Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE CLOUDS: THE OLD EDUCATION, by ARISTOPHANES


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE CLOUDS: THE OLD EDUCATION, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Now hear the old rule
Last Line: When the plane to the elm-tree is breathing.
Subject(s): Education


JUST ARGUMENT. UNJUST ARGUMENT

J.A.

Now hear the old Rule,
Of instruction at school, --
I'll tell you the way it was done, sir;
When, with morals at par,
It still paid me to air
The good and the right as a preacher.
First of all, not a boy
Was allowed to annoy
With a sound from his mouth, never one, sir!
But sober and solemn
Our parish's column
Of lads for the local lute-teacher
Without coats on would go
Through the streets, though the snow
Might be snowing as thickly as bran there;
And he'd see to each learning
The song without turning
His backside too near the next man there.
They would learn simple ditties:
'The sacker of cities,
Great Pallas', or 'Echoed a far cry . . .'
Some classic passed on
From father to son,
Pitched high as a Dorian war-cry.
No play to the gallery!
No Phrynis' fallalery
Of twisting the tongue round a trill!
For all such abuses
That murder the Muses
We'd beat them and beat with a will!

U.A.

If you let him persuade you,
My boy, I'm afraid you
Will be -- bear me out Dionysus! --
Like Hippocrates' sons, --
It's a sucker, a dunce,
You'll be nicknamed, and that won't surprise us!

J.A.

Well, I think, you'll be found
On the Track or the Ground,
And bright fit and busy all day, sir!
Not like moderns be mouthing
An ultra-sharp nothing
Of wit on the boulevards paraded;
Nor stand, brought to book
By a slick-mannered crook
Who quibbles your credit away, sir!
No sir, you will go
Where in Academe grow
The worshipful trees colonnaded,
Running lap after lap
With some sensible chap
Of your age, till you finish your measure;
On your brow there will shine
The rushes you twine,
And a savour of let-live and leisure
The catkins descending
With bryony blending
In fragrance around you be wreathing;
And you'll laugh in the prime
Of the fresh spring-time
When the plane to the elm-tree is breathing.





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