 | English Roses |  |
THE MODERN OLYMPUS.
O, ye elegant reviewers, with the very best of wineAnd the hands that dip in ewers all of crystal superfine,
Do ye trifle with your sherry and the choicest of cigars
While with Cato waxing merry over “merum” and guitars?
Holy teachers love to skimp us and allow us little marge,
But like gods upon Olympus ye are liberal and large;
And we earthworms, humbly plodding in a labour often stern,
Never dream ye may be nodding in your catholic concern;
We look up to you with wonder in your golden-shadowed show,
As ye launch the bolts of thunder on our little world below.
There are exquisite fine ladies, who discourse of laws and loves
On your thrones, and send to Hades our poor souls with white kid gloves.
Are they goddesses like Venus or Minerva with her owl,
Who so lightly step between us and soft vices as we prowl?
Though we hear a breezy bustling when we sow our wildest oats,
As of fragrant roseleaves rustling or of pretty petticoats.
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With the educated whisper of Divine philosophers;
And we follow, if ye spurn us, though as lambs to slaughter led,
For we love the blue cothurnus and for it have freely bled.
O, forgive us the transgression, if we kiss your dainty feet
And repeat the indiscretion just because it is so sweet.
| English Roses | |