Our fathers on the pedagogue held sentiments irrational,
    Curricula for training him ’twas never theirs to know,
  And when he taught the way he ought, by genius educational,
    They gave their thanks to Providence, who made him do it so. 
  But our developed intellect and keener perspicacity
    Has all reduced to system now and a priori rule: 
  We’ve altogether ceased to trust in natural capacity,
    And pin alone our faith upon a Pedagogy School.

  Don’t talk to me of knowledge gained by base experience practical
    (A thing that’s wholly obsolete and laid upon the shelf): 
  Don’t waste your time in aiming at exactitude syntactical,
    Or hold that he who teaches Greek should know that Greek himself: 
  For if you wish to face the truth, and fact no more to see awry—­
    Who strives to wake the dormant mind of unreceptive imps
  Need only read the works of Rein on Education’s Theory
    And study the immortal tomes of Ziegler and De Guimps!

  Whene’er of old a boy was dull or quite adverse to knowledge, he
    Was set an imposition or corrected with a switch: 
  Far different our practice is, who reign by Methodology
    And guide the dunce by precepts learnt from Landon or from Fitch: 
  ’Twas difficult by rule of thumb to check unseemly merriment,
    To make your class their pastor treat with proper due regard—­
  ’Tis easy quite for specialists in Juvenile Temperament,
    Who know the books on Punishment and also on Reward!

  There’s no demand for authors now of erudite opuscula,
    For Wranglers or for Science men or linguists of repute: 
  No cricketers can gain a post by mere distinction muscular,
    No Socker Blues can hope to teach the young idea to Shoot: 
  Read Lange his Psychology—­Didactics of Comenius—­
    By works like these and only these your prudent mind prepare: 
  For if you’ve nought but scholarship or independent genius
    You’d better far adopt the Bar and make your fortune there!

  O all ye ancient dominies whose names are writ in history—­
    Shade of the late Orbilius, and ghost of Dr Parr,
  Howe’er you got your fame of old—­the reason’s wrapt in mystery—­
    Where’er you be, I hope you see how obsolete you are! 
  ’Tis Handbooks make the Pedagogue:  O great, eternal verity! 
    O fact of which our ancestors could ne’er obtain a glimpse! 
  But we’ll proclaim the truth abroad and noise it to posterity,
    Our watchword a curriculum—­our shibboleth DE GUIMPS!

SONG FOR THE NAVY LEAGUE

  (Dedicated without permission to LORD CHARLES BERESFORD.)

  O where be all those mariners bold
      who used to control the sea,
  The Admiral great and the bo’sun’s mate
      and the skipper who skipped so free? 
  O what has become of our midshipmites,
      the terror of every foe,
  And the captain brave who dares the wave
      when the stormy winds do blow?