The Origin of Didactic Poetry

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The Origin of Didactic Poetry
by James Russell Lowell
Featured in Vol 1., No.1 of The Atlantic Monthly.

The Origin of Didactic Poetry
  When wise Minerva still was young
    And just the least romantic,
  Soon after from Jove's head she flung
    That preternatural antic,
  'Tis said to keep from idleness
    Or flirting,--those twin curses,--
  She spent her leisure, more or less,
    In writing po--, no, verses.

  How nice they were! to rhyme with far
    A kind star did not tarry;
  The metre, too, was regular
    As schoolboy's dot and carry;
  And full they were of pious plums,
    So extra-super-moral,--
  For sucking Virtue's tender gums
    Most tooth-enticing coral.

  A clean, fair copy she prepares,
    Makes sure of moods and tenses,
  With her own hand,--for prudence spares
    A man-(or woman)-uensis;
  Complete, and tied with ribbons proud,
    She hinted soon how cosy a
  Treat it would be to read them loud
    After next day's Ambrosia.

  The Gods thought not it would amuse
    So much as Homer's Odyssees,
  But could not very well refuse
    The properest of Goddesses;
  So all sat round in attitudes
    Of various dejection,
  As with a hem! the queen of prudes
    Began her grave prelection.

  At the first pause Zeus said, "Well sung!--
    I mean--ask Phoebus,--he knows."
  Says Phoebus, "Zounds! a wolf's among
    Admetus's merinos!
  Fine! very fine! but I must go;
    They stand in need of me there;
  Excuse me!" snatched his stick, and so
    Plunged down the gladdened ether.

  With the next gap, Mars said, "For me
    Don't wait,--naught could be finer;
  But I'm engaged at half-past three,--
    A fight in Asia Minor!"
  Then Venus lisped, "How very thad!
    It rainth down there in torrinth;
  But I mutht go, becauthe they've had
    A thacrifithe in Corinth!"

  Then Bacchus,--"With those slamming doors
    I lost the last half dist--(hic!)
  Mos' bu'ful se'ments! what's the Chor's?
    My voice shall not be missed--(hic!)"
  His words woke Hermes; "Ah!" he said,
    "I so love moral theses!"
  Then winked at Hebe, who turned red,
    And smoothed her apron's creases.

  Just then Zeus snored,--the Eagle drew
    His head the wing from under;
  Zeus snored,--o'er startled Greece there flew
    The many-volumed thunder;
  Some augurs counted nine,--some, ten,--
    Some said, 'twas war,--some, famine,--
  And all, that other-minded men
    Would get a precious ----.

  Proud Pallas sighed, "It will not do;
    Against the Muse I've sinned, oh!"
  And her torn rhymes sent flying through
    Olympus's back window.
  Then, packing up a peplus clean,
    She took the shortest path thence,
  And opened, with a mind serene,
    A Sunday-school in Athens.

  The verses? Some, in ocean swilled,
    Killed every fish that bit to 'em;
  Some Galen caught, and, when distilled,
    Found morphine the residuum;
  But some that rotted on the earth
    Sprang up again in copies,
  And gave two strong narcotics birth,--
    Didactic bards and poppies.

  Years after, when a poet asked
    The Goddess's opinion,
  As being one whose soul had basked
    In Art's clear-aired dominion,--
  "Discriminate," she said, "betimes;
    The Muse is unforgiving;
  Put all your beauty in your rhymes,
    Your morals in your living."

This work was published before January 1, 1923, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.