Classic Poem

Criticus , the valiant warrior,
Mounts a-horseback, proud and keen;
'Tis no steed of Andalusia,
'Tis a wooden stool, I ween!

'Stead of sword, a pen well-sharpened
Draws he forth, prepared for fight;
Spectacles, in place of visor,
Serve to guard his book-dimmed sight.

Round that worthy dame — " the Public " —
Countless perils aye increase;
Now a dragon, sought by Siegfried,
Fiercely snorting, threats her peace;

Now some sonneteer besets her,
Twangs his lute, and sweetly wooes;
Now a monk with mystic preachings
Doth her every sense confuse.

Criticus , the valiant warrior,
Dragons slays with cheerful air;
Splits the minstrel's lute in splinters,
Hurls the monk from pulpit-stair.

Yet, in sooth, his mind's so modest,
He to none his name betrays;
Scarce a sign — enigma-shrouded —
On his shield the knight displays.

Criticus! the weak who shieldest,
Be thou friendly, be benign;
So may heav'n's most bounteous blessing —
Publisher's hard cash — be thine!