It is told of the painter Da Vinci,
Being once unemployed for a span,
At the menace of poverty’s pinch he
Sought work at the Court of Milan.
Having shown himself willing and able
To perform on the curious lyre,
He presented the Duke with a table
Of the talents he proffered for hire.
“I can raze you a fortress,” it ran on,
“Quell castles, drain ditches and moats,
Make shapely and competent cannon,
Build aqueducts, bridges and boats;
In peace I can mould for your Courts a
Few models in marble or clay
And paint the illustrious Sforza
With anyone living to-day.”
Leonardo is dead, they asseverate,
He has left no successor behind,
For the days of the specialist never rate
At its value the versatile mind.
Is Lord Brougham, then, our latest example?
No, Time, the old churl with his scythe,
Shall spare us a notable sample
In the Senior Mistress of Blyth.
She shall guide Standard Three through Progressions,
Study Statics and Surds with the Fourth,
She shall dwell on De Quincey’s Confessions,
Donne, Caedmon and Christopher North;
And no class-room shall boast of a quicker row
When her classical pupils rehearse
Their prose, which is modelled on Cicero,
And their more than Horatian verse.
She shall lead them to love Cimabue,
To distinguish with scholarship ripe
’Twixt the texture of Clausen and Clouet,
And the values of Collier and Cuyp.
Nay, all Blyth shall reflect her ability
As its brushes acquire by her aid
Or South Kensington’s pretty facility
Or the terrible strength of the Slade.
Yes, her duties are diverse, and this’ll
Suggest to each candidate why
They should read Leonardo’s epistle
Before they sit down to apply;
For his style is itself a credential
Though truly he has not a tithe
Of the qualifications essential
To the Senior Mistress of Blyth.