ANSWER TO THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED TO MISS

Dear simple girl, those flattering arts, (From which thou'dst guard frail female hearts,)

Exist but in imagination,

Mere phantoms of thine own creation;
For he who views that witching grace,
That perfect form, that lovely face,
With eyes admiring, oh! believe me,
He never wishes to deceive thee:
Once in thy polish'd mirror glance
Thou'lt there descry that elegance
Which from our sex demands such
praises,

But envy in the other raises.

Then he who tells thee of thy beauty,
Believe me, only does his duty:
Ah! fly not from the candid youth;
It is not flattery, - 'tis truth.
July, 1804.
[First printed, December, 1806.]

ON A CHANGE OF MASTERS AT A GREAT PUBLIC SCHOOL.'

WHERE are those honours, IDA! once your own,

When Probus fill'd your magisterial throne?

As ancient Rome, fast falling to disgrace, Hail'd a Barbarian in her Cæsar's place, So you, degenerate, share as hard a fate, And seat Pomposus where your Probus

sate.

Of narrow brain, yet of a narrower soul, Pomposus holds you in his harsh con

troul;

Pomposus, by no social virtue sway'd, With florid jargon, and with vain parade; With noisy nonsense, and new-fangled rules,

(Such as were ne'er before enforc'd in schools).

Mistaking pedantry for learning's laws,

[In March, 1805. Dr Drury, the Probus of the piece, retired from the Head-mastership of Harrow School, and was succeeded by Dr Butler, the Pomposus. "Dr Drury," said Byron, in one of his note-books, "was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had; and I look upon him still as a father."]