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Poem by George Gordon Byron


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 Cæsar'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 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 enforc'd 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.

Harrow, July, 1805

George Gordon Byron


George Gordon Byron's other poems:
  1. To the Earl of Clare
  2. Lines Addressed to a Young Lady
  3. To Anne (Oh say not, sweet Anne, that the Fates have decreed)
  4. To Caroline (Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes)
  5. To a Lady who Presented to the Author a Lock of Hair Braided with his own, and appointed a Night in December to meet him in the Garden


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