The Panacea

It is Research of which I sing, Research, that salutary thing! None can succeed, in World or Church, Who does not prosecute Research: For some read books, and toil thereat Their intellect to waken: But if you think Research is that You're very much mistaken.

All in Columbia's blessed States They have no Smalls, or Mods, or Greats, Nor do their faculties benumb With any cold curriculum: O no! for there the ambitious Boy, Released from schools and birches, At once pursues with studious joy Original Researches:

A happy lot that Student's is, --I wish that mine were like to his,-- Where in the bud no pedants nip His Services to Scholarship: And none need read with care and pain Rome's History, or Greece's, But each from his creative brain Evolves semestrial Theses!

On books to pore is not the kind Of thing to please the serious mind,-- I do not very greatly care For such unsatisfying fare: To seek the lore that in them lurks Would last ad infinitum: Let others read immortal works,-- I much prefer to write 'em!