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On A Change Of Masters At A Great Public School.[1]

Topics: classic

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 Csar'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,

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"Where are those honours, IDA! once your own,..."

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