The Vowels. - A Tale.

    'Twas where the birch and sounding thong are ply'd,
    The noisy domicile of pedant pride;
    Where ignorance her darkening vapour throws,
    And cruelty directs the thickening blows;
    upon a time, Sir Abece the great,
    In all his pedagogic powers elate,
    His awful chair of state resolves to mount,
    And call the trembling vowels to account.

    First enter'd A, a grave, broad, solemn wight,
    But, ah! deform'd, dishonest to the sight!
    His twisted head look'd backward on the way,
    And flagrant from the scourge he grunted, ai!

    Reluctant, E stalk'd in; with piteous race
    The justling tears ran down his honest face!
    That name! that well-worn name, and all his own,
    Pale he surrenders at the tyrant's throne!
    The pedant stifles keen the Roman sound
    Not all his mongrel diphthongs can compound;
    And next the title following close behind,
    He to the nameless, ghastly wretch assign'd.

    The cobweb'd gothic dome resounded Y!
    In sullen vengeance, I, disdain'd reply:
    The pedant swung his felon cudgel round,
    And knock'd the groaning vowel to the ground!

    In rueful apprehension enter'd O,
    The wailing minstrel of despairing woe;
    Th' Inquisitor of Spain the most expert
    Might there have learnt new mysteries of his art;
    So grim, deform'd, with horrors entering U,
    His dearest friend and brother scarcely knew!

    As trembling U stood staring all aghast,
    The pedant in his left hand clutched him fast,
    In helpless infants' tears he dipp'd his right,
    Baptiz'd him eu, and kick'd him from his sight.