NEWDIGATE POEM

A PRIZE POEM SUBMITTED BY MR. LAMBKIN OF BURFORD TO THE EXAMINERS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD ON THE PRESCRIBED POETIC THEME SET BY THEM IN 1893, “THE BENEFITS OF THE ELECTRIC LIGHT”

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 connectionWith benefits which the Electric LightConfers 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 shadeThe bulk of the Electric Light is made.Here are the works;—from hence the current flowsWhich (so the Company’s prospectus goes)Can furnish to Subscribers hour by hourNo less than sixteen thousand candle power,[4]All at a thousand volts. (It is essentialTo keep the current at this high potentialIn spite of the considerable expense.)The Energy developed represents,Expressed in foot-tons, the united forcesOf fifteen elephants and forty horses.But shall my scientific detail thusClip the dear wings of Buoyant Pegasus?Shall pure statistics jar upon the earThat pants for Lyric accents loud and clear?Shall I describe the complex DynamoOr 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 sightThat 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 scornFrom facts funereal and from views forlornOf Erebus and Blackest midnight born.[5]Arouse thee, Muse! and chaunt in accents richThe interesting processes by whichThe Electricity is passed along:These are my theme: to these I bend my song.It runs encased in wood or porous brickThrough copper wires two millimetres thick,And insulated on their dangerous missionBy indiarubber, silk, or composition.Here you may put with critical felicityThe 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 chairTo prove that light and heat are present there.The pear-shaped vacuum globe, I understand,Is far too hot to fondle with the hand.While, as is patent to the meanest sight,The carbon filament is very bright.As for the lights they hang about the town,Some praise them highly, others run them down.This system (technically called the Arc),Makes some passages too light, others too dark.But in the house the soft and constant raysHave always met with universal praise.For instance: if you want to read in bedNo candle burns beside your curtain’s head,Far from some distant corner of the roomThe incandescent lamp dispels the gloom,And with the largest print need hardly tryThe powers of any young and vigorous eye.Aroint thee, Muse! Inspired the poet sings!I cannot help observing future things!Life is a vale, its paths are dark and roughOnly because we do not know enough:When Science has discovered something moreWe shall be happier than we were before.Hail, Britain, Mistress of the Azure Main,Ten thousand Fleets sweep over thee in vain!Hail, Mighty Mother of the Brave and Free,That beat Napoleon, and gave birth to me!Thou that canst wrap in thine emblazoned robeOne quarter of the habitable globe.Thy mountains, wafted by a favouring breeze,Like mighty rocks withstand the stormy seas.Thou art a Christian Commonwealth; and yetBe thou not all unthankful—nor forgetAs thou exultest in Imperial MightThe Benefits of the Electric Light.

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.

The pear-shaped vacuum globe, I understand,

Is far too hot to fondle with the hand.

While, as is patent to the meanest sight,

The carbon filament is very bright.

As for the lights they hang about the town,

Some praise them highly, others run them down.

This system (technically called the Arc),

Makes some passages too light, others too dark.

But in the house the soft and constant rays

Have always met with universal praise.

For instance: if you want to read in bed

No candle burns beside your curtain’s head,

Far from some distant corner of the room

The incandescent lamp dispels the gloom,

And with the largest print need hardly try

The powers of any young and vigorous eye.

Aroint thee, Muse! Inspired the poet sings!

I cannot help observing future things!

Life is a vale, its paths are dark and rough

Only because we do not know enough:

When Science has discovered something more

We shall be happier than we were before.

Hail, Britain, Mistress of the Azure Main,

Ten thousand Fleets sweep over thee in vain!

Hail, Mighty Mother of the Brave and Free,

That beat Napoleon, and gave birth to me!

Thou that canst wrap in thine emblazoned robe

One quarter of the habitable globe.

Thy mountains, wafted by a favouring breeze,

Like mighty rocks withstand the stormy seas.

Thou art a Christian Commonwealth; and yet

Be thou not all unthankful—nor forget

As thou exultest in Imperial Might

The Benefits of the Electric Light.

[1]To be pronounced as a monosyllable in the Imperial fashion.

[2]Mr. Punt, Mr. Howl, and Mr. Grewcock (now, alas, deceased).

[3]A neat rendering of “Sublimi feriam sidera vertice.”

[4]To the Examiners: These facts (of which I guarantee the accuracy) were given me by a Director.

[5]A reminiscence of Milton: “Fas est et ab hoste doceri.”

[6]Lambkin told me he regretted this line, which was for the sake of Rhyme. He would willingly have replaced it, but to his last day could construct no substitute.

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