  Of all the ill-fated Boys ever created Young Jack was the wretchedest lad: An emphatic, erratic, Dogmatic fanatic Was foisted upon him as dad! From the time he could walk, And before he could talk, His wearisome training began, On a highly barbarian, Disciplinarian, Nearly Tartarean Plan! THE REASON FOR REASON And some of Macaulay, Till all of “Horatius” he knew, And the drastic, sarcastic, Fantastic, scholastic Philippics of “Junius,” too. He made him learn lots Of the poems of Watts, And frequently said he ignored, On principle, any son’s Title to benisons Till he’d learned Tennyson’s “Maud.” “For these are the giants Of thought and of science,” He said in his positive way: “So weigh them, obey them, Display them, and lay them To heart in your infancy’s day!” Jack made no reply, But he said on the sly An eloquent word, that had come From a quite indefensible, Most reprehensible, But indispensable Chum. Jack had such a plenty Of books and paternal advice, Though seedy and needy, Indeed he was greedy For vengeance, whatever the price! In the editor’s seat Of a critical sheet He found the revenge that he sought; And, with sterling appliance of Mind, wrote defiance of All of the giants of Thought. He’d thunder and grumble At high and at humble Until he became, in a while, Mordacious, pugnacious, Rapacious. Good gracious! They called him the Yankee Carlyle! But he never took rest On his quarrelsome quest Of the giants, both mighty and small. He slated, distorted them, Hanged them and quartered them, Till he had slaughtered them All. If you have a go farther, you’re apt to fare worse. (When you turn it around it is different rather:— You’re not apt to go worse if you have a fair father!) HORACE |
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