Tennyson's Thunderbolt.

Thames Star, Volume XVI, Issue 5116, 10 June 1885, Page 3

Tennyson's Thunderbolt.

The London Times, which favors war with Russia, has published the following poem, which was written by Alfred Tennyson, the poet laureate, without assistance :— THE IXEIT : OH ITS BBPOBTED INBIMCIESOr. You, you who have failed to undersa d . The feet of England in her all in all, On you will come tho curee of all the land Which "Nelson left co groat. - This isle, the mightiest Dairal power on earth, Tbii one small isle the lord of every sea— Poor England! what avail thine ancient fame of free Wert tbou a fallen state ? You, who hid the ordering of her fleet, If you have only compassed her disgrace, When all men starve ihe wild moti's million feet. Will lick you frcm your place, But then too'late, too late ! It may, and probably will, be said that anybody could have written this poem, but then very few would have done it unless paid better than Lord Tennyson is for thrumming the official lyre. All that thegovernment allow him for the services for himself, muse and tools is §300 a year and a tun of Canary wine. It is not Canary either. Mr Gladstone's 'carelessness in not privately ordering the laureate into safekeeping upon the re. ceipt of the news of the affair near Pendjeh, on the 30th March, cannot be too severely condemned, after what has hap^ pened. The averting of hostilities is now impossible. Tb.B Hussions will naturally feel that they can easily whip a nation that will spend money to support a poet like Tennyson, and most Englishmen will be eager to go to Afghanistan, or any-where-else, so long as they can get out of the country. Under the painful circumstances, the wisest thing for Mr Gladstone to do would be to send the laureate to St. Petersburg to serenade the Czar.EEeryv = cry Nihilist in Bussia might thus be converted into an enthusiastic friend of England. - An American paper gives the following :—„ ■'■,'■ THE FLEKTISTS. [bx tbknison, jb ] You, you ! y«u landlubbers, you Got us into this scrape. Tell me, what will you do . When tbe gloomy band of crape ■ Surrounds the respectable hat Of England's supremesec ? You, you. can you answer that To England, queenof the sea ? Whea the mighty rough shod foots* Are lifted in anger, you! You ! ! you condemned galoots Willibe battered black and blue; . You with your rotten fleet, . Bew are of the lion's claw; Fear thou the British feet— They'll kick you till you're raw. *This is a poetical license.—Texk.