And Paris pondered, and I cried, "Oh! Paris, Give it to Pallas!" But he heard me not, Or hearing, would not heed me. Woe is me! O British Public, many-headed Public, Crass British Public, harken ere I die! Audacious Aphrodite, beautiful Fresh as the purple hyacinth's rain-washed bells, With soft seductive fingers backward drew From her bold brow and bosom her long hair Auricomous, and bared her shining throat And shoulder; on the carpet her small feet Shone lily-like, and on her rounded form, Between the shadows of the studio blinds, Shifted the cunning "high lights" as she moved. O British Public, harken ere I die! She, with a subtle smile in her bold eyes, The herald of her triumph, well assured, Half whispered in his ear, "I promise thee _The negative of my next photograph!_" She spoke and laughed, I shut my eyes in fear, And when I looked, Paris had not the apple. And I beheld great Heré's angry eyes As she withdrew from forth the studio door, And I was left alone within the place! * * * * * From _Punch_, December, 1879. There still remain to be quoted a few amusing parodies of Tennyson's early poems, the first in order being _Mariana_, which was thus closely burlesqued in George Cruikshank's _Comic Almanack_ for 1846. THE BOW STREET GRANGE. _By Alfred Tennyson._ With blackest mud, the locked-up sots Were splashed and covered, one and all. And rusty nails, and callous knots, Stuck from the bench against the wall. The wooden bed felt hard and strange; Lost was the key that oped the latch; To light his pipe he had no match, Within the Bow Street station's range. He only said, "It's very dreary;" "Bail will not come," he said; He said, "I have been very beery, I would I were a-bed!" The rain fell like a sluice that even; His Clarence boots could not be dried, But had been soaked since half-past seven-- To get them off in vain he tried. After the smashing of his hat, Just as the new police came by, And took him into custody, He thought, I've been a precious flat, He only said, "The cell is dreary;" "Bail cometh not," he said; He said, "I must be very beery, I wish I were in bed!" Upon the middle of the night, Waking, he heard a stunning row; Some jolly cocks sang out till light, And would not keep still anyhow. He wished to bribe, but had no change Within his pockets, all forlorn, And so he kept awake till morn Within that lonely Bow Street grange. He only said, "The cell is dreary;" "Bail cometh not," he said; He said, "I must be very beery, I'd rather be in bed!"