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To where the new Law Courts were made, Attended by a cavalcade. 0, how the English crowd hoorayed !

And all was joy and revelry.

Then shook the sky with thunder riven,
For never heartier cheers were given,
As through the streets the Queen was driven,

Attended by her soldiery.

In The Referee for December 2, 1882, the following parodies were published. It will be noticed that the first part imitates Cowper's Fohn Gilpin, the second part Tennyson's May Queen, and the third part Campbell's Hohenlinden,

" I beg very humbly to submit a poem to the " royal family, the Bench, the Bar, and the “ British public on the opening of the new Law " Courts."

A Medley FOR MONDAY.
John Bulljohn was a citizen

Of credit and renown,
Or Volunteers a captain he

Of famous London town.
John Bulljohn's mother said, “My dear,

Though living here we've been
This goodness knows how long, yet we

Have never seen the Queen.
• To-morrow to the new Law Courts

Our sovereign does repair ;”.
Says John, “Good gracious! so she does-

Dear mother, we'll be there.”
And ere he went to bed, J. B.

His aged ma did kiss ;
And, feeling like a boy again,

Did softly warble this :
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother

dearTo-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all this famous

year ; of all this famous year, mother, the grandest, jolliest

The longest and most important work (by many also considered the finest) of Alfred Tennyson is the collection of Arthurian Idyls, known as the Idyls of the King. These were originally published in detached parts, in somewhat irregular order, but in recent editions Mr. Tennyson has striven to arrange them in a consecutive and connected form.

The first to appear in order of date was the Morte d'Arthur, which was published in the 1842 volume, in the later arrangement of the poems this has been absorbed into the last Idyl, entitled “ The Passing of Arthur.

day,

For look on our Queen we may, mother, look on our Queen

we may.

In the original it commenced thus :

“ So all day long the noise of battle roll'd
Among the mountains by the winter sea ;
Until King Arthur's table, man by man,
Had fall’n in Lyonness about their Lord,
King Arthur; then because his wound was deep,
The bold Sir Bedivere uplifted him,
Sir Bedivere, the last of all his knights,
And bore him to a chapel nigh the field,
A broken chancel with a broken cross,
That stood on a dark strait of barren land.
On one side lay the Ocean, and on one
Lay a great water, and the moon was full.

Bay,

There's many a loyal heart, they say, but none so true as

mine, There's Sandy and there's Dougal. across the Border

line ; But none so true as Johnny, not e'en by Alum So look on my Queen I may, mother, look on my Queen

I may. All the Strand, dear mother, 'll be gay with flag and

green, And they're selling seats in windows for gold to see the

Queen ; O long shall Johnny remember the Law Courts' opening

day, When look on the Queen he may, mother, look on the Queen he may.

In London when the Queen was low,
Too sad at heart about to go,
Or in our streets her face to show

Did loyalty fade rapidly.
But London saw another sight
When she, our liege, recovered quite,
Came, on a morning clear and bright,

Through arches, flags, and greenery,

Then spake King Arthur to Sir Bedivere : “ The sequel of to day unsolders all The goodliest fellowship of famous knights Whereof this world holds record. Such a sleep They sleep-the men I loved. I think that we Shall never more, at any future time, Delight our souls with talk of knightly deeds, Walking about the gardens and the halls Of Camelot, as in the days that were. I perish by this people which I made, Tho' Merlin sware that I should come again To rule once more-but let what will be, be, I am so deeply smitten thro' the helm That without help I cannot last till morn. Thou, therefore, iake my brand Excalibur, Which was my pride :

take Excalibur, And fling him far into the middle mere : Watch what thou seest, and lightly bring me word.”

The King is cross, and knows not what he says. What record, or what relic of my lord, Should be to aftertime, but empty breath Condensed in Hansard's books ? But were this kept, Preserved in some Mechanics’ Institute, It might be brought out by some lecturer, Saying, “King Guillaume's axe, Exbrummagem, With which he cut down trees at Hawarden!' So might he illustrate a stupid speech To all the people, winning reverence."

So spake he, thinking of constituents, And kepi Exbrummagem for future use.

This mission was distasteful to Sir Bedivere, who ex. claims :

" And if indeed I cast the brand away,
Surely a precious thing, one worthy note,
Should thus be lost for ever from the earth,
Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.
What good should follow this, if this were done?
What harm, undone? Deep harm to disobey,
Seeing obedience is the bond of rule.
Were it well to obey then, if a king demand
An act unprofitable against himself?
The King is sick, and knows not what he does.
What record, or what relic of my lord
Should be to aftertime, but empty breath
And rumours of a doubt ? but were this kept,
Stored in some treasure-house of mighty kings,
Some one might show it at a joust of arms,

Saying, “King Arthur's sword, Excalibur.'”. Thus much of the original must indeed be in one's thoughts ere the Voyage de Guillaume can be appreciated ; it recounts the holiday trip of the Prime Minister to the north last September. It will be remembered that Mr. Gladstone was the guest of Sir Donald Currie, on board the Pembroke Castle, and that Mr. Tennyson was also one of the party.

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Then came Sir Donald, gave the King his arm, And brought him to the margin of the sea. And at his call there hove a roomy barge, Manned with a gallant crew from stem to stern; And so they entered, and put off, and reached The stately Pembroke Castle, and were ware That all the decks were dense with manly forms In naval caps and jackets, and with these Three dames in yachting suits; and from them rose A cheer of greeting, and they stretched their hands, Took him on board, and laughed, and petted him. And so they sailed ; and while the sea was calm They talked, and sang, and feasted much, and had, In Yankee parlance, “ quite a high old time.” But when the wind blew, and the waves arose, It sometimes happened that the grand old face Was white and colourless, and cries of “Steward !” Proceeded from the lips of eloquence. And like a prostrate oak-tree lay the King Wrapped in a shepherd's plaid and mackintosh : Not like that Guillaume who, with collars high, From brow to boot a meteor of debate, Shot through the lists at Westminster, and charged The serried ranks of bold Conservatives.

From the St. James's Gazette, Sept. 19, 1883.

So all the year the noise of talk had roared Before the Speaker's chair at Westminster, Until King Guillaume's council, man by man Were tired to death, as also was their Chief, King Guillaume. Then, observing he was bored, The bold Sir Donald C. invited him (Sir Donald C., the last of all his knights) And bore him off to Barrow by the seaBarrow-in-Furness, with a ruined church That stood beside the melancholy waves.

Then spoke King Guillaume to Sir Donald C. : “Next session will most probably upset The goodliest Ministry of virtuous men Whereof this world holds record. Not for long Shall we contrive our schemes of policy, Meeting within the offices and halls Of Downing Street, as in the days that were. I perish by these voters which I makeAlthough Sir Andrew says that I may live To rule once more; but let what will be, be. He tells me that it is not good for me To cut down oaks at Haw'rden, as before. Thou, therefore, take my axe Exbrummagem, Which was my pride-for thou rememberest how The lustiest tree would fall beneath my strokesBut now delay not ; take Exbrummagem, And fling him overboard when out at sea.'

Then bold Sir Donald took Exbrummagem, And went, and lighted his cigar, and thought : " And if, indeed, I cast the axe away, Surely a precious thing, one worthy note, Should thus be lost for ever from the earth, Which might have pleased the eyes of many men.

In the same 1842 volume, appeared “Godiva," “Locksley Hall,” “ Break, Break, Break," and “The Eagle,” of each of which there are some excellent parodies.—The old legend of Lady Godiva, so beautifully retold in blank verse by the Laureate, has recently been sadly vulgarised by the processions at Coventry, and the following poem describes, not unfairly, the scene, in which a somewhat prominent actress stooped to sustain the part of the Lady Godiva.

THE MODERN LADY Godiva.
I journeyed by the train to Coventry;
I pleased a groom with porter near the bridge,
And asked which way the pageant came ; and then
I saw it pass-'twas passing strange-and this

Is what they've turned the City's legend to.
Not even were it to remove a tax
Could a Godiva ride abroad to-day
As she rode forth a thousand summers back :
Lord Campbell's Act, and Collette both forbid !
Still did the people clamour for a show;
So was it settled there should be forthwith
A pageant such as Coventry did love.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.

Whence came it that, whilst yet the sunny moon Or roses showed her crescent horn; the day Fix'd for the pageant dawn'd on Coventry ; And Sanger-he of circus fame-arose Betimes ; for much was on his mind. Perchance An elephant had shed its trunk ; perchance Some giant camel had “the hump" too much ; Or piebald horse had moulted all its spots. Most feared he, though, lest she who had agreed To act Godiva, having slept on it, Should from her bargain finch ; so sought he her With, “Well, and ride you through the town to-day?"

Tennyson writes thus:

“ Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, o sea !
And I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.”
“ () well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay ! ” " And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill ;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still !" “ Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea !
But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.”

And she - for eggs and toast had marle her bold“Ay, that will I !" Then he: “ 'Tis well !" and went And whistled as he walked.

She, left alone,
When the effect of eggs and toast had gone,
Did half repent her promise ; then again
Thought of her fee, and so grew bold once more.
And as she sat, rejoicing that 'twas warm,
There came the sound of trumpet and of drum,
And driving past she saw the circus car,
And on it was a placard calling all
Good people to come forth and gaze at her.

Then knew she that undressing time had come, So sped her to the inner room, and there Unhook'd the clinging bodice of her frock, Hair-pinned on locks to show'r down to her knee, Donned the rose “fleshings” that she was to wear ; Then throwing on a shawl she waited there Till such time as they brought her palfrey, trapt In purple, blazoned with armorial gold.

So came at last a sound of pattering hoofs, And up the stairs a voice, “The 'oss is come !" And tripping to the door she found a steed, Milk-white and bony, meek, and pink of eye, And with a chair and Mr. Sanger's help Clomb on his back, and then one bang'd a door And shouted, “Right !" and so the charger past.

Thus rode she forth, clothed on with scantiness, And in the pageant duly took her place, Along with camels and with elephants And men-in-armour, weakest at the knee, And Foresters with horns that wouldn't blow, And clumsy bows, and Odd-fellows as well, In fool regalia ; and the Volunteers, And Fire Brigade, and several brazen bands. But chiefly 'twas on her all eyes were fix'd, And women wondered what she could have got For making of herself a show ; and men Opined that cotton wool she'd freely used ; And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, Drawing a pin and rushing at her horse Prick'd—but it was no good, the steed jogged on As theretofore: and thanks to frequent bangs And shouts of “Right” did reach the end at last Of the day's progress, much to its delight. And she was glad, and hastening to her room She slipp'd her garments on, and issuing claim'd Her see, and took the earliest train to town, And in the ballet, in the foremost row, Danced with her fellows, winning great renown, As one who rode through Coventry in “ tights," Arid built herself an evanescent name.

Of this he has had numerous imitators :

To My Scout.
After a smash (and Tennyson).
BREAK, break, break!

Plate, decanter, and glass !
It's enough to worry a cherub,

And loosen the tongue of an ass.
It's all very well to declare

That your “helbow " caught in the door,
And your “ fut" must 'ave 'itched in a nail,

And you're very sorry, you're sure.
And I'm very hard-up just now,

Three troublesome duns to stop,
But I wish I'd only got half the coin

I've paid to that china-shop.
Break, break, break!

You must order another new set.
It's good for trade; but I'd like to know
What is the commission you get?

From Odd Echoes from Oxfori, 1872. Here is another in a similar vein :

Break, break, break,

My cups and my saucers, O scout!
And I'm glad that my tongue can't utter

The oaths that my soul points out.
Ii's well for the china-shop man,

Who gets a fresh order each day;
And deucedly well for yourself,

Who are in the said china-man's pay.
And my stately vases go

To your uncle's, I ween, to be cashed;
But it's oh for the light of my broken lamp,

And the tick of my clock that is smashed.
Break, break, break!

At the foot of thy stairs in glee;
But the coin I have spent in glass that is smashed
Will never come back to me.

From the “Shotover Papers,” Oxford, 1875. In June, 1882, the Editor of The Weekly Dispatch awarded a prize of Two Guineas to M. Percivale, for a parody on Lycksley Hall. The somewhat uncomplimentary allusions to a young Æsthetic poet are too obvious to require any elucidation.

THE BATHER'S DIRGE.

By Tennyson Minor, Break, break, break,

On thy cold hard stones, O Sea !
And I hope that my tongue won't utter

The curses that rise in me.
O well for the fisherman's boy,

If he likes to be soused with the spray!
O well for the sailor lad,

As he paddles about in the bay !
And the ships swim happily on

To their haven under the hill :
But ( for a clutch at that vanishi'd hand,

And a kick-for I'm catching a chill!
Break, break, break,

At my poor bare feet, O Sea ! But the artful scamp who has collar'd my clothes Will never come back to me.

From Funny Folks, 1879.

Cousins, leave me here a little, in lawn tennis you excel; Leave me here, you only bore me, I shall come at “luncheon

bell!" 'Tis the place (but rather older)— I was in my eighteenth

year, When I first met utter Oscar, and I thought him such a

dear! How about the beach I wandered, listening while that youth

sublime Spouted verses by the dozen, which he said he wrote for

Time. But his form was somewhat fatter than should be for one so

young, And his round eyes spoke the language of his glib and oily

tongue. In the spring the fleshly poet writes a sweet and soothing

sonnet : In the spring a wise young woman buys a more becoming

bonnet. And he said, “Oh, have you anything in Consols or Per For my property's in Ireland, and I cannot get the rents ? ', Oh, my Oscar ! Impecunious! Oh, intense : -if nothing

worseOh, those too-too precious poems! Oh, that too-too empty

Cents. ?

The two following are taken from Punch:

The Musical Pitch.
BREAK, break, break,

O voice !- let me urge thy plea !-
O lower the Pitch, lest utter

Despair be the end of me!
'Tis well for the fiddles to squeak,

The bassoon to grunt in its play:
'Twere well had I lungs of brass,

Or that nothing but strings gave way!
Break, break, break,

O voice ! I must urge thy plea,
For the tender skin of my larynx is torn,

And I fail in my upper G!

purse!

Then I said, “I've an allowance from an old maternal aunt, Just enough for dress; but as to victuals-no, I really can't!" And he turned, his face was frightsul, pale with anger for

poor me ; Was it fancy that he muttered something like a big, big D-?

As my husband is, his wife is, rich, the envy of the town; How a life in shabby lodgings would have dragged my spirit

down! How my beauty would have faded, growing daily paler,

thinner! Making puddings, washing clothing, planning for the

children's dinner. Comes the butler, “ Lunch is ready, madam ! ” iced cham

pagne, I know, Mayonnaise and lobster salad ; I am hungry and—I go.

TENNYSON AT BILLINGSGATE IN 1882. Apropos of the Ring of Wholesale Fish Dealers.

Take! Take! Take!

Oh grabber of swag from the sea,
And I shouldn't quite like to utter

The thoughts that occur to me !
Oh, ill for the fisherman poor

That he toils for a trifle all day,
And ill for the much-diddled public

That has through the nose to pay.
And the swelling monopolist drives

To his villa at Haverstock Hill,
But it's oh for the number of poor men's lives

Food-stinted to plump his till !
Take! Take! Take !

Oh grabber of swag from the sea,
But you'll render a reckoning one of these days

To the public and Mr. P.

Here is another and an earlier imitation of the same original :

BACCHANALIAN DREAMINGS. Cronies leave me in the bar-room, while as yet I've cash 10

spend, Leave me here, and if I'm wanted, ‘mum's 'the word to

every friend,

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