The Cry of the Elders

Previous

[With steady but increasing pace the world is approaching a point at which the cleverness of the young will amount to a social problem. Already things are getting uncomfortable for persons of age and sobriety, whose notion of happiness is to ruminate a few solid and simple ideas in freedom from disturbance.—Macmillan’s Magazine.]

O my Children, do you hear your elders sighing?
Do you wonder that senility should find
Your encyclopÆdic knowledge somewhat trying
To the ordinary mind?
In the heyday of a former generation,
Some respect for our intelligence was shown;
And it’s hard for us to cotton
To the fact that you’ve forgotten
More than we have ever known!
O my Children, do you hear your elders snoring,
When the “chassis” of your motors you discuss?
Do you wonder that your “shop” is rather boring
To such simple souls as us?[1]
Do you marvel that your dreary conversation
Should evoke the yawns that “lie too deep for tears,”
When you lecture to your betters
About “tanks” and “carburettors,”
About “sparking-plugs” and “gears”?
O my Children, in the season of your nonage,
(Which delightful days no longer now exist!)
We could join with other fogeys of our own age
In a quiet game of whist.
Now, at bridge, our very experts are defeated
By some beardless but impertinent young cub,
Who converts our silent table
To a very Tow’r of Babel,
At the Knickerbocker Club!
O my Children, we no longer are respected!
’Tis a fact we older fellows must deplore,
Whose opinions and whose judgments are neglected,
As they never were before.
We may tender good advice to our descendants;
We may offer them our money, if we will;
Lo, the one shall be forsaken,
And the other shall be taken
(Like the women at the mill!).
O my Children, note the moral (like a kernel)
I have hidden in the centre of my song!
Do not contradict a relative maternal,
If she happens to be wrong!
Be indulgent to the author of your being;
Never show him the contempt that you must feel;
Treat him tolerantly, rather,
Since a man who is your father
Can’t be wholly imbecile!
O my Children, we, the older generation,
At whose feet you ought (in theory) to sit,
Are bewildered by your mental penetration,
We are dazzled by your wit!
But we hopefully anticipate a future
When the airship shall replace the motor-’bus,
And your children, when they meet you,
Shall inevitably treat you
Just as you are treating us!
[Pg 78]
[Pg 79]

[1] “As us” is not grammar.—Publishers’ Reader. “As we” is not verse.—H. G.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page