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James Russell Lowell - The Origin Of Didactic Poetry
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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, `I`m sorely tried,
  These duty-calls are vip`rous;
But I _must_ go; I have a bride
  To see about in Cyprus.`

Then Bacchus,--`I must say good-by,
  Although my peace it jeopards;
I meet a man at four, to try
  A well-broke pair of leopards.`
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 verse and poppies.

Years after, when a poet asked
  The Goddess`s opinion,
As one whose soul its wings had tasked
  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.`
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