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.