Like a Leonid fresh from starland,
Not the young lion that we see
Portrayed in _Friendship's Garland_.

And there are tinklings of the lute
In orthodox decorous fashion,
But altogether destitute
Of "elemental" passion;
And illustrations which refrain
From all that verges on the shady,
But glorify the whiskered swain,
The lachrymose young lady.

The sirens of the "sixties" showed
No inkling of our modern Circes,
And swells had not evolved the code
That guides our precious Percys;
Woman, in short, was grave or gay,
But not a problem or a riddle,
And maidens still were taught to play
The harp and not the fiddle.

And writers in the main eschewed
All topics tending to disquiet,
All efforts to reorganize
Our dogmas or our diet;
You could not carp at MENDELSSOHN
Without creating quite a scandal,
And rag-time on the gramophone
Had not supplanted HANDEL.