CARMEN EXPOSTULATORY. I. Fifty times my nose I’ve rubbed, and jaded Is my brain with trying to make out wherein Of poesy an ounce to find in Carmen Seculare. II. He, who as Laureate attained a fame Rare and great in History, Babbles now in frothy talk, Unlike his wonted measure. And speaks of Empress Queen And Jubilee, like Whitman would With ruggedness of diction To crown this year of Jubilee. III. Nothing of the Poetic, but the Crackpot, Who, with vulgar words bepraising, All in humdrum rant and rubbish anent the Queen. IV. You then mournfully, all of you Wear your sackcloth, your ashes, For the sad falling off of one Who wrote of Arthur Hallam, In the grand “In Memoriam.” So will you not with heart Or voice, Hail this of Tennyson’s Other than the twaddle tribute Spawned of this year of Jubilee. V. Oh! Alfred, once so true to manhood, Glorying in the strength to fight all shams. Sorrowing only with the people in their wrongs. VI. You that once in affluence Of diction, caught the ear of time, Call we now no longer ours The people’s friend. Spoiled child With diadem, and much belorded. We cannot now be comforted, Our maimed heart for you doth bleed, At this, your twaddle talk of Jubilee. VII. Who is Henry, that for fifty years in shadow, Consorts for fifty summers with Edward in gray distance, And the grandsire’s fifty half forgotten? VIII. You, the Patriot Leader, Shape a stately Memorial. Record of wrongs not righted, Of Ireland’s cry not silenced: But still the symbol badge Of Saxon oppression, Which she has worn for centuries. How will fair Erin Hail this golden year of Jubilee? IX. Fifty years of ever-growing Taxation. Fifty years of Civil Lists most heavy. Fifty years of Royal Pauperism. X. You, the Mighty, the Fortunate, Think of the poor who have fallen. You, the Lord-manufacturer, Made rich by the hard, laborious, Patient to suffer――but about to rise. XI. Yes, the thunders moan forth in the distance. See gaunt spectred Poverty moveth in the land. Trust your common sense to guide you, oh! my people, So shall thunders pass and spectres vanish, And Demos crowned a victor, out of darkness’s Dawn shall come, the Jubilee of the Ages.