WHEN the bard selects a subject which is suitable to sing, 'Tisn't Love, or Convocation, but it's quite another thing -- For the monumental records of elevens and of crews Are the only theme that's proper for the academic Muse: 'Tis the sinews and the thews And the victories of Blues: They're the solitary subject which is likely to amuse -- Yes, the only dissertations that the public will peruse Are the chronicles relating the performances of Blues. When I move in gilded circles ('tis my habit now and then), I am voted dull and stupid, and I am not asked again, If I cannot make a series of intelligent remarks In replying to their queries on the River and the Parks, Where they gather in a swarm When it's reasonably warm, And they watch the Blue at cricket and they prattle of his Form, Where they see him a-compiling of a century or two, Or applaud him from the Barges as he sits among his crew! When I read my weekly @3Isis@1 (as I usually do), I peruse with veneration the achievements of the Blue: Where his catalogue of virtues is hebdomadally penned By the callow admiration of a sympathetic friend: He's the idol every week Of a sympathetic clique For his prowess on the River or his ignorance of Greek; And the Freshman, while the record he assiduously cons, Sees a model and ensample for the guidance of his Dons! In those old monastic cloisters where the learned meet to dine He's the theme of envious tutors while they sit beside their wine; They neglect their ancient studies, and the books upon their shelves Are the latest works on cricket -- which they do not play themselves. Yes! the Don no more dilates On the facts and on the dates Which will benefit his pupils when he sends them in for Greats; For the columns of the @3Sportsman@1 are the only thing he knows, And he sets them to his scholars as a piece for Latin Prose. Ye magnificent young athletes! whom we contemplate with awe, Whose behaviour is our model and whose wishes are our law -- Who to honour your successes burn our chairs and tables, while E'en the owner acquiesces with a simulated smile, Simply asking now and then If you're ordinary men, Or phenomena celestial who are granted to our ken; Take this humble little lay From a reverent M.A. As the only act of homage he is competent to pay -- For the truth's as old as Pindar, that the only thing to do Is to court the approbation and indulgence of a Blue! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMSWOMEN by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A FOREST HYMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR by JAMES DAVID CORROTHERS TO A CHAMELEON by MARIANNE MOORE A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH by THOMAS PARNELL MRS. HARRIS'S PETITION: TO EXCELLENCIES THE LORDS JUSTICES OF IRELAND by JONATHAN SWIFT |