Classic Poem

Dear Friends:

When I received your invitation
To write a poem for this joyous feast,
I telegraphed at once for inspiration,
Enough to write an epic at the least.

I sent, of course, directly to the Muses,
Ordered a carboy of the newest brand.
You see, no stylish poet ever uses
The common stock that might be kept on hand.

I always want the latest in Parnassus,
Some fin-de-siecle , Aubrey Beardsley style,
Some dainty blend of vitriol and molasses,
Lightning, crushed heart, Mephistophelian smile.

Alas! Alas! Last evening in my study
I sat a-dozing, when there came a tap.
Entered a stripling, lithe and strong and ruddy;
Wings on his heels he wore, and on his cap.

Hermes! I knew him; though a fustinella
Was added to his classic suit of clothes.
He looked uncommon like a white umbrella
From his waist down; but upward — pas grand chose!

No winged staff he held; but one small, dingy,
Old amphora upon his shoulder bore.
Such as Horatius broached when he felt stingy,
And tipsy Lyce hiccoughed for some more.

Breathless he spoke:
" I come from the immortals
(I mean the Muses) at their joint request,
To tell you they have closed their shining portals,
Abandoned their headquarters like the rest.

The Turk, the infernal " —
Here he dropped to Doric;
Best not translate it all for ears polite.
He said, in language somewhat metaphoric,
The Turks had come, the gods had taken flight.

" Olympus' shining bastions have been taken;
In fair Pieria camps the bloody Turk.
Zeus and his court just barely saved their bacon,
And all but Mars and me are out of work.

But Helicon — of course it did not follow,
The Spring Ode business need have had a slump.
The Muses would have worked, but Sire Apollo
Enteuthen exelaunei ; he's a chump.

Your order came just as the troupe disbanded,
They bade me bring this token of their care,
The only thing they saved. "
To me he handed
The amphora, and vanished in thin air.

Fresh from Parnassus, from the dear old ladies!
Bless their kind hearts, I knew they'd understand.
Reach me a beaker. — By the Queen of Hades!!!
What is this stuff? Alumni Poets' Brand!!

Yes, as I live, those shameless jades had sent me
A pint or so of stale Castalian sap.
Imagine, if you can, what feelings rent me:
To write an ode on that old-fashioned tap!

I'll warrant that old liquor is the very
Same juice that Jubal drank to fire his blood
For class-day odes at Shinar Seminary;
And used by all his tribesmen since the flood.

Ah! and I meant to write in novel meter
A song that would have struck you with amaze;
As sweet as Ella Wheeler Wilcox, — yes, far sweeter;
As fresh as Kipling in his freshest lays.

But now you understand why I must meet you
In common meter and in well-worn rhymes;
Why I can send no fresher thought to greet you
Than the old wishes used a thousand times.

Old; but, in truth, what matter? For new graces
Let anxious poets ceaselessly refine;
What song can sooner find the heart's soft places
Than the familiar strains of Auld Lang Syne?

Old and well-worn; but memory fondly gazes
Down the dim vista to the days of yore,
And welcomes all the consecrated phrases
Spoken and sung and echoed long before.

Old things are best; and though the fancy wander
On her light wing to earth's remotest ends,
For any fair device that she can ponder,
Who would exchange the Bless you of old friends?

Then touched by many a tender recollection,
This old-time welcome I would fain repeat, —
Friends, Classmates, Comrades, Kinsmen in affection
For the dear Mother in whose home you meet.

Brave Alma Mater! Naught her progress hinders;
Straight on she fares as dauntless as of yore;
And Phaenix-like she rises from her cinders,
Statelier, fairer, stronger than before.

I join my prayers with yours: May heaven defend her!
Send her long life and still more prosperous days!
May children's children's children still attend her,
And gather year by year to sing her praise!