One day I happened upon a bookstore in Vista, California that was having a going-out-of-business sale. There I came across Volume 1 of Welsh's great, forgotten work, Development of English Literature and Language, published in 1888. I was so moved upon reading his tribute to Caedmon:
 
In our grasping life of gain, we are apt to imagine that art is of little account, but when the years roll by, we learn well enough what the ages value. No doubt this Caedmon, in his ill-furnished room, seemed to the practical man of trade a pitiful cipher, quite out of the march of important affairs; but even their names are forgotten, and all their wealth would now be given for one of the songs of the Whitby shepherd.

that I sat down and composed the following tribute to our first poet:
 

                 The Perennial Plight

When Caedmon paraphrased the Bible's truth
Our busy world adjudged his labors naught.
He spoke with novel tongue in England's youth,
But sadly of his lays we've lost a lot;
And now if one of them could just be bought,
One song from Whitby's abbey that we've lost
To man's poetic treasure trove be brought,
A fortune would we give, nor count the cost.

How many Caedmon's in this world now live
And starve? Will our ungrateful grasping race
Still unto less the greater praises give,
Reward with wealth obscene, and honored place?
Alas! I fear such is indeed the case:
The greatest benefactors of mankind,
Like Caedmon, die in circumstances base -
No "Thanks." for priceless jewels left behind.

Fitzgerald writes the Rubaiyat, and from
Two hundred first edition copies earns
A pitiful and paltry token sum.*
(The publisher a tidy profit turns.)
A century hence the rich collector yearns
For just one copy of this virgin run;
He pays a million - money that he burns.
Too bad, of this the author will see none.

One who to please the fickle masses writes,
Shall live in comfort, luxury, and ease;
And he who keeps the ages in his sights?
It's only trials and poverty he sees.
But those who seek the critic's eye to please
Enjoy a fleeting fame that's quickly past;
While those who will not fashion's tastes appease
Enjoy renown that will forever last.

No "New York Times Bestseller #1".
About his work we'll hear no critics rave.
Ten million dollar royalties? No, none.
His peers say: "For his efforts let us save
Acclaim for when he's long been in the grave."
He'll neither fame nor wealth in this life see;
For treasures which he unto mankind gave
At last he'll get his due - posthumously.

©  Copyright 2001  Richard Brodie

*The first edition of what was to become the world's most loved and quoted poem sold for one shilling. The author had to pay the costs of printing, and the bookseller carelessly lost over half of them! Near the end of his life, when it was too late to do him any good, his labors finally began to be appreciated. After he heard that copies were being printed in other countries without his permission, Fitzgerald remarked sarcastically: "I have not lived in vain, if I have lived to be pirated!"

I resolved to put up a website that would perpetuate the memory of Professor Welsh, a man whose work I believe deserves to be something that "the ages value".

 - Richard Brodie

 
 

Web Counter says you are visitor number