Punch: Punch (40.1861)

February 23, 1861.]

PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.

75


SUBTLETY,

YANKEE





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Young Merchant. “ What do I do 1 Why, I attend to the Finesse Department—
do all the Finessing, you know.”

Friend. “Finessing! What enthunder's that? ”

Young Merchant. “ Why, when any Feller Owes the Concern Money and ivon't
Pay, I go and make him, or Knock hris Darned Old Head off his Shoulders ! ”

THE CAMBRIDGE PRIZE POEM.

it, before attempting their own verses. They will at
least know what they must avoid.

VOLUNTEER P1UZE POEM,

PRINCE EDWARD OF WALES AT THE TOMB
OF WASHINGTON.

Auspicious moment. Banish every gloom.

No Tears to-day, although I smg a Tomb;

A Tomb on which the honour was conferred
Of homage from a child of George the Third,

I call him child, although lie’s no such thing,

And the great grandson of the Parmer King.

A happy omen for Victoria’s son,

W begins both Wales and Washington,

And similar may both their courses be.

Lovers of all that’s grand and great and free,

Yet here I would not, be misunderstood,

Good are republics, monarchy is good,

And truly sorry I should be to plan
Schemes for my Prince to turn republican:
Ungrateful, surely, were such thought, in me
Whose works amuse the Royal Pamily,

And in their gilded bindings often lie

Where they may catch the Queen’s or Consort’s eye.

I only mean this golden hope to forge -.

May Edward be as good a man as George !

Mount Vernon is tne piace to which they brought
The Prince to show the honour which he ought.

’Twas in October that it met his view.

And that’s the month in which I always brew,

Not that I’d willingly intrude my ales
Into a poem on the Prince oe Wales,

But playful thoughts gush from the poet’s tongue
Like those same liquids when you lift the bung,
Drinking and thinking thus suggest the line—

That bier is Washington’s and this is mine.

What Vernon is, or why it’s called a Mount,

I know not, and the fact’s of small account:

The name is dear to ns, (Columbia’s kith)

Who idolise the name of Vernon Smith ;

Then we’ve the Vernon Gallery ; for my part
I love that choice collection of fine art,

And often wish that it were nearer town—

(My Royal Prince and Consort, never frown,

I know it’s only thrippence by the bus.

And did not mean the least disloyal fuss)

I love to sit and rest each weary leg.

And gaze on Stanfield, Roberts, Creswick, Egg,
Or stand enchanted in the Vernon room.

As stood the Prince before the Vernon Tomb.

Last Friday was the Anniversary of the birth of George Washington, founder
of the Union which the New York Herald declares to exist no longer. Prince
Albert, as Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, has given, as subject for
the Prize Poem, The Prince of Wales at the Tomb of Washington,•—the incident
of the 5th October last. Punch does not know whether his young friend, H. R. H.
Edward, who has just gone to Cambridge, means himself to compete for the prize,
though, as he is likely to know what his emotions upon that occasion were better
than anybody else, there seems no reason against his trying his hand. Meantime,
the selection of such a subject has given great satisfaction to the Americans, and
the Herald says,—

“ A more graceful compliment to the United States than is here conveyed by the father of the
heir apparent could not have been chosen. It shows that the Royal Family and people of
England look hack with feelings of pleasure upon that memorable event in the New World tour of
his Royal Highness, and it must be extremely gratifying to ourselves to know that the youth and
intellect of our mother country are making it a labour of love to honour and emblazon it in song.
And it is to be hoped that under the auspices of Alma Mater something will be produced
worthy of a theme so richly teeming with the poetry of tradition and the gems of history, and
allowing such limitless scope for the glowing pictures of poetical genius.”

It is to be hoped so. We shall see. Mr. Punch has no child at Cambridge,
at present, or the prize would be already on view in the window of 85, Fleet
Street, for no one would be foolish enough to contend against a son of the House
of Punch. The utmost fair play will, therefore, be given.

But Mr. Punch hardly knows whether to rejoice or to be sad that the Poet
Cupper (author of Proverbial Imbecility, &c.), although disqualified from entering
the race with younger bards, has stepped forth to show them how the thing ought
to be done. It is matter for joy that such a Poem as Cupper’s should be given
to the world; but on the other hand, its extreme beauty and all but perfection
must tend to discourage all other competitors. However, here is an “ early copy,”
and perhaps the young Cantabs bad better make themselves thoroughly masters of

Upon that scene how oft must he look back,

As rapt he stood beside the Potomac,

And heard arising o’er that river’s surge,

The music of the Trovatore dirge,

Played on the steamer, which as it appeared
Prom the reports, his Royal hand had steered.

Type of the time, O ! may the time be late 1
When he shall steer the vessel of the State.

Nobly be spoke, as well beseemed his birth.

Then picked horse-chesnuts from the hallowed earth,
Intending, as he frankly told the folks.

To sow them here, among fair Windsor’s oaks.

And let ns hope that getting back on hoard
In sport he shied them at no Duke or Lord,

But that the trees will spring where, every hour.
He’ll see them from the Lancasterian Tower.

Here, Muse, break off, and loyal ardour check.
Nor sing the dancing on the vessel’s deck,

How Alexandria met him with a smile
(Not Alexandria, reader, near the Nile),

How Washington (the place) with salvoes rang.

Bid fly her bunting and her cannon bang,

And tens of thousands sent up plaudits wild
In honour of Victoria’s princely child.

My strain is o’er, but oh, if I might dare.

Mid themes like these to thrust a private prayer,
’Twould be that when my Prince next voyages, he
Will take, as Travelling Laureat,