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Tennyson: Hendecasyllabics<br />

HENDECASYLLABICS<br />

O you chorus of indolent reviewers,<br />

Irresponsible, indolent reviewers,<br />

Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem<br />

All composed in a metre of Catullus,<br />

All in quantity, careful of my motion,<br />

Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him,<br />

Lest I fall unawares before the people,<br />

Waking laughter in indolent reviewers.<br />

Should I flounder awhile without a tumble<br />

Thro' this metrification of Catullus,<br />

They should speak to me not without a welcome,<br />

All that chorus of indolent reviewers."<br />

Hard, hard, hard is it, only not to tumble,<br />

So fantastical is the dainty metre.<br />

Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me<br />

Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers.<br />

O blatant Magazines, regard me rather—<br />

Since I blush to belaud myself a moment—<br />

As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost<br />

Horticultural art, or half coquette-like<br />

Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.<br />

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON<br />

THE DOLGELLEY HOTEL<br />

If ever you go to Dolgelley,<br />

Don't stay at the HOTEL;<br />

There's nothing to put in your belly,<br />

And no-one to answer the bell.<br />

167<br />

THOMAS HUGHES

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