Hail, Happy Muse, and touch the tuneful string! The benefits conferred by Science[1] I sing. Under the kind Examiners’ direction[2] I only write about them in connection With benefits which the Electric Light Confers on us; especially at night. These are my theme, of these my song shall rise. My lofty head shall swell to strike the skies.[3] And tears of hopeless love bedew the maiden’s eyes. Descend, O Muse, from thy divine abode, To Osney, on the Seven Bridges Road; For under Osney’s solitary shade The bulk of the Electric Light is made. Here are the works;--from hence the current flows Which (so the Company’s prospectus goes) Can furnish to Subscribers hour by hour No less than sixteen thousand candle power,[4] All at a thousand volts. (It is essential To keep the current at this high potential In spite of the considerable expense.) The Energy developed represents, Expressed in foot-tons, the united forces Of fifteen elephants and forty horses. But shall my scientific detail thus Clip the dear wings of Buoyant Pegasus? Shall pure statistics jar upon the ear That pants for Lyric accents loud and clear? Shall I describe the complex Dynamo Or write about its Commutator? No! To happier fields I lead my wanton pen, The proper study of mankind is men. Awake, my Muse! Portray the pleasing sight That meets us where they make Electric Light. Behold the Electrician where he stands: Soot, oil, and verdigris are on his hands; Large spots of grease defile his dirty clothes, The while his conversation drips with oaths. Shall such a being perish in its youth? Alas! it is indeed the fatal truth. In that dull brain, beneath that hair unkempt, Familiarity has bred contempt. We warn him of the gesture all too late: Oh, Heartless Jove! Oh, Adamantine Fate! Some random touch--a hand’s imprudent slip-- The Terminals--a flash--a sound like “Zip!” A smell of burning fills the started Air-- The Electrician is no longer there! But let us turn with true Artistic scorn From facts funereal and from views forlorn Of Erebus and Blackest midnight born.[5] Arouse thee, Muse! and chaunt in accents rich The interesting processes by which The Electricity is passed along: These are my theme: to these I bend my song. It runs encased in wood or porous brick Through copper wires two millimetres thick, And insulated on their dangerous mission By indiarubber, silk, or composition. Here you may put with critical felicity The following question: “What is Electricity?” “Molecular Activity,” say some, Others when asked say nothing, and are dumb. Whatever be its nature, this is clear: The rapid current checked in its career, Baulked in its race and halted in its course[6] Transforms to heat and light its latent force: It needs no pedant in the lecturer’s chair To prove that light and heat are present there.