POETRY.

A CALL TO ARMS.

[This hitherto unpublished poem by Tennyson has been most kindly sent to Ta by the present Lord Tennyson. It has been adapted to a melody by Emily Lady Tennyson, arranged with symphonies and accompaniment by Sir Frederick Bridge, and is to be sung at the Albert Hall on the afternoon of Saturday, October 10th, by Mr. Hennerley Rumford, and the Royal Choral Society conducted by Sir Frederick Bridge. The poem seems almost as if it won written for the present crisis.] O WHERE is he the simple fool

Who says that wars are over ? What bloody portent flashes there Across the Straits of Dover ?

Nine hundred thousand slaves in arms May seek to bring us under; But England lives, and still will live, For we'll crush the despot yonder. Are we ready, Britons all, To answer foes with thunder ?

Arm, arm, arm!

O shame on selfish patronage— It is the country's ruin—

Come, put the right man in his place, And up now, and he doing !

O gather, gallant volunteers In every town and village, For there are tigers—fiends not men-

May violate, burn, and pillage 1

Are you ready, Britons all, To answer foes with thunder P Arm, arm, arm!

Up stout-I;mb'd yeomen, leave awhile

The fattening of your cattle—

And, if indeed ye wish for Peace, Be ready for the Battle !

To fight the Battle of the World, Of progress and humanity, In spite of his eight million lies And bastard Christianity Are we ready, Britons all,

To answer foes with thunder P

Arm, arm, arra!

TENNYSON.