Classic Poem

FROM POEMS BY GENTLEMEN OF DEVON AND CORNWALL .

Pensive around the common-room,
While W ARTON " snuffs his pipe's perfume;"
Too oft the College Head, whose name
Can never grace the rolls of Fame,
Struts dignified — with not a sprig
Of bay-leaves stuck about his wig!
" Lo there (indignant Genius cries)
In yon clipt shade a W ARTON lies!
How oft, while Eve her landscape drew,
He hail'd my steps to yonder yew!
For him I wove, in Fancy's loom,
A texture of perennial bloom!
For him, with joy the assembled Nine
Their amplest wreath conspir'd to twine!
Yet what, alas! but idle praise,
Rewards my sweetest minstrel's lays!"