The studious maid whose classic brow Was high with conscious pride of learning Now grooms the pony, milks the cow, And takes a hand at churning; And one I know, whose music had Done credit to her educators, Has sold her well-beloved “Strad” To purchase incubators! The object of this humble lay Is not to minimize the glory Of women of an earlier day Whose deeds are shrined in story; ’Tis only to extol the grit Of clever girls—and none work harder— Who daily do their toilsome “bit” To stock the nation’s larder. TO A NEW KNIGHT Momentous sage of Mona’s Isle, Pride of your fellow-Manx, Renowned alike upon the Nile And by the Tiber’s banks— What though sour critics, whom it irks To watch your widening reign, And elders of illiberal kirks Affect a harsh disdain; What though fastidious souls declare Your style distinction lacks Or sacrilegiously dare To mimic it, like “Max”; So long as countless myriads hold Your lucubrations dear, And, side by side, the copies sold Would circumvent the sphere? Let pert reviewers carp and jibe, Let jealous pens deride, The interviewers, noble tribe, Are solid on your side. Have you not shown in all its bloom Rome’s grandeur to mankind, And, culling “copy” at Khartoum, Laid bare the Arab mind? Did not your heroine, _Glory Quayle_ Our views of life transform; Did not all modern heroes pale Beside the great _John Storm_? As long as char-à-banc or ’bus Brings trippers to your shrine, Shall the new star Cainiculus High in the welkin shine. Loud booms the wave in Bradda’s cave, Yet with a muffled tone Matched with the sound, immense, profound, From your great trumpet blown. THE TENTH MUSE She tells us all we needn’t know; She always draws the longest bow; She dramatizes guilt and crime; Exalts the mummer and the mime; Worships success, however won; Confounds vulgarity with fun; Lends credence to each passing craze, Fans party rancour to a blaze, Till people of a sober mind Grow envious of the deaf and blind. O what are all the other Nine, The Muses fondly deemed divine Matched with the Tenth, the modern Muse, That now manipulates our news. LAYS OF THE LARDER SUGAR AN ELEGIAC ODE Queen of the palate! Universal Sweet! Gastronomy’s delectable Gioconda! Since with submission loyally I greet And follow out the regimen of RHONDDA, I cannot be considered indiscreet If I essay, but never go beyond, a Brief elegiac tribute to a sway By sterner needs now largely swept away.