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LONDON UNIVERSITY by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM

First Line: WHENE'ER WITH PITYING EYE I VIEW
I do confess they seem to me
As nettles unto hemlock be."
Old Poem.
A School, Mr. Bogle, where none are 'be-knived,'
And the Master well paid for his care;


Where a boy may look on, while his tutor's 'revived'
With a slice of rich plum-cake and a glass of French wine,
And feel that his own little self is divine,
And say to himself, 'I shall get on in time,


And the great, great men in this country all climb
From the Public Schools to the Temple of Fame,
And only a few to the Old Bailey shame!'
Why, Mr. Bogle, you're an ass, sir,


And a very great fool into the bargain!"
Thus spoke a stern, but a just papa,
As his hopeful son in his arms he took,
And gave him over, with many a crook
And many a turn, to his new mamma.
I never was sent to a school myself,
And I've made my way to fame and pelf;
But that's no rule for my hopeful elf,
And I'll give him a tutor, and nothing do
That a wise and a wealthy father should not pursue."
So thought old Bogle; and as he spoke,
He cloaked his son in a winter's coat,
And gave him a pocket-book to note
Down all he should hear, or see, or do.


And now, my boy, for a famous school,
Where no lad e'er was played the fool;


And you'll learn, I trust, how to carve a roast,
And not to be kicked, and never to boast;
And so, with a parting kiss and a tear,
He sent him off to the new-found sphere."


'Twas a lofty pile, with a massive gate,
And a porter who drank at a public-house;
And a hall that echoed early and late
With the mingled noise of cry and of souse.


And the usher sat in a room apart,
With a window high, and a window low,
Where the idle were flogged, and the idle were kept,
And the foolish ground in the mills of woe.


And the great schoolroom was a garret high,
Where the master sat like a little king,
With his elbow crook'd on his cushioned chair,
And a look that meant, "I can do anything!"


And he taught them French, and Latin too,
And what to say when their lessons were through,
And when to curtsey, and when to bow,
And when to tell the truth, and how!


And the boy grew up in the usual way,
And thought himself wiser every day;
And he read the books that his master gave,
And he sneezed and coughed, and he liked to shave!


And he learned to write with a flourish grand,
And to walk like a lord, with a cane in his hand;
And he used to say, as he paced the green,
A famous place this, and I'm its dean!






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