Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PETITION OF A SCHOOLBOY TO HIS FATHER, by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Most honour'd sir, I must confess Last Line: And your petitioner shall pray. Alternate Author Name(s): Aikin, Anna Letitia Subject(s): Fathers & Sons; Money; Schools; Poetry & Poets; Students | ||||||||
Most honour'd Sir, I must confess I never liked a letter less Than yours, which brought this new receipt To prove that poets must not eat. Alas! poetic sparks require The aid of culinary fire: Your ancient bards, I always find, Recited best when they had dined: Old Homer, and your brave Greek boys, With whom old stories make such noise, The savoury chine loved full as well As striking on an empty shell; And mighty idle it was reckon'd (See Pope's translation, book the second) To enter upon any matter Of verse, or business, praise, or satire, Till the dire rage of hunger ceased, And empty stomachs were appeased. Indeed, Sir, with your lean philosophy, For want of moisture I should ossify; And therefore beg, with all submission, To recommend a composition, Which Phoebus' self to me reveal'd Last night, while sleep my eyelids seal'd. First, from the Naiad's sacred spring The cleansing wave with reverence bring; Be rites of due lustration paid, -- Ill-omened else, you'll ne'er succeed. Now with pure hands receive the flour Which Ceres from her horn will pour. The fairest herds on Mosswold hill Your pail with smoking streams shall fill, Which, tortured in the whirling churn, Shall soon to waxen butter turn, -- Butter, more sweet than morning dew, Butter, which Homer never knew! My friends, you have not done your task yet: Next of fresh eggs provide a basket; Let Betty break them in a bowl Large as her own free-hearted soul; Then, with a triple-tined fork The viscous flood incessant work, Till white with sparkling foam it rise Like a vext sea beneath her eyes. The monarch of the watery reign Thus with his trident smites the main, When roused from Ocean's deepest bed The billows lift their frothy head, And the wet sailor far from shore With dashing spray is cover'd o'er. With flying sails and falling oars Now speed, my friends, to distant shores, For many a distant realm must join, Ere we fulfill the vast design. From islands of the Western main Bring the sweet juices of the cane; In bright Hesperia's groves you'll find The lovely fruit with burnish'd rind; Not fairer was that golden bough Given to the pious Trojan's vow, When the prophetic Sibyl led To the sad nations of the dead, Which guided through the direful scene, And soothed the stern relentless Queen. Strip of their bark the spicy trees Embosom'd deep in Indian seas. To Venus next address your prayer, That she with rosy hand would bear The luscious fruit to crown your toils From Paphos and Cythera's isles. From every clime the tribute pour'd, Now heap'd upon the spacious board, Sure sister Sally will not linger To mix them with her snowy finger. Fair priestess of the mystic rite, Kept close from man's unhallow'd sight, Fear not my verse should here disclose What words the sacred charm compose, When with uncover'd arms you bend, The heterogeneous mass to blend: -- Your cakes are good, with joy I take them, Nor ask the secret how you make them. Now, the rich labour to complete, Spread o'er the whole an icy sheet, Thinner than o'er the pointed thorn The glazing of a winter's morn; Too weak to bear the beams of day, The trickling crystal melts away. 'Tis done, -- consign it o'er to Bray, And your petitioner shall pray. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN MICHAEL ROBINS?ÇÖS CLASS MINUS ONE by HICOK. BOB YOU GO TO SCHOOL TO LEARN by THOMAS LUX GRADESCHOOL'S LARGE WINDOWS by THOMAS LUX ODE TO SPRING by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |
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