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...MY COMFORTER by EMILY JANE BRONTE THE SHIP OF RIO by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE NATIONAL ODE; INDEPENDENCE SQUARE, PHILADELPHIA by BAYARD TAYLOR COQUETTE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PILLBOX by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 12 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH EPITAPH ON THE LADY SALTER, WIFE TO SIR WILLIAM SALTER by THOMAS CAREW |