  With amazement I hear of the chances they
      lose—of the simply incredible sums
  Which a Barrie might have (if he did not refuse)
      for reciting A Window in Thrums:
  Of the prospects of gain which are offered
      in vain as a sop to the Laureate's pride:
  Of the price which I learn Mr Bradshaw
      might earn by declaiming his excellent Guide.

  Columbia! desist from soliciting those who
      your bribes and petitions contemn:
  Though plutocrats scorn the rewards you
      propose, there are others superior to them:
  Why burden the proud with superfluous
      pelf, who wealth in abundance possess,
  When indigent Worth (I allude to myself)
      would go for substantially less?

  For Europe, I know, to oblivion may doom
      the fruits of my talented brain,
  But they're perfectly sure of creating a boom
      in the wilds of Kentucky and Maine:
  They'll appreciate there my illustrious work
      on the way to make Pindar to scan,
  And Culture will hum in the State of New York
      when I read it my essay on 'An! [1]

  I've a scheme, which is this:—I will start
      for the West as a Limited Lecturing Co.,
  And the public invite in the same to invest
      to the tune of a million or so:
  They will all be recouped for initial expense
      by receiving their share of the "gates,"
  Which I venture to think will be truly
      immense when I lecture on Prose in the States.

  Thus Merit will not be permitted to rot—as
      it does—on Obscurity's shelf:
  Thus the national hoard shall with profit be
      stored (with a trifle of course for myself):
  For lectures are dear in that fortunate
      sphere, and are paid for at fabulous rates,—
  All the gold of Klondike isn't anything like
      to the sums that are made in the States!

[1. Transcriber's note: In the original book, the two characters preceding the exclamation mark are the Greek "Alpha" and "nu". They appear to be preceded by the Greek rough-breathing diacritical, making the three characters together rhyme with "Maine", two lines earlier.]

A DIALOGUE ON ETHICS

  Said the Isis to the Cherwell in a tone of indignation,
    "With a blush of conscious virtue your enormities I see:
  And I wish that a reversal of the laws of gravitation
    Would prevent your vicious current from contaminating me!
  With your hedonists who grovel on a cushion with a novel
    (Which is sure to sap the morals and the intellect to stunt),
  And the spectacle nefarious of your idle, gay Lotharios
    Who pursue a mild flirtation in a misdirected punt!"

  Said the Cherwell to the Isis, "You may talk about my vices—
    But of all the sights of sorrow since the universe began,
  Just commend me to the patience that can bear the degradations
    Which inflicted are by Rowing on the dignity of man:
  The unspeakable reproaches which are lavished by your coaches—
    On my sense of what is proper they continually jar"—
  ("It is simply Mos Majorum—'twas their fathers' way before 'em—
    'Tis a kind of ancient Cussed 'em"—said the Isis to the Cher.)

  "Are we men and are we Britons? shall we ne'er obtain a quittance"—
    Said the Cherwell to the Isis—"from the tyrants of the oar?
  O it's Youth in a Canader with the willow boughs to shade her
    And a chaperone discreetly in attendance (on the shore),
  O it's cultivated leisure that is life's supremest treasure,
    Far from athletes merely brutal, and from Philistines afar:
  I've a natural aversion to gratuitous exertion,
    And I'm prone to mild flirtation," said the unrepentant Cher.

  But in accents of the sternest, "Life is Real: Life is Earnest,"
    (Said the grim rebuking Isis to his tributary stream);
  "Don't you know the Joy of Living is in honourably Striving,
    Don't you know the Chase of Pleasure is a vain delusive Dream?
  When they toil and when they shiver in the tempests on the River,
    When they're faint and spent and weary, and they have
          to pull it through,
  'Tis in Action stern and zealous that they truly find a Telos, [1]
    Though a moment's relaxation be afforded them by you!"

  Said the Cherwell to the Isis, "When the trees are clad in greenness,
    When the Eights are fairly over, and it's drawing near Commem.,
  It is Ver and it is Venus that shall judge the case between us,
    And I think for all your maxims that you won't compete with them!
  Then despite their boasted virtue shall your athletes all desert you
    (Come to me for information if you don't know where they are):
  For it's ina scholaxomen [2] that's the proper end of Woman
    And of Man—at least in summer," said the easy-going Cher.

[1. Transcriber's note: The word "Telos" was transliterated from the Greek characters Tau, epsilon, lambda, omicron, and sigma.]

[2. Transcriber's note: The two words "ina scholaxomen" were transliterated from Greek as follows: "ina"—iota (possibly accompanied by the rough-breathing diacritical), nu, alpha; "scholaxomen"—sigma, chi, omicron, lambda, alpha (possibly with the soft-breathing diacritical), xi, omega, mu, epsilon, nu.]

PEDAGOGY

  Our fathers on the pedagogue held sentiments irrational,
    Curricula for training him 'twas never theirs to know,
  And when he taught the way he ought, by genius educational,
    They gave their thanks to Providence, who made him do it so.
  But our developed intellect and keener perspicacity
    Has all reduced to system now and a priori rule:
  We've altogether ceased to trust in natural capacity,
    And pin alone our faith upon a Pedagogy School.

  Don't talk to me of knowledge gained by base experience practical
    (A thing that's wholly obsolete and laid upon the shelf):
  Don't waste your time in aiming at exactitude syntactical,
    Or hold that he who teaches Greek should know that Greek himself:
  For if you wish to face the truth, and fact no more to see awry—
    Who strives to wake the dormant mind of unreceptive imps
  Need only read the works of Rein on Education's Theory
    And study the immortal tomes of Ziegler and De Guimps!

  Whene'er of old a boy was dull or quite adverse to knowledge, he
    Was set an imposition or corrected with a switch:
  Far different our practice is, who reign by Methodology
    And guide the dunce by precepts learnt from Landon or from Fitch:
  'Twas difficult by rule of thumb to check unseemly merriment,
    To make your class their pastor treat with proper due regard—
  'Tis easy quite for specialists in Juvenile Temperament,
    Who know the books on Punishment and also on Reward!

  There's no demand for authors now of erudite opuscula,
    For Wranglers or for Science men or linguists of repute:
  No cricketers can gain a post by mere distinction muscular,
    No Socker Blues can hope to teach the young idea to Shoot:
  Read Lange his Psychology—Didactics of Comenius—
    By works like these and only these your prudent mind prepare:
  For if you've nought but scholarship or independent genius
    You'd better far adopt the Bar and make your fortune there!

  O all ye ancient dominies whose names are writ in history—
    Shade of the late Orbilius, and ghost of Dr Parr,
  Howe'er you got your fame of old—the reason's wrapt in mystery—
    Where'er you be, I hope you see how obsolete you are!
  'Tis Handbooks make the Pedagogue: O great, eternal verity!
    O fact of which our ancestors could ne'er obtain a glimpse!
  But we'll proclaim the truth abroad and noise it to posterity,
    Our watchword a curriculum—our shibboleth DE GUIMPS!

SONG FOR THE NAVY LEAGUE

(Dedicated without permission to LORD CHARLES BERESFORD.)

  O where be all those mariners bold
      who used to control the sea,
  The Admiral great and the bo'sun's mate
      and the skipper who skipped so free?
  O what has become of our midshipmites,
      the terror of every foe,
  And the captain brave who dares the wave
      when the stormy winds do blow?

CHORUS

  _For the tar may roam, but the tar comes home
      to wherever his home may be,
  With a Yo, heave ho, and a o e to, [1] and a
      Master of Arts Degree_!

  They have gone to imbibe the classical lore
      of Learning's ancient seat
  (They are sadly at sea in the classics as
      yet, though classis is Latin for fleet),
  It is there you will find those naval men,
      by the Isis and eke the Cher.,
  For Scholarship is the only ship that is fit
      for a bold Jack Tar.

  He has bartered his rum for a coach and a
      crib, at the First Lord's stern decree,
  And he learns the use of the rocket and
      squib (which are useful as lights at sea):
  And they train him in part of the nautical
      art, as much as a landsman can,
  For they teach him to paddle the gay canoe,
      and to row the rash randan.

  Should he e'er be inclined his Tutors and
      Deans to look with contempt upon
  (Observing the maxims of Raleigh and
      Drake, who never thought much of a Don),
  Let him think there are things in the nautical
      line that even a Don can do,
  For only too well are examiners versed in
      the way to plough the Blue!

  Though a Captain per se is an excellent
      thing for repelling his country's foes,
  He is better by far, as an engine of war, with
      a knowledge of Logic and Prose:
  And a bold A.B. is the nation's pride, in
      his rude uncultured way,
  But prouder still will the nation be when
      he's also a bold B.A.!

CHORUS

  For the Horse Marine will be Tutor and Dean,
      in the glorious days to be,
  With his Yo, heave ho, and his o e to, [1] and a
      Master of Arts degree!

[1. Transcriber's note: the character group "o e to" was transliterated from the Greek characters omicron (with the rough-breathing diacritical), eta (with the rough-breathing diacritical), tau, and omicron (with the soft-breathing diacritical).]

A DREAM

  In sleep the errant phantasy,
    No more by sense imprisoned,
  Creates what possibly might be
    But actually isn't:
  And this my tale is past belief,
    Of truth and reason emptied,
  'Tis fiction manifest—in brief
    I was asleep, and dreamt it.

  I met a man by Isis' stream,
    Whose phrase discreet and prudent,
  Whose penchant for a learned theme
    Proclaimed the Serious Student:
  I never knew a scholar who
    Could more at ease converse on
  The latest Classical Review
    Than that superior person.

  He spoke of books—all manly sports
    He deemed but meet for scoffing:
  He did not know the Racquet Courts—
    He'd never heard of golfing—
  Professors ne'er were half so wise,
    Nor Readers more sedate!
  He was—I learnt with some surprise—
    An undergraduate.

  Another man I met, whose head
    Was crammed with pastime's annals,
  And who, to judge from what he said,
    Must simply live in flannels:
  A shallow mind his talk proclaimed,
    And showed of culture no trace:
  One "book" and one alone he named—
    His own—'twas on the Boat-race.

  "Of course," you cry, "some brainless lad,
    Some scion of ancient Tories,
  Bob Acres, sent to Oxford ad
    Emolliendos mores,
  Meant but to drain the festive glass
    And win the athlete's pewter!"
  There you are wrong: this person was
    That undergraduate's Tutor.

* * * *

  Twas but a dream, I said above,
    In concrete truth deficient,
  Belonging to the region of
    The wholly Unconditioned:
  Yet, when I see how strange the ways
    Of undergrad. and Don are,
  Methinks it was, in classic phrase,
    Not upar less than onar. [1]

[1. Transcriber's note: the words "upar" and "onar" were transliterated from the Greek as follows: "upar"—upsilon (possibly with the rough-breathing diacritical), pi, alpha, and rho; "onar"—omicron (possibly with the rough-breathing diacritical), nu, alpha, and rho.]

THE SCHOOL OF AGRICULTURE

  I gazed with wild prophetic eye
    Into the future vast and dim:
  I saw the University
    Indulge its last and strangest whim:
  It did away with Mods and Greats,
    Its other Schools abolished all:
  And simply made its candidates
    Read Science Agricultural.

  They learnt to hoe: they learnt to plough:
    To delve and dig was all their joy:
  But O in ways we know not now
    Those candidates we did employ:
  No more, accepting of a bribe
    To take these persons off our hands,
  We sent them off, a studious tribe,
    To distant climes and foreign lands.

  We did not then examine in
    The subjects which we could not teach
  To those who Honours aimed to win
    We taught their subjects, all and each
  We made the Professoriate
    Take from its Professorial shelf
  Authorities of ancient date,
    And teach the candidates itself

  My scanty page could ne'er contain
    Of works the long and learned list
  By which it was their plan to train
    The sucking agriculturist:
  In brief, the arts of tilling land
    Sufficiently imparted were
  By great Professor Ellis, and
    By great Professor Bywater.

  One taught th' aspiring candidate
    In Hesiod each alternate day:
  One showed him how the crops rotate
    From Cato De Re Rustica:
  The bee that in our bonnets lurks
    He taught to yield its honied store
  By reading Columella's works
    And also Virgil (Georgic Four).

  Yet not by Theory alone
    Did learning train the student mind—
  Its exercise was carried on
    In places properly assigned:
  From toil by weather undeterred
    In winter wild or burning June,
  The precepts in the morning heard
    They practised in the afternoon.

  The Colleges, whose grassy plots
    Are now resorts of vicious ease,
  Were then laid out in little lots,
    With useful beans and early peas:
  Each merely ornamental sod
    They dug with spades and hoed with hoes:
  The wilderness in every quad
    Was made to blossom as the rose.

  The gardens too, with cereals decked,
    Where tennis-courts no longer were,
  Showed Agriculture's due effect
    Upon the student's character:
  No more by practices beguiled
    Which Virtue with displeasure notes,
  No longer dissolute and wild,
    He sowed domesticated oats.

  It was indeed a blissful state:
    For Convocation's high decree
  Dubbed the successful candidate
    Magister Agriculturae:
  And if he failed, his vows denied,
    The world observed without surprise
  That those who learnt the plough to guide
    Were objects of its exercise!

THE LAST STRAW

  Now Spring bedecks with nascent green
    The meadows near and far,
  And Sabbath calm pervades the scene,
    And Sabbath punts the Cher.:
  While I, like trees new drest by June,
    Must bow to Fashion's law,
  And wear on Sunday afternoon
    A variegated Straw.

  My Topper! so serenely sleek,
    So beautifully tall,
  Wherein I decked me once a week
    Whene'er I went to call,—
  No more shall now th' admiring maid,
    While handing me my tea,
  View her reflected charms displayed
    (Narcissus-like) in thee!

  Yet oh! though different forms of hat
    May wreathe my manly brow,
  No Straw shall e'er (be sure of that)
    Be half so dear as thou.
  Hang then upon thy native rack
    As varying modes compel,
  Till next year's fashions bring thee back,
    My Chimneypot, farewell!

THE 1713 AGAINST NEWNHAM

[This Fragment will be found to contain, in a concentrated form, all the constituent parts of Greek Tragedy. It has an Anagnorisis, because its subject is the Recognition of Women. It also contains at least one Peripeteia: and the action has been strictly confined, chiefly by the Editor of the Magazine, within one revolution of the sun.]

SCENE: Interior of a Ladies' College

LEADER OF THE CHORUS OF LADIES

  Sisters, from far upon my senses steals
  A sound of crackers and of Catherine wheels,
  By which I know the Senate in debate
  Decides our future and the country's fate:
  And lo! a herald from the city's stir
  I see arrive—the usual Messenger.

Enter a Messenger

M. O maiden guardians of this sacred shrine—

Ch. Observe the rules: you've had your single line.

M. Say, is the Lady Principal at home?

Ch. Thou speak'st, as one for information come.

M. I ask the question, for I wish to know.

Ch. By shrewd conjecture one might guess 'twas so.

M. Go, tell your Lady I would speak with her.

Ch. About what thing? what quest dost thou prefer?

M. I bear a tale I hardly dare to tell.

Ch. Why vex her ears, when ours will do as well?

M. Hear then the facts which with self-seeing eyes
      I witnessed, not receiving from another.
      For when I came within those doors august
      Where sat the Boule, doubting if to grant
      The boon of honour which the women ask,
      Or not: and like some Thracian Hellespont
      Tides of opinion flowed in different ways,
      Until obeying some divine decree
      (This is a Nominative Absolute)
      The hollow-bellied circle of a hat
      Received their votes (and now, but not till now,
      Observe my true apodosis begin)—
      Arithmetic, supreme of sciences,
      Proclaimed that persons to the number of
      One thousand seven hundred and thirteen
      Voted Non-Placet (or, It does not please),
      While thrice two hundred, also sixty-two,
      Voted for Placet on the other side;
      Who, being worsted, come as suppliants
      With boughs and fillets and the rest complete,
      Winging the booted oarage of their feet
      Within your gates: the obscurantist rout
      Pursue them here with threats, and swear they'll drag them out!
      Such is my tale: its truth should you deny,
      I simply answer, that you tell a lie.

CHORUS

  Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe! What shall we do and where shall we go?
  Dublin or Durham, Heidelberg, Bonn,
  All to escape the recalcitrant don?
  In what peaceful shade reclined
  Shall the cultured female mind
  E'er remunerated be
  By a Bachelor's Degree?
  Pheu, pheu! [1] Whence, O whence (here the
        antistrophe ought to commence),
  Whence shall we the privilege seek
  Due to our knowledge of Latin and Greek?
  Shall we tear our waving locks?
  Shall we rend our Sunday frocks?
  No, 'tis plain that nothing can
  Melt the so-called heart of man.
  While with loud triumphant pealings
  Ring his cries of horrid joy,
  Let us vent our outraged feelings
  In a wild otototoi— [2]
  Justifiable impatience, when the shafts of fate annoy,
  Makes one utter exclamations such as ototototoi! [2]

Enter PROFESSOR PLACET

  I ask you, ye intolerable creatures,
  Why raise this wholly execrable din,
  O objects of dislike to the discreet?
  Six hundred persons, also sixty-two
  (Almost the very number of the Beast)
  Have voted for you, and defend your gates.
  Moreover, mark my subtle argument:—
  When gates are locked no person can get in
  Without unlocking them: your gates are locked,
  And I have got the key: so that, unless
  I ope the gates, the foe cannot get in.
  This statement is Pure Reason: or, if this
  Is not Pure Reason, I don't know what is.

CHORUS

  Holy Reason! sacred Nous! [3]
  Thou that hast for ever parted
  From the Cambridge Senate House,
  Make, O make us valiant hearted!
  Wisdom, still residing here,
  Calm our mind and chase our fear
  While with wild discordant clamour
  On our College gate they hammer!

[Confused Noise without.]

  Hemich. a. [4] Horrid things! I really wonder
                      how they ever dared to come,
                When they know to base Non-Placets
                      that we're always Not At Home.

  Hemich. B. [4] 'Tis a national dishonour:
                     'tis the century's disgrace.

  Hemich. a. If the College rules allowed it,
                     I should like to scratch their face.

  Hemich. B. Never mind! a time is coming
                     when despite of all their Dons
                We will sack the hall of Jesus,
                     and enjoy the wealth of John's!

  Hemich. a. Vengeance! let us face the foe-man,
                     boldly bear the battle's brunt,
                With our Placets to assist us
                     and our chaperons in front!

[Alarums; Excursions—special trains for voters.]

(A violation of the rule "Ne pueros coram populo Medea trucidet" is about to commence, when—)

Enter APOLLO

(With apologies to Dr V-rr-ll for his profligate character.)

  When all too deftly poets tie the knot
  And can't untwist their complicated plot,
  'Tis then that comes by Jove's supreme decrees
  The useful theos apo mechanes. [5]
  Rash youths! forbear ungallantly to vex
  Your fellow students of the softer sex!
  Ladies! proud leaders of our culture's van,
  Crush not too cruelly the reptile Man!
  Or by experience you, as now, will learn
  Th' eternal maxim's truth, that e'en a worm will turn.

[1. Transcriber's note: The words "Pheu" and "pheu" were transliterated from the Greek as follows: "Pheu"—Phi, epsilon, upsilon; "pheu"—phi, epsilon, upsilon.]

[2. Transcriber's note: The words "otototoi" and "ototototoi" were transliterated from the Greek as follows: the "ot" pairs—omicron (with the rough-breathing diacritical), tau; the trailing "i"—iota.]

[3. Transcriber's note: The word "Nous" was transliterated from the Greek as follows: Nu, omicron, upsilon, sigma.]

[4. Transcriber's note: The "a" and "B" following each "Hemich" were transliterated from the Greek "alpha" and "Beta", respectively.]

[5. Transcriber's note: The phrase "theos apo mechanes" was transliterated from the Greek as follows: "theos"—theta, epsilon, omicron, sigma; "apo"—alpha, pi, omicron; "mechanes"—mu, eta, chi, alpha, nu, eta, sigma.]

QUADRIVIAD, ll. 1-51

Arma virosque cano: procul o, procul este profani: nescio mentiri: si quis mendacia quaerit in vespertinis quaerat mendacia chartis. me neque multo iterum Pharsalia sanguine tincta nec tam Larissa nuper fugitiva relicta Graecia percussit, quam Curia Municipalis Principis augusta dextra Cambrensis aperta, atque novae longis imbutae litibus aedes: omnia quae vobis canerem si tempus haberem aut spatium: sed non habeo, varias ob causas. nunc civilia bella viaeque cruore rubentes Musae sufficient et Quadrivialis Enyo. Nox erat et caeio fulgebat luna sereno desuper: in terris fulgebat Serica lampas plurima, et ornatis pendent vexilla fenestris. spectando gaudent cives: academica pubes palatur passim plateis aut ordine facto proruit ignavum cives pecus: omnia late laetitia magni praesentia Principis implet. Metropolitanae custos, Robertule, pacis, tu quoque laetus ades, nec dedignaris amice inter ridentem comis ridere popellum. ecce tamen Furiae Martini desuper arce dant belli signum: ruit undique vulgus ad arma: procuratores obsistunt subgraduatis, civibus iratis obsistunt subgraduati et cives illis: pacis custodibus, omnes. turba venit diris ultrix accincta bacillis: Metropolitani vecti per strata caballis proturbant cunctos, reliquos in carcere claudunt. Consiliarius en! Urbanus in occiput ipse percutitur nec scit quisnam cere comminuat brum: namque negant omnes, et adhuc sub judice lis est. quid Medicina viris jurisve peritia prodest, jurisconsultos dubio si jure coercent vincula, nec proprios arcet Medicina bacillos? heu pietas, heu prisca fides! neglectus alumnus Tutorem in vacua tristis desiderat aula: interea Tutor sub judice municipali litigat, et jurat nil se fecisse nefandum, obtestans divos: nec creditur obtestanti. quid referam versos equites iterumque reversos subgraduatorum pellentes agmina ferro, inque pavimentis equitantes undique turmas? proh pudor! o mores, o tempora! forsitan olim exercens operam curvo Moderator aratro inveniet mixtis capitum fragmenta galeris relliquias pugnae, et mentem mortalia tangent. me sacer Aegidius Musarum fana colentem aegide defendit, perque ignea tela, per hostes incolumem vexitque tuens rursusque revexit.

MUSICAL DEGREES

  Too oft there grows a painful thorn the floweret's stalk upon:
  Behind each cupboard's gilded doors there lurks a Skeleton:
  The crumpled roseleaf mocks repose, beneath the bed of down:
  In proof of which attend the tale of Bach Beethoven Brown.

  Beethoven Brown could play and sing before he learnt to crawl:
  Piano, bones, or ophicleide—he played upon them all!
  Some talk of Paderewski, or of Dr Joachim—
  These artists meritorious are, but can't compare with him.

  No faults or errors technical his Symphonies deface:
  He calculates in counterpoint, he thinks in thoroughbass:
  Composers of celebrity—musicians of renown—
  Confess that they're inferior far to Bach Beethoven Brown.

  As conquerors, their triumphs won, new fields before them see,
  So Mr Brown resolved to have a Musical Degree:
  Some say that it the title was and others say the gown
  That captive took the soaring soul of Bach Beethoven Brown.

  But ah! our Statues grovelling command their candidates
  To satisfy examiners in Smalls, and Mods., and Greats,
  To learn those verbs irregular which men of taste abhor,
  Before you can a Doctor be or e'en a Bachelor!

  O mores! and O tempora! can pedantry compel
  Musicians who write choruses to construe them as well?
  Is this (I ask) the way to deal with genius great and high?
  Why fetter it with Latin Prose? and Echo answers "Why?"

  Beethoven Brown is famous still, though ignorant of Greek,
  He writes cantatas every month and anthems once a week:
  And still in every capital and each provincial town
  Piano organs play the tunes of Bach Beethoven Brown;

  Earls, Viscounts, Dukes, and R-y-lties his music throng to hear:
  Already he's a Baronet, and soon he'll be a Peer:
  And—thrice a year this awful news a nation's heart appals,
  That great Sir Bach Beethoven Brown is ploughed again in Smalls!

QUIETA MOVERE

"Any leap in the dark is better than standing still."—New Proverb.

  Talk not to us of the joys of the Present,
    Say not what is is undoubtedly best:
  Never be ours to be merely quiescent—
    Anything, everything rather than rest!

  Placid prosperity bores us and vexes:
    What if philosophers Latin and Greek
  Say that well-being's a Status and Exis? [1]
    Nothing should please you for more than a week.

  Tinkering, doctoring, shifting, deranging,
    Urged by a constant satiety on,
  Ever the new for the newer exchanging,
    Hazarding ever the gains we have won—

  Only perpetual flux can delight us,
    Blown like a billow by winds of the sea:
  Still let us bow to the shrine of St. Vitus—
    Vite Sanctissime, ora pro me!

  Pray, that when leaps in the darkness uncaring
    End in a fall (as they probably will),
  Mine be the credit for valiantly daring,
    Others be charged with defraying the bill!

[1. Transcriber's note: The word "Exis" was transliterated from the Greek as follows: Epsilon (with the rough-breathing diacritical), xi, iota, sigma.]

GRAECULUS ESURIENS

  There came a Grecian Admiral to pale Britannia's shore—
  In Eighteen Ninety-eight he came, and anchored off the Nore;
  An ultimatum he despatched (I give the text complete),
  Addressing it "To Kurio, the Premier, Downing-street." [1]

  "Whereas the sons of Liberty with indignation view
  The number of dependencies which governed are by you—
  With Hellas (Freedom's chosen land) we purpose to unite
  Some part of those dependencies—let's say the Isle of Wight."

  "The Isle of Wight!" said Parliament, and shuddered at the word,
  "Her Majesty's at Osborne, too—of course, the thing's absurd!"
  And this response Lord Salisbury eventually gave:
  "Such transfers must attended be by difficulties grave."

  "My orders," said the Admiral, "are positive and flat:
  I am not in the least deterred by obstacles like that:
  We're really only acting in the interests of peace:
  Expansion is a nation's law—we've aims sublime in Greece."

  With that Britannia blazed amain with patriotic flames!
  They built a hundred ironclads and launched them in the Thames:
  They girded on their fathers' swords, both commoners and peers;
  They mobilized an Army Corps, and drilled the Volunteers!

  The Labour Party armed itself, invasion's path to bar,
  "Truth" and the "Daily Chronicle" proclaimed a Righteous War;
  Sir William Harcourt stumped the towns that sacred fire to fan,
  And Mr Gladstone every day sent telegrams from Cannes.

  But ere they marched to meet the foe and drench the land with gore,
  Outspake that Grecian Admiral—from somewhere near the Nore—
  And "Ere," he said, "hostilities are ordered to commence,
  Just hear a last appeal unto your educated sense:—

  "You can't intend," he said, said he, "to turn your Maxims on
  The race that fought at Salamis, that bled at Marathon!
  You can't propose with brutal force to drive from off your seas
  The men of Homer's gifted line—the sons of Socrates!"

  Britannia heard the patriot's plea, she checked her murderous plans:
  Homer's a name to conjure with, 'mong British artisans:
  Her Army too, profoundly moved by arguments like these,
  Said 'e'd be blowed afore 'e'd fight the sons of Socrates.

  They cast away their fathers' swords, those commoners and peers,—
  Demobilized their Army Corps—dismissed their Volunteers:
  Soft Sentiment o'erthrew the bars that nations disunite,
  And Greece, in Freedom's sacred name, annexed the Isle of Wight.

[1. Transcriber's note: The phrase "To Kurio" was transliterated from the Greek as follows: "To"—Tau, omega; "Kurio"—Kappa, upsilon, rho, iota, omega.]

THE ROAD TO RENOWN

  If it still is your luck to be left in the ruck,
      and of fame you're an impotent seeker,
  If you fruitlessly aim at a Senate's acclaim
      when you can't catch the eye of the Speaker,
  If whenever you rise you observe with surprise
      that the House is perceptibly thinner,
  And your eloquent pleas are a sign to M.P.'s
      that it's nearly the time for their dinner:

  Should you sigh for the heights where the eminent lights,
      in the region of letters who shine, are;
  Should your novels and tales have indifferent sales
      and your verses be hopelessly minor,
  Should the public refuse your attempts to peruse
      when you try to instruct or to shock it,
  While it adds to the spoils of its Barries and Doyles,
      and increases the hoards of a Crockett:

  If you're baffled, in short, by the fame that you court,
      and your name's overlooked by the papers,—
  There's a road to success without toil or distress,
      or nocturnal consumption of tapers:
  By adopting this plan you're a prominent man,
      and no longer a painful aspirant:
  You must come on the scene as a bold Philhellene,
      and a foe to the Turk and the Tyrant!

  You'll orate to the crowd on the heritage proud
      which by Greece is bequeathed to the nations
  (You can gain in a week an acquaintance with Greek
      by a liberal use of translations),
  And the names that you quote with the aid of your "Grote"
      and a noble assumption of choler,
  Will attest that you feel that excusable zeal
      which belongs to an eminent scholar.

  You will prate before mobs of Lord Salisbury's jobs
      and the villainous schemes of the Kaiser,
  Which will make them believe you've a plan up your sleeve
      if they'd only take you for adviser;
  You may cheerfully speak of assisting the Greek
      'gainst the foes that his country environ:
  'Tis improbable quite you'll be wanted to fight,
      and the phrase will remind them of Byron.

  If you can't get a place in Society's race,
      and you have to confess that you're beaten,
  Yet I hope I have shown you may make yourself known
      by espousing the cause of the Cretan:
  You will sell all your works by denouncing the Turks,
      and the public will hasten to read 'em,
  When in reverent tones you are mentioned as "Jones,
      the Defender and Champion of Freedom!"

L'AFFAIRE (CHAPTER ONE)

  It was a little Bordereau that lay upon the ground:
  The Franco-Gallic Government that document it found,
  And straightway drew the inference, though how I do not know,
  Some Jew had sold to Germany this dreadful Bordereau.

  'Tis all (they said) a Hebrew trick—-a treasonable plan—
  And, now we come to think of it, why Dreyfus is the man!
  At any rate (they argued thus), it is for him to show
  That he is not the criminal who sold the Bordereau.

  Some hinted at another man, whose autograph it bore—
  But this was Dreyfus' artifice, and proved his guilt the more:
  No motive for the horrid deed confessedly he had:
  And crimes which are gratuitous are nearly twice as bad.

  They caught that Jew (did Government) and charged him with the sale;
  They proved his guilt—or said they did—and shut him up in gaol;
  And then, their case to justify and show their verdict true,
  They took and baited every one who called himself a Jew.

  These incidents an uproar caused like Donnybrook its Fair:
  Wherever Frenchmen met to talk 'twas Pandemonium there:
  And anywhere except in France you'd argue from events
  That Ministers had rather lost the public confidence.

  Then spake the German Government (and here I must deplore
  The fact that they had not presumed to mention it before):
  "Although," they said respectfully, "we would not interfere
  With any Angelegenheit outside our proper sphere—

  Why make this quite-essentially-unnecessary fuss?
  This compromising document was never sold to us:
  Potztausend!" said the Chancellor, "upon my honour, no!
  We have not got and do not want your precious Bordereau!"

  This rather struck the Ministers, in Paris where they sat:
  They took and read the Bordereau: they had not yet done that.
  'Twas found to mention obvious facts which any one might know—
  No horrid revelations lurked within the Bordereau!

  And did they set poor Dreyfus free, the due amends to make,
  Regain the public confidence by owning their mistake,
  And cease for popularity by sordid means to bid?
  These are the things they might have done; but this is what they did:—

  They said, those Gallic Ministers, "Undoubtedly it's true
  The document has not been sold, and is not worth a sou;
  But as the man's in prison now, why, there he's got to stay—
  Que voulez-vous?" they simply said, "it is a Chose Jugée!"

  This artless little narrative is specially designed
  To illustrate the workings of the Gallic statesman's mind;
  And till they change those processes and mould their ways anew,
  It is not yet in Paris that I want to be a Jew.