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Page 7
FRAGMENTS OF SCHOOL EXERCISES, FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF
�SCHYLUS.
Great Jove! to whose Almighty Throne,
Both Gods and mortals homage pay,
Ne'er may my soul thy power disown,
Thy dread behests ne'er disobey.
Oft shall the sacred victim fall,
In sea-girt Ocean's mossy hall;
My voice shall raise no impious strain,
'Gainst him who rules the sky and azure main.
* * * * *
How different now thy joyless fate,
Since first Hesione thy bride,
When plac'd aloft in godlike state,
The blushing beauty by thy side.
Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smil'd,
And mirthful strains the hours beguil'd;
The nymphs and Tritons danc'd around,
Nor yet thy doom was fix'd nor Jove relentless frown'd.
HARROW, _December_ 1, 1804.
* * * * *
LINES IN "LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN," BY J.J.
ROUSSEAU, FOUNDED ON FACTS.
Away, away,--your flattering arts,
May now betray some simpler hearts;
And _you_ will _smile_ at their believing,
And _they_ shall _weep_ at your deceiving.
_ANSWER TO THE ABOVE, ADDRESS'D TO MISS ----_.
Dear simple girl those flattering arts,
(From which you'd guard frail female hearts,)
Exist but in imagination,
Mere phantoms of your own creation;
For he who sees that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face;
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee;
Once let you at your mirror glance,
You'll there descry that elegance,
Which from our sex demands such praises,
But envy in the other raises.--
Then he who tells you of your beauty,
Believe me only does his duty;
Ah! fly not from the candid youth,
It is not flattery, but truth.
_July_, 1804.
* * * * *
ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS, AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.
Where are those honours? IDA, once your own,
When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne;
As ancient Rome fast falling to disgrace,
Hail'd a Barbarian in her C�sar's place;
So you degenerate share as hard a fate,
And seat _Pomposus_, where your _Probus_ sate.
Of narrow brain, but of a narrower soul,
Pomposus, holds you in his harsh controul;
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 beheld in schools,)
Mistaking _pedantry_, for _learning's_ laws,
He governs, sanctioned but by self applause.
With him, the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated IDA! soon must stamp your doom;
Like her o'erthrown, forever lost to fame,
No trace of science left you, but the name.
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