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George Gordon Byron - On A Change Of Masters At A Great Public School
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WHERE are those honours, Ida! once yow 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 control;
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 enforced in schools
Mistaking pedantry for learning`s laws, 
He governs, sanction`d but by self applause; 
With him the same dire fate attending Rome,
Ill-fated Ida! soon must stamp your doom; 
Like her o`erthrown, for ever lost to fame, 
No trace of science left you, but the name.

July 1805.
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