|
Not a clue, not a clue,
Not one among them,
Into the face of the truth
Charged the four hundred.
"Forward the Clio brigade.
Long live the truth!" they cried:
But into the teeth of the truth
Flew the four hundred.
"Forward the Clio Brigade!"
Was there no one dismayed?
No, though we researchers knew
These pundits had blundered.
Ours not to make reply.
Ours but to do or die.
Ours not to reason why
Into the face of the truth
Charged the four hundred.
Facts to the right of them,
Facts to the left of them,
Facts right in front of them
Virtually thundered,
Sounding a warning bell.
Grandly they spoke, and well,
With all their "good intentions,"
As down the road to Hell
Rushed the four hundred.
With sophistry quite bare
And judgments from thin air
They thought that we would care
What their opinions were,
But we merely wondered:
What genius planned this stroke?
With all their fire and smoke
They make themselves a joke,
By their own hand sundered.
We do believe the facts,
But not the four hundred.
Facts to the right of them,
Facts to the left of them,
Facts right in front of them
Virtually thundered,
But without effectiveness.
Had we an honest press
That did not the news suppress
Would they then oracles be?
Would they those facts address,
Or would they, in fact, remain
The foolish four hundred
Seeing their glory fade
As we saw the sense they made
And how they had blundered?
What little sense they made!
Shame on the Clio Brigade,
Ignoble four hundred.
|