The Imperial Institute Ode.
After tremendous efforts to “puff” the so-called “Imperial Institute” scheme into public favour, and when the subscriptions were coming in but slowly, the ceremony of laying the foundation stone was gone through, with all the solemn mummery customary on such occasions. An Ode was necessary, and one was accordingly written by Mr. Lewis Morris, and set to music by Sir Arthur Sullivan. The Ode contained the usual commonplaces, expressed in language more than usually dull and meaningless, as the following extracts will suffice to show:—
I.
With soaring voice and solemn music sing,
High to Heaven’s gate let pealing trumpets ring!
To-day our hands consolidate
The Empire of a thousand years.
Delusive hopes, distracting fears,
Have passed, and left her great,
For Britain, Britain, we our jubilant anthems raise,
Uplift your voices all, worthy is she of praise!
III.
No more we seek our Realm’s increase
By War’s red rapine, but by white-winged Peace;
To-day we seek to bind in one,
Till all our Britain’s work be done—
Through wider knowledge closer grown,
As each fair sister by the rest is known,
And mutual Commerce, mighty to efface
The envious bars of Time and Place,
Deep-pulsing from a common heart
And through a common speech expressed—
From North to South, from East to West,
Our great World Empire’s every part;
A universal Britain strong
To raise up Right and beat down Wrong—
Let this thing be! who shall our Realm divide?
Ever we stand together, Kinsmen, side by side!
V.
First Lady of our British Race!
’Tis well that with thy peaceful Jubilee
This glorious dream begins to be,
This thy lost Consort would, this would thy Son,
Who has seen all thy Empire face to face
And fain would leave it One,
Oh, may the Hand which rules our Fate
Keep this our Britain great!
We cannot tell, we can but pray
Heaven’s blessing on our work to-day.
Uprise, oh, Palace fair, where every eye may see
This proud embodied Unity!
For Britain and our Queen one voice we raise,
Laud them, rejoice, peal forth, worthy are they of praise!
The Inaugural Ode as it Ought to have Been.
(With Apologies to Mr. Lewis Morris.)
With partial pomp and sounding bands of brass,
And Royalties—both first and second class—,
To-day the Queen, in semi-state,
Consents a project to befriend
Which for so long seemed doomed to end
In a fiasco great!
But at last, at last, the Prince his labour finds repaid—
The Imperial Institute’s foundation stone is laid!
When first the grasping “Gang” its birth decreed,
And greedily made Kensington its site,
The project’s progress was but small, indeed,
And the subscriptions strangely light.
And though the Prince to the occasion rose,
And summoned all the Mayors to town;
Though hints of knighthood, too, were given to those
Who’d put their names for large donations down;
Though soldiers, too, and sailors, side by side,
Were fiercely dunned throughout the Empire wide;
Though everywhere subscription-lists were sent,
O’er stormy sea, through distant continent;
And though, worked artfully from Kensington,
The “screw” was universally put on,
The Empire set itself against the craze,
And the new Institute was loath to raise.
But was the “Gang” disheartened? Nay;
It persevered, and gathered here to-day,
Where “jobs” have in the past been done,
It sees, we fear, one more begun,
For, spite of all that has been said,
Upon this latest subject light to shed;
Spite of the promises which have been made
That the new Institute shall foster trade;
Spite, too, official zest and skill,
And of the fervent hopes express’d,
From North to South, from East to West,
That it will some good end fulfil,
And make the Empire yet more strong,
We fear such hopes will all prove wrong,
And that this building, with its tower so tall,
Will only be the biggest “job” of all!
Yet do we dare to-day,
As in this solemn rite we here engage,
To hope the future will our fears gainsay,
And make this place a glorious heritage
For all our people, and a source of strength
Throughout the teeming Empire’s breadth and length.
But, if we this would see,
Then, by a stern decree,
This Institute must be forthwith set free
From greed and jobbery!
Those who would batten on it must be told
At once to loose their hold,
So that it may uprise a Palace free and fair,
In whose great benefits an Empire wide may share.
First Lady of our British Race,
We’ll Hope that with thy peaceful Jubilee
We of this dream may a fulfilment see,
For this, were thy lost Consort with us still,
Yon scene of pomp and pageantry to grace,
Would surely be his will;
And this we fain would trust thy son,
Undoing what he’s done,
Will also help fulfil.
Time this must show, but we can pray
That higher motives from to-day
May strengthen those who execute
The business of the Institute;
That from to-day its end and aim
May be the country’s wealth and fame.
That flunkeys, toadies, snobs may find
It is not for their sake designed;
Whilst Kensington, forced to admit
It has no lot nor part in it,
No more will claim to such extent
What is for all the Empire meant.
Then will the Palace fair, by patriotism planned,
Be hailed a glory of the land,
And, as the Empire joins its walls to raise,
Its people, one and all, will loudly sound its praise.
Truth. July 7, 1887.
Mr. Lewis Morris was rewarded for his ode by a silver Jubilee medal, with permission to wear it on public occasions. Some time afterwards he wrote to a Manchester newspaper complaining that people confounded him with Mr. William Morris, the poet and socialist, on which The Star published the following
Poet and Poetaster.
If this kind of thing goes on, Sir, I shall have to change my name;
’Tis an odious position to be in;
Though the other Mr. Morris may be better known to fame,
I am Mr. Lewis Morris, of Penbryn.
He was christened after Shakespeare, but his other name is mine;
Yet, though critics are so quick at me to quiz,
I can honestly asseverate I never wrote a line
That could fairly be compared with one of his.
When I wrote an ode to praise the life our precious Prince has led,
Though I must confess it fell a little flat,
There were certain silly editors who ignorantly said
Mr. William had been capable of that.
Now I happen to be certain it would take him all his time
To indite an ode on Royalty’s affairs,
For disloyalty to Princes isn’t reckoned any crime,
’Mong the people whose society he shares.
In a word he is a poet, and a Socialist to boot,
One whose company ’tis wiser to eschew;
For although I am a person of importance and repute,
It is certain I am neither of the two.
J. L. J.
THE TWINS.
In form of feature, face and limb,
I grew so like my brother
That folks got taking me for him
And each for one another,
It puzzled all our kith and kin,
It reach’d an awful pitch:
For one of us was born a twin
And not a soul knew which.
* * * * *
The whole of this amusing poem will be found in Carols of Cockayne by Mr. Henry S. Leigh.
Mr. Leigh died early in June, 1883, and the following graceful parody of his poem appeared in Judy, June 27, 1883.
In the Strand.
In form and feature, face, and limb,
He tried to build a double,
And folks got taking it for him,
For want of taking trouble.
“A bitter-minded cynic this!”
Said those who argued blindly.
He took their finding not amiss,
Nor thought it meant unkindly.
He dreamed long dreams, and meant to do
A heap of great grand work;
’T is p’r’aps the same with me and you,
And still the race we shirk.
Another face gone from the Strand,
A voice we hear no more;
We miss the pressure of a hand,
Oft pressed on this Leigh shore.
——:o:——