MORE ABOUT LORD TENNYSON'S

JUBILEE ODE.

Several parodies of this Ode were given in Part 43 (June) but since then some others have appeared.

The universal opinion that Tennyson's poem was a failure, and altogether unworthy of his reputation has been expressed in several ways, one London evening paper printed a couple of the Laureate's verses "as they ought to be" thus:

"You then loyally, all of you, deck your houses, illuminate all your towns for a festival, and in each let a muititude loyal, each, to the heart of it one full voice of allegiance, hail the great Ceremonial of this year of her Jubilee.'

"You, the Patriot Architect, shape a stately memorial, make it regally gorgeous, some Imperial Institute, rich in symbol, in ornament, which may speak to the centuries, all the centuries after us, of this year of her Jubilee."

Instead of being poetry of transcendent merit, it seems to be a poor imitation of the language of Scripture. Others declare it to be an imitation of the style of WALT WHITMAN, and the Ode has even been compared to a badly-written catalogue! One satirist went so far as to plead in the Laureate's latest style :

You, the Patriot poet,
Shape a statelier poem ;
Leave out "regally gorgeous,"
Cut the Imperial Institute,
Or we, weary, uncomforted,
And we needy unbanqueted,

Seeing how maimed are your verses,
Joy not this year of the Jubilee.

"TENNY THE BARON'S " Jubilee Ode. I.

FIFTY times my poor nose you have broken,
Fifty times my gore you have spilled,
Since I stood with you in corded ring.

II.

He was trained by an ancient bruiser,
Learned in art of self-defence,

Slugger champion of England,
Owner of a silver belt,

Never worn by a worthier,

Now with murderous auguries

Comes at last to spoil my beauty,

In this blooming year of Jubilee.

III.

Nothing of the common, of the magsman,
Nothing of the vulgar or vainglorious,
All is cruel, slogging, hard and manly.

IV.

You hit me savagely-yes, you did!
Brought my claret as you struck
My eyes and nose and cheeks,
And from each let quarts pour

Red and gory down my battered chest.
One full blow aimed at proboscis
Hurled me clean to mother earth
In this the year of Jubilee.