The Song of the Cane. (1864)
[From the Shrewsbury Chronicle.]
Respectfully dedicated (without permission) to the heads of schools and academies where the cane is used.
With frown so gloomy and grim,And words that hope destroy,
A man there stood in unmanly rage,
Cruelly thrashing a boy.
Whack! whack! whack!
While the victim writhes in pain.
But still with a dull and heavy sound
Is heard the tune of the cane. "Whack! whack! whack!"
"You're determined not to work!"
Whack! whack! whack!
Your lesson you shall not shirk.
Go to the bottom, you fool!
Write it out twenty times;
You had best not come to school
If you cannot learn your lines." Whack! whack! whack!
Till the brain begins to swim;
Then write! write! write!
Till the eyes grow heavy and dim.
Not a word of kind advice
Or encouragement ever is said;
The barbarous use of the cane
Has rendered all feeling dead. At twelve o'clock at night.
With care nigh ready to sink,
A boy there sat in unboyish tears.
Plying his pen and ink.
Cane, and Latin, and Greek,
Greek, and Latin, and cane,
Tiil over the writing he falls asleep,
And rests his weary brain. Write! write! write
Five hundred lines of Greek;
Write! write! write!
Because he ventured to speak.
Twenty verses to make,
Fifty verses to learn,
Whilst already his hand begins to shake
And his aching head to burn. With eyelids halfway closed.
And fingers scarr'd with red,
A boy there lay in his father's house.
Lifeless, and cold, and--dead.
'Twas write! write! write!
Till fever turned his brain.
And the cane which drove him unto his death
Could never strike him again. Another youth behold,
With scowling, heavy brow.
Dragging along from day to day
Through his lessons he cares not how.
Whack! whack! whack!
So oft unjustly dealt,
That no wringing pain or burning shame
In his hardened breast is felt. Honour and self-respect.
Justice, right, and truth.
By cruel wrongs like these
Are crushed in early youth.
That cringing, bullied lout
Had once a generous soul,
But oft-repeated blows made him
A mean, degraded fool. Oh! man with children dear,
Oh! man with sister and wife.
It is not folly you thus destroy,
'Tis all that's noble in life.
Whack! whack! whack!
With a rod like a burning brand.
Crushing at once with a double stroke
A heart as well as a hand. 'Tis far better to rule
By love than hate or fear.
Though boys be slow to learn
And seem stupider every year.
Whack! whack! whack!
Those sounds burst on the heart,
And lookers-on - if hearts they have--
Themselves must feel the smart. With frown so gloomy and grim,
And words that hope destroy,
man there stood in unmanly rage,
Cruelly thrashing a boy.
Whack! whack! whack!
While the victim writhes in pain.
And still the strokes continue to fall.
Would they could see it at----Hall,
Or read this "Song of the Cane." Notes
From the South Australian Newspaper the Adelaide Observer 9 Jul 1864 p. 2.
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