University of Virginia Library

Ode to Mr. Saintsbury

Come, all ye maidens and young men,
Who thump the lute and smack the lyre;
Thy sweetness bring, Le Gallienne,
Watson, thy wing of eager fire!
Impassioned Benson, softly sing,
‘Not yet the Muse's race is run,’
Touch, Thompson, touch the sounding string,
With Johnson, Dobson, Davidson!
Austin and Morris, fill the fife,
Or sound the clarion, as of yore,
Sing, Arnold, of this mortal life,
Which Sakya Muni deemed a bore!
Build, Rhymers' Club, the lofty rhyme,
Great fancies mate with glowing words;
Like Pembroke—in the Doctor's time—
The land's ‘a nest of singing birds’.
Let Tabb renew his modest vein,
Nor let the voice of Tabley fail.
With Blowsabella, once again,
Delight us, Muse of Mr. Gale!
I, too, to please my Saintsbury,
The barrel organ will essay,
Once more my penny whistle ply,
Be archly sad, or glumly gay.
Lo, at that threat the man succumbs,
Before my voice the critic flies,
The populace turn down their thumbs,
He pales, he reels, he sinks, he dies!