WHERE are those honours, Ida! once your own, When Probus filled your magisterial throne? As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a barbarian in her Caesar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat Pomposus where your Probus sate. Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, Pomposus holds you in his harsh control; Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules Such as were ne'er before enforced in schools. Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws, He governs, sanction'd but by self-applause. With him the same dire fate attending Rome, Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom: Like her o'erthrown, for ever lost to fame, No trace of science left you, but the name. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO ALISA ROCK by JOHN KEATS THE QUEEN FORGETS by GEORGE STERLING ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA (2) by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH DOG AND CAT by RUTH ANDERSON BARNETT THE LAST MAN by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE LINES TO MRS. KEMBLE, IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO by ROBERT BURNS |