Thoughts Suggested by a College Examination
Lines:72Movement:Romanticism
High in the midst, surrounded by his peers,Magnus his ample front sublime uprears:Plac'd on his chair of state, he seems a God,While Sophs and Freshmen tremble at his nod;As all around sit wrapt in speechless gloom,_His_ voice, in thunder, shakes the sounding dome;Denouncing dire reproach to luckless fools,Unskill'd to plod in mathematic rules. Happy the youth! in Euclid's axioms tried,Though little vers'd in any art beside;Who, scarcely skill'd an English line to pen,Scans Attic metres with a critic's ken. What! though he knows not how his fathers bled,When civil discord pil'd the fields with dead,When Edward bade his conquering bands advance,Or Henry trampled on the crest of France:Though marvelling at the name of _Magna Charta_,Yet well he recollects the _laws_ of _Sparta_;Can tell, what edicts sage _Lycurgus_ made,While _Blackstone's_ on the _shelf_, _neglected_ laid;Of _Grecian dramas_ vaunts the deathless fame,Of _Avon's bard_, rememb'ring scarce the name. Such is the youth whose scientific pateClass-honours, medals, fellowships, await;Or even, perhaps, the _declamation_ prize,If to such glorious height, he lifts his eyes.But lo! no _common_ orator can hopeThe envied silver cup within his scope:Not that our _heads_ much eloquence require,Th' ATHENIAN'S glowing style, or TULLY'S fire.A _manner_ clear or warm is useless, sinceWe do not try by _speaking_ to _convince_;Be other _orators_ of pleasing _proud_,--We speak to _please_ ourselves, not _move_ the crowd:Our gravity prefers the _muttering_ tone,A proper mixture of the _squeak_ and _groan_:No borrow'd _grace_ of _action_ must be seen,The slightest motion would displease the _Dean_;Whilst every staring Graduate would prate,Against what--_he_ could never imitate. The man, who hopes t' obtain the promis'd cup,Must in one _posture_ stand, and _ne'er look up_;Nor _stop_, but rattle over _every_ word--No matter _what_, so it can _not_ be heard:Thus let him hurry on, nor think to rest:Who speaks the _fastest's_ sure to speak the _best_;Who utters most within the shortest space,May, safely, hope to win the _wordy race_. The Sons of _Science_ these, who, thus repaid,Linger in ease in Granta's sluggish shade;Where on Cam's sedgy banks, supine, they lie,Unknown, unhonour'd live--unwept for die:Dull as the pictures, which adorn their halls,They think all learning fix'd within their walls:In manners rude, in foolish forms precise,All modern arts affecting to despise;Yet prizing _Bentley's, Brunck's_, or _Porson's_ note,More than the _verse on which the critic wrote_:Vain as their honours, heavy as their Ale,Sad as their wit, and tedious as their tale;To friendship dead, though not untaught to feel,When Self and Church demand a Bigot zeal.With eager haste they court the lord of power,(Whether 'tis PITT or PETTY rules the hour;)To _him_, with suppliant smiles, they bend the head,While distant mitres to their eyes are spread;But should a storm o'erwhelm him with disgrace,They'd fly to seek the next, who fill'd his place._Such_ are the men who learning's treasures guard!_Such_ is their _practice_, such is their _reward_!This _much_, at least, we may presume to say--The premium can't exceed the _price_ they _pay_.