To some He's given minds to know
The what and how, the where and when;
To some, a genius that can throw
A light upon the hearts of men.
To some He's given fortunes free
From sorrows and replete with joys;
To some, a thousand friends; to me
He's given my two little boys.
MY OLD CLASSICAL MASTER.
Ever hail'd with delight when my memory strays
O'er the various scenes of my juvenile days,
Do you mind if I sing a poor song in your praise,
My jolly old classical master?
You were kind—over-lenient, 'twas rumor'd, to rule—
And so learn'd, though the blithest of all in the school,
'Twas your pupil's own fault if he left you a fool,
My jolly old classical master.
"Polumetis Odusseus" you brought back to life,
"Xanthos Menelaos" recalled to the strife:
You knew more about Homer than Homer's own wife,
My jolly old classical master.
You could sever each classical Gordian knot,
Each "crux criticorum" explain on the spot;
We preferr'd your opinion to Liddell and Scott,
My jolly old classical master.
To you "Arma virumque," "All Gaul" and the rest
Were a snap of the fingers, a plaything, a jest,
Even Horace mere English—you lik'd Horace best,
My jolly old classical master.
We esteemed you a marvel in Latin and Greek,
An Erasmus, a Bentley, a Person, a freak;
And for all sorts of knowledge we held you unique,
My jolly old classical master.