LIBRARY

THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
SANTA BARBARA
PRESENTED BY
MRS.

DONALD KELLOGG

THE WORKS
OF

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

Portrait of Tennyson.
Etched by William Unger.

IStiitton 'oe

THE

ILuxe

WORKS
OF

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

IPoet laureate
Edited by

WILLIAM
IN

J.

ROLFE,

Litt. D.

TWELVE VOLUMES
Vol.

I.

BOSTON

DANA ESTES & COMPANY

Successors to Estes

&

publish ers

Lauriat

lEtnition

Limited to One

No

tic

3Luxe

Thousand Copies

5.

Copyright, 1892 and i8g^,

By Estes and Lalriat.

TYPOGRAPHY, ELECTROTYPING, AND

PRINTING BY JOHN WILSON AND SON,
UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.

PREFACE.

The

plan of this edition was formed by the

publishers nearly ten years ago, and was then

cordially approved by the poet

More

recently,

and his family.

when arrangements

for carrying

out the plan were perfected, the selection of

the editor was no

them.

less

heartily

ratified

by

Lord Tennyson had already given me

valuable aid in revising

my

and other of

his

Princess'

editions of

poems;

The

and in

preparing the introduction and notes for this

edition of his works

him and

have been indebted to

to his son, the present

son, for information

Lord Tenny-

and advice which no one

else could give so well.

The

text of the

of the latest

tion of

many

poems

in this edition is that

English editions, with the correclittle

typographical errors.

Only

a few of these are mentioned in the notes; but

I

have been careful to refer to every one con-

PREFACE.

vi

cerning which

The

doubt.

could possibly be

there

and

spelling

pointing

any
the

of

English editions have been followed with rare

exceptions, which have been explained in the

when they did not explain themselves.

poet ever made more textual changes in
successive editions of his works than Tennyson; and many of these have been recorded,
with more or less accuracy, by Mr. R. H.
notes

No

Shepherd
L.

J.

his

in

Warren

and other

'

Tcnnysoniana,

and commentators.

critics

changes are particularly frequent

poems, published

engaged

of

the

of

British

Idylls of the King.'

While
some of these poems
compared the later text with
in this first volume.

in annotating

ten years ago,

that

These

the early

have noted all the changes in

poems included

the

in

1830 and 1832, in 'The

in

Princess,' and in the

believe that

Hon.

'Fortnightly Review,*

the

in

the

'

1830 and

Museum and

them

1832

for

for this edition

of copies of those

Henry van Dyke,

volumes in the

my work
I

on the rest

have had the loan

volumes belonging
D. D.,

of

New

whose friendly help and counsel

to Rev.

York,

to

have been

otherwise greatly indebted.

Of the

textual changes in the later

poems

PREFACE.

vii

have something to say in the prefaces to

shall

the volumes in which they appear.

I

am aware

Lord Tennyson more than

that

once expressed a certain dislike for

editions;' and in a letter thanking
edition of
that I had

ings

'

him

The Princess

'

'

preserved so

of his

work.

when

later,

'

man

variorum

me

for

my

he said he was sorry

many

But, as

chips and shav

think

said to

does his work out of

we have a right to
watching him. Whether an

doors in the public view

be interested in
editor

is

justified in printing textual variations

may be

found only in an author's manuscript

questioned; but what one has printed
property, and an editor

may

use

it

is

public

at his dis-

cretion in writing the history of the work.

an

author

suppresses anything

for

If

personal

as

Tennyson suppressed the early

verses addressed to Christopher North and
Bulwer Lytton,
it is doing him an injustice
reprint
them
without
stating the fact of
to
reasons,

their withdrawal

but

it is

no injustice to give

the history of the passage-at-arms between the

two

literary

men,

with the

squibs

bandied

between them.

But the poet's figure

seem

at

first

sight.

is

To

not so apt as

record

his

it

may

various

'

PREFACE.

viii

readings

not mere picking up of chips and

is

shavings.

poem

after finishing

it

is

a work of art; and

and placing

the artist retouches

it,

it

if,

on exhibition,

altering a feature here

and another there, it becomes to that extent

a new work, and the student and critic may
properly and profitably compare the work as

it

was with the work as it is. It is the finished

product that he saves when he records its
earlier
left

form,

not the

in finishing

chips and

shavings

it.

In the introduction

have been under special

obligations for biographical details to the authorities (Napier, Jennings,

commended

to

me by

Lord Tennyson
trustworthy.
I

and Mrs. Ritchie)

the poet and the present

on the whole, the most

as,

found, as they intimated that

might, occasional inaccuracies in

as

also

in

Tennyson,' which

all these,

Waugh's 'Alfred

Mr.
I

did not

When

see

until

Lord

my

was in doubt
sketch was in type.
whether certain statements were accurate or
not, I consulted the present Lord Tennyson,

who kindly

settled the question.

Credit for extracts from reviews and

criti-

cisms of the poems has been duly given, both

in the introduction

and

in the notes.

PREFACE.

The

illustrations,

with which

ix

have had

very little to do, can speak for themselves.

may, however, add that the poet and his family

were particularly gratified that the admirable

Edward Lear (to whom the lines

sketches by

To

were addressed), which no former

publisher had been willing to go to the expense of reproducing, were to be used in this
*

E. L.

'

edition.
VV. J. R.

Cambridge, February

i,

1895.

CONTENTS.
Page

THE LIFE AND WORKS OF LORD TENNYSON

TO THE QUEEN
,

131

JUVENILIA.
Claribel

133

Nothing will Die

All Things will Die
Leonine Elegiacs

140

Supposed Confessions

142

135
137

The Kraken

151

Song

i^

Lilian

153

Isabel

i^c

Mariana
To
Madeline
Song The Owl
Second Song To the Same
Recollections of the Arabian Nights
Ode to Mejiory
Song
A Character
The Poet

jrg
162
16^
167

168

...

169
177

183
185

187

CONTENTS.

xii

Page

'

The Poet's Mind

The Sea-Fairies
The Deserted House
The Dying Swan

190

200

192

195
197

Dirge

204

Circumstance

209

The Merman
The Mermaid

210

'ii:D^iNE

216

Love and Death

The Ballad of Oriana

203

213

Margaret

220

Rosalind

224

Eleanore
'

My

227

Life

is

full of weary Days

'

234

Early Sonnets

To
To

236
236

J.

M.

237

'Mine be the Strength of Spirit'

....

238

Alexander
Buonaparte

239

Poland

241

240

'Caress'd or chidden by the slender Hand'

242

'The Form, the Form alone

243

'

Wan

is

eloquent'

Sculptor, weepest thou to take the

Cast'
'If

244

were loved,

as

desire to be'

The Bridesmaid

245

246

THE LADY OF SHALOTT, AND OTHER POEMS.

The Lady of Shalott

247

Mariana

256

in

the South

CONTENTS.

Xlll

Page

The Two Voices

The Miller's Daughter

261

Fatima

299

CEnone

302

The

315

NOTES

Sisters

287

317

IStiition tie 3Luxc

OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

LIST

Vol.

Portrait of Tennyson
From
roRTR.A.lT

the painting by

I.

Titlepage

(1844)

Samuel Laurence.

OF TENNYSON

Frontispiece

Etched by William Unger.

SoMERSBY House, Lincolnshire

10

Photogravure from photograph.

...

Farringford, Freshwater, Isle of Wight

40

Photogravure from photograph.

Victoria

130

Mezzotint by G.
^*

W. H.

Airy, fairy Lilian."

Ritchie.

Lilian

Photogravure from painting by

''

When

merry milkmaids

154

Maud Humphrey.

click the latch."

The Owl

166

Photogravure from painting by E. H. Garrett.

"

Gazed on the Persian

girl alone."

174

Recollections of the Arabian Nights.

Etched from painting by

"

Thou

W.

St.

John Harper.

leddest by the hand thine infant

Ode
Photo-etching from painting by

Hope."
Memory.

to

Maud Humphrey.

178

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page
"

And

like a bride of old

Ode

In triumph led."

to

Memory

184

Photogravure from painting by Louis Meynelle.

Who would be
A mermaid fair,
"

Singing alone,

Combing her

hair

"

The Mermaid

212

Photo-etching from painting by F. S. Church.

"

So sweet

And

it

seems with thee to walk,

once again to

woo

thee mine."

The Miller's Daughter.

Photogravure from drawing by H. Winthrop Peirce.

288

THE LIFE AND WORKS

OF

LORD TENNYSON.
Alfred Tennyson was born on the 6th of August,
1809, at Somersby, a small village in Lincolnshire,

about
Its

six miles

from the market town of Horncastle.

now somewhat
souls.
Of this and

population,

about sixty
ish of

Bag Enderby, the Rev. George Clayton Tenny-

son, Alfred's father,

St.

diminished, was then

the neighbouring par-

He

was rector.

was graduated

John's College, Cambridge, in 1801

and

at

in 1805

he married Elizabeth, daughter of the Rev. Stephen

Fytche, vicar of Louth.

In the ancestry of the poet

'

two

lines are blended,

the middle-class line of the Tennysons,

and even royal

family

is

known

line of the D'Eyncourts.'

to

have lived

shire, in the first half

at

and the noble

The former

Holdernesse, in York-

of the sixteenth century.

The

D'Eyncourts can trace their descent from John of

Gaunt, fourth son of Edward
rine Sw}Tiford.
VOL.

I.

'

III.,

who married Katha-

The marriage was

irregular, but the

THE LIFE AND WORKS

children of

it

the reign of

were legitimated by Act of Parliament

Henry

in

V., only without the rights of suc-

Following the line of descent

cession to the crown.'

from John of Gaunt, we come to Edmund, Duke of

Somerset,

who was

the fourth generation

In

bans.

killed at the first battle of St. Al-

from him, Anne,

daughter of Sir Edward Gary, married Sir Francis

Leke, of Sutton, Yorkshire,

Deincourt in

His

1624.

who was

created Baron

great-grandson, Ghristo-

pher Hildyard, married Jane, daughter of George

Pitt,

who was descended from

ence

Lionel,

Duke of

Glar-

and Ghristopher's daughter Dorothy, who mar-

George Clayton of Great Grimsby, was the great-

ried

grandmother of the Rev. George Clayton Tennyson,

the poet's father.^

The barony of Deincourt was

earlier peerage,

connected

and with

the Jane Pitt

who

Tennysons are

who married Christopher

Hildyard being the descendant,

ation, of John, twelfth

the revival of an

this also the

in the eleventh gener-

Baron d'Eyncourt of Blankney,

lived in the early part of the fifteenth century.

It

may be noted

incidentally that the poet's

mother

was a great-granddaughter of a Monsieur Fauvelle, a

French Huguenot, who was related

to

Madame

de

Maintenon.
1

For the

line of descent in full, see

ate's Country,' or Foster's

and Great Families.*

'

Church's

The Royal Lineage

'

The Laure-

of our Noble

'

OF LORD TENNYSON

The Rev, Dr. Tennyson (he received

of LL.D. in 1813) was a

and

strength,

man

and talented

the degree

notable for his stature

withal,

being 'something

of a poet, painter, architect, and musician, and also

He

a considerable linguist and mathematician.'

eldest son, George, died in infancy

Frederick (born

June

5,

the others

had

The

twelve children, eight sons and four daughters.

v*'ere

1807), Charles (July

4,

1808), Alfred, Edward, Arthur, Septimus, and Ho-

The daughters were Mary, Emilia,

Of the sons Alfred, though the

ratio.

and

Cecilia.

was not the only poet.

Matilda,
greatest,

Frederick has published sev-

volumes of verse ('Days and Hours,' 1854, 'The

eral

of Greece,' 1890, etc.)

Isles

and Charles, who

after-

wards took the name of Turner on inheriting certain

property from a relative,

is

particularly noted for his

sonnets, published with other poems, in 1830, 1864,

1868, 1873, and 1880.'

nyson was printed

for

1832

and

it

in the
is

'

sonnet by Edward Ten-

Yorkshire Literary Annual

said that most,

if

not

all,

of the

other brothers have written poetry.

Mrs.

Anne Thackeray

Ritchie (in

'

Harper's Maga-

December, 1883) gives a pleasant picture

of the Tennyson children at Somersby
zine

'

for

'

Collected Sonnets, Old and New,' issued after his death,

which occurred

in 1879.

The volume

is

prefaced by his brother

and contains a memoir by Hallam Tennyson and an Introductory Essay by James

Alfred's lines,

Spedding.

Midnight, June

30, 1879,'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

They were a noble little clan of poets and of knights,

coming of a knightly race, with castles to defend, with
mimic tournaments to fight. Somersby was so far away
from the world, so behindhand in its echoes (which
must have come there softened through all manner of
green and tranquil scenes, and, as it were, hushed into
pastoral silence), that, though the early part of the centur}' was stirring with the clang of legions, few of its
rumours seem to have reached the children. They never
heard, at the time, of the battle of Waterloo. They grew
up together, playing their own games, living their own
life.
These handsome children had beyond most
children that wondrous toy at their command which
some people call imagination. The boys played great
games, like Arthur's knights they were champions and
warriors defending a stone heap, or again they would set
up opposing camps with a king in the midst of each.
The king was a willow wand stuck into the ground, with
an outer circle of immortals to defend him of firmer,
Then each party would come with stones,
stiffer sticks.
hurling at each other's king, and trying to overthrow him.
Perhaps as the day wore on they became romancers, leaving the jousts deserted. When dinner-time came, and they
all sat round the table, each in turn put a chapter of his
long, endless histories,
history under the potato-bowl,
.

chapter after chapter diffuse, absorbing, unending, as are

which each sunrise opens on a

romances were in letters, like
Clarissa Harlowe.' Alfred used to tell a story which
lasted for months, and which was called The Old Horse.'

the stories of real

new

part

some

life

of

of these

'

'

The same
tempts

Alfred's

written

writer tells us of the poet's earliest at-

at verse
first

upon a

verses, so
slate

which

once heard him say, were

his brother Charles put into

OF LORD TENNYSON.
hand one Sunday

his

when

Louth,

at

the elders of the

all

party were going into church, and the child was

Charles gave him a subject,

the flowers

and when he came back from church

the slate to his brother,

blank verse.
son's

'

all

can picture

it all

to one's self,

little

Alfred brought

little

covered with written lines of

They were made on

the models of

Seasons,' the only poetry he

the verses, the

left alone.

in the garden,

had ever

read.

ThomOne

the flowers in the garden,

poet with waiting eyes, and the young

brother scanning the

lines.

'

Yes, you can write,' said

Charles, and he gave Alfred back the slate.

have also heard another story of his grandfather,

asking him to write an elegy on his grandmother,
who had recently died, and when it was written, putting
ten shillings into his hands and saying, There, that is
the first money you have ever earned by your poetr}', and,
take my word for it, it will be the last.'
I

later on,

'

When

Alfred was in his earliest teens

the production of the

'

wrote an epic in three books

battles

it

was

used to compose

of furious

sixty or seventy lines in a

and shout them about the

silent fields, leaping

over the hedges in his excitement.

lished Shelley's early poems, or
sion,

full

'

and descriptions of lake and mountain scen-

He

ery.

breath,

long before
he

Poems by Two Brothers

he flung the epic into the

as already stated,

When

they pub-

on some such occa-

fire.

His

father,

who,

was a poet himself, thought

so

highly of the original, imaginative, and creative power

of the boy that he prophesied he would be the greatest

1

poet of the time.^

This

get from the best possible authority, and think

has not been in print before.

it

THE LIFE AND WORKS

William Howitt, in his

gives

the British Poets,'

Somersby

The

that I

know

native village of

of,

'

Homes and Haunts

of

the earliest description of

and one of the best

Tennyson

is

not situated in the

fens, but in a pretty, pastoral district of softly sloping hills

and large

it is not based on bogs, but on a

There is a little glen in the neighbourhood called by the old monkish name of Holywell. Over
the gateway leading to it, some bygone squire has put up
an inscription, a medley of Virgil and Horace

ash-trees

clean sandstone.

Intus aquae dulces, vivoque sedilia saxo,

Et paulum

and

rock,

and over

among
its

silvae superest.

His utere mecum

within, a stream of clear water gushes out of a sandit

stands an old schoolhouse, almost lost

the trees, and of late years used as a woodhouse,

former distinction only signified by a Scripture text on

Remember thy Creator in the days of thy

the walls,

'

There are also two brooks in this valley which

flow into one at the bottom of the glebe-field, and by
these the young poet used to wander and meditate. To
this scenery we find him turning back in his
Ode to
youth.'

'

Memory

'

Come from
The seven

the

woods that

belt the gray hillside,

elms, the poplars four

That stand beside my father's door,

And chiefly from the brook that loves
To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand.

Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves,

Drawing into his narrow earthen urn,
In every elbow and turn,

The

filter'd tribute

of the rough woodland.

O, hither lead thy feet

Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat

'
'

OF LORD TENNYSON-.
Of the

thick-fleeced sheep

Upon

from wattled

folds,

the ridged wolds,

When

the first matin-song hath waken'd loud

Over the dark dewy earth forlorn,
What time the amber morn
Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud.

Norman

In the churchyard stands a

its kind in England.

cross, almost single

of

The

short-lived poplars, after the lapse of

quarters of a century, are no

'

seven elms

are

'

the house, which

the manor,

still

who gave

to

three

be seen, but the

standing in the garden behind

now

is

more

the property of the lord of

in

exchange a house

Bag

at

Enderby, to be used as a rectory.

Some
tify

imaginative writers have endeavoured to iden-

the Somersby brook with the one that sings so

charming a song
but this cannot

in that fascinating idyl,

fairly

true, as

there are
'

many

'

The Brook

two streamlets.

notes, that at

hazel covers ' and

'

Somersby

It is

sweet forget-me-nots

'

and

a silvery waterbreak above the golden gravel

and the

may

rivulet

to its questioner,

say, as the 'babbling

I chatter over stony ways,

In

little

'

sharps and trebles,

I bubble into eddying bays,

I

be done, though there are points

of resemblance between the

Mr. Church

babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret

By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

brook' did

THE LIFE AND WORKS

But there are some things in its supposed prototype

which manifestly it could not claim. It does not hurry
down, for instance, by thirty hills,' for it soon makes
brimming
its way into the low countrj', nor is there a
river for it to join. Finally, it cannot make at least one'

'

'

half of the boast that

it

Here and

And

holds

there a lusty trout

here and there a grayling.

There may be, or anyhow have been, trout

in the brook,

but scarcely a grayling.

Alfred received his

and the

first

education from his father

schoolmaster,

village

rectory to give lessons to

he went to the grammar school

mained

head-master, the Rev.

Orbilius,

Church remarks,

went
was

the

Later

where he

re-

remembered

in

Tradition says that the

Waite, like Horace's teacher,

there would have

'

As Mr.

been no

little dif-

time to find a schoolmaster

who was

else.'

Alfred's return to

to Trinity College,

his instructor

Much

at Louth,

'was plagosus, fond of blows.'

ficulty at that

anything

J.

to

his brothers.

several years, but, so far as he

later life, learned very little.

From

who came up

him and

Somersby

in

1820

Cambridge, in 1828,

until

he

his father

was self-acquired, for he was always a

same time it is probable that the
recollections of his boyhood and early youth, as they
have been given to curious inquirers by old inhabitants,
have received some colour from what they had heard of
of course

great reader.

At

his after career.

the

The

picture of the shy student, wander-

OF LORD TENNYSON-.
hand or wrapped

ing about, book in

life at

One

Somersby.

how he and

in

own

does not agree with the poet's

some deep

reverie,

recollections of his

of his most vivid recollections

is

were wont to defend one of the bridges over the Somersby brook against
superior numbers of the village boys. Against three or
four or even five they could hold their own, but on one
occasion, when the attacking force doubled this last numof

ber,

his elder brother Charles

they were obliged, he remembers, to retreat.^

The Somersby church

Early Perpendicular

nave with a north

with

and a

aisle,

of sandstone, but has been

The

interior has

son's time, giving

been
it

'

in the

edifice

a very squat tower, a

chancel.'

much

restored

modem

small

is

style,

It

is

'

Tenny-

since Dr.

look which

is

railings,

is

flat

the

stone, enclosed with high

and bearing the following inscription

TO THE MEMORY OF

THE REVEREND

GEORGE CLAYTON TENNYSON,

LL. D.,

ELDEST SON OF GEORGE TENNYSON, ESQ.,

OF BAYONS MANOR,
AND RECTOR OF THIS PARISH
OF BAG ENDERBY AND BENNIWORTH
AND VICAR OF GREAT GRIMSBY
IN THIS COUNTY.

HE DEPARTED THIS LIFE

ON THE i6tH day OF MARCH,
AGED FIFTY -TWO YEARS.
^

not in

To

keeping with the picturesque old exterior.

west of the tower

built

repaired with brick.

Church.

183I

THE LIFE AND WORKS

lO

In the spring of 1827, a volume entitled

by

Two

bookseller

Brothers

pounds

was published by Mr.

'

Louth,

at

who engaged

for the copyright,

The two

and

'Poems

J.

Jackson,

to

pay ten

actually paid twenty.

brothers were Charles and Alfred Tennyson.

They intended

at

first

their initials to the

to affix

pieces of which they were respectively the authors,

but

subsequently decided

The

anonymously.

nos novimus esse

as follows

The

from Martial

strangely calls

following

the

book appear

titlepage bears the motto,

nihil,'

Wace

(which Mr.
is

to let

poems were

Haec

and the preface

somewhat lengthy

')

written from the ages of

which
and matter. To
light upon any novel combination of images or to open
any vein of sparkling thought untouched before, were no
easy task indeed, the remark itself is as old as the truth
and, no doubt, if submitted to the microscopic
is clear
eye of periodical criticism, a long list of inaccuracies and
imitations would result from the investigation.
But so it
is
we have passed the Rubicon, and we leave the rest to
fifteen to eighteen, not conjointly,

may account

but individually

for their difference of style

fate,

though

its

edict

may

create a fruitless regret that

ever emerged from 'the shade,' and courted notoriety.

March,

1827.

poetical prelude follows, ending thus

Such

are the sweets of song

and in this age,
Perchance too many in its lists engage
And they who now would fain awake the lyre.
May swell this supernumerary choir:

we

Sontersby House, Lincolnshire.

Photogravure from photograph.

''

OF LORD TENNYSON.
who

II

But

ye,

The

searching microscope of scrutiny

Few from

deign to read, forget

too near inspection

Distance on

And who

apply

t'

fail to lose.

a mellowing haze bestows

all

not indebted to that aid

is

Which throws

welcome shade

his failures into

There are one hundred and two poems

in the

two

hundred and twenty-eight pages of the book; and

the subjects are

drawn from

few of the

may serve

tra

;
'

titles

The Gondola

'

down

rah, sailing
*

The

'

'

all

to

ages and

show

'

Druid's Prophecies

The Maid

of Savoy

;
'

'

'

Persia

Swiss Song

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

;
'

'

gium on Homer
*

Babylon

Greeks

'

'

'

'

'

Phrenology

'

Hume,
seau,

'

Byron,

Cicero,

;
'

;'

Eulo-

Claudian,

others,

Gray,

the

to

They

etc.

among

God's De-

Exhortation

King Charles's Vision

often introduced by quotations

Addison,

Greece

The Scenery of South America

;

The Death

of Lord Byron;' 'The Fall of Jerusalem

'

Egypt

The Ex-

'

'

Scotch Song

nunciations against Pharaoh-Hophra

Cleopa-

to

Written by an Exile of Basso-

the Euphrates

pedition of Nadir Shah into Hindostan

*

lands, as a

all

Antony

are

from

Horace,

Lucretius, Milton, Moore, Ovid, Racine, Rous-

Sallust,

There are

Scott,

also

learned than

Tacitus,

Terence,

and

frequent foot-notes, which are

Virgil.

more

we should expect from boys of seventeen

or eighteen, and yet without the affectation of scholarship that

we might expect

in connection with such a

juvenile display of erudition.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

12

The present Lord Tennyson has done well, I think,

in consenting to a reprint of these poems since his

They have an

father's death.

historical interest,

and

own

Be-

are worthy of preservation for their

sides,

sake.

they have been reprinted several times in this

country without authority, and with some inaccuracies;

so that a careful reproduction of

sively rare

no

volume was desirable on

this

the

exces-

account

if

on

other.

In text and arrangement of pages the reprint

facsimile of the

The poems

1827 edition.

ever, signed with

are,

is

how-

the initials of the authors, on the

of Frederick Tennyson, who, as we

authority

now

learn, himself contributed four pieces to the collection.

Of

the authorship of these, of course, he can

speak positively, but he states that he 'cannot be

Four poems are appended which

sure of the others.'

were in the original manuscript of 1827, but were

omitted

'

printed.

some forgotten reason

for

The

prize

poem

of

'

'

when

Timbuctoo

'

it

is

was
also

included in this reprint.

We

can trace in many of the poems the influence

of Byron, who
cent death
to

is

is

quoted

six

times,

and whose

in another.

Mrs. Ritchie

Byron's death affected Alfred at fifteen

was dead

re-

poem and is referred

tells how the news of

the subject of one

" Byron

thought the whole world was at an

end," he once said, speaking of those bygone days;

'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
"I thought

everything was

every one,

13

and

over

finished

that nothing else mattered.

ber I walked out alone, and carved

into the sandstone."

Byron

for

remem-

is

dead

'

Critics have often exercised their ingenuity in at-

tempts to pick out Alfred's work from the contents of

this

anonymous volume

and

now appears

it

that

they have generally been right in regard to the ten

or more poems they have assigned to him.

Some

of

these have been recognised by verbal resemblances

between the juvenile verses and the acknowledged

productions of the Laureate.
these lines in

The

At times her

Upon
'

partial splendour shines

Two

Sometimes a

give an illustration,

the grove of deep-black pines,

remind one of The

As

To

Valley of Bones,'

Voices

little

'

corner shines

over rainy mist inclines

gleaming crag with belts of pines.

Aside from

this parallel, I

in ascribing

'

should have no hesitation

The Valley of Bones

one of the best things

in

the

'

to Alfred, for

book.

it is

His poems

average decidedly better than Charles's, especially in

ease

and grace of

nature,
rule,
'

and

in

the longer

The Oak

versification,

in

descriptions of

sustained imaginative power.

poems

As a

are his, though the longest,

of the North,' which I have always sup-

THE LIFE AND WORKS

14

posed

now

proves

could not be Charles's

it

to be Frederick's.

Alfred's

Charles has a certain

though looser in rhyming than

for instance,

zsform, charm;
etc.

for

versifying,

facility in

Alfred

be his

to

admitting

combinations

such

beside; zeal, real ; morn, lawn,

lid,

rhymes are generally

the only

faultless,

very bad one that I note being dwelling, Ellen, in a

short piece which,

if it

were not signed

should unhesitatingly assign to Charles.

made

(?) to

some poems concerning which

The

lines

faintly smile,'

certainly Charles's

signed

A. T. or C.

it

This

is

is

yes, the lip

T.,'

are almost
said of those

sinks the gorgeous sun,'

'

(page 175),

unquestionably belongs to

clear from internal evidence

confirmed by the fact that nearly

poems which have

should have

(?),'

'The Dying Christian

marked.

latter.

gaily

appends a

and the same maybe

similarly
'

on page 164, * Ah

marked 'A. T.

'How

on page 178,

the

He

mistakes in the signatures.

no doubt.

may

may be

It

suspect in several instances that Frederick

his, for I

has

A. T.,'

'

all

and

the other

a religious turn (pages 18, 88, 98,

'The

118, 152, 172, etc.) are ascribed to Charles.

Deity' (page T09), also signed 'A. T. or C.

T.,'

be-

longs in this class, and must be Charles's.

All these

poems may be comprehensively described

as

and

pious.'

this vein

much

'Remorse'

which

of the

'

is

(p.

'

poor

20), the only piece in

unmistakably Alfred's, reminds

me

Confessions of a Second-rate Sensitive

OF LORD TENNYSON.
Mind,' published in

iiis

15

1830 volume, but suppressed

until within a few years.

To
take

illustrate the

treatment of nature by the brothers,

from Charles's description of a thunder-

this

first

storm (page 122)

The storm

I would see it pass,

is brooding
Observe its tenor, and its progress trace.
How dark and dun the gathering clouds appear,
Their rolling thunders seem to rend the ear

But

faint at

first,

they slowly, sternly

rise,

From mutt'rings low to peals which rock

As if at first their fury they forbore.

And
And

the skies,

nursed their terrors for a closing roar.

they rise into a loftier sound.

hark

Creation's trembling objects quake around;

In silent awe the subject nations hear

Th' appalling crash of elemental war

The
The

lightning, too, each eye in dimness shrouds,

fiery

That

progeny of clashing clouds.

upon its blazing wing,

carries death

And

the keen tortures of th' electric sting

Not

like the

(When no

harmless flash on summer's eve

rude blasts their silent slumbers leave),

Which, Hke a radiant vision to the

Expands serenely in the placid sky
It

eye.
;

rushes fleeter than the swiftest wind.

And

bids attendant thunders wait behind

forked
thro' the air
A moment blazes dazzles bursts and dies
Quick

it flies,

livid,

Another, and another yet, and

To

each replies

its

own

still

allotted peal.

These are good schoolboy verses

but are not these,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

poem

from a

of Alfred's, entitled

a somewhat higher

86), in

'

strain?

Midnight

(page

'

is midnight o'er the dim mere's lonely bosom,

Dark, dusky, windy midnight swift are driven
The swelling vapours onward every blossom
Bathes its bright petals in the tears of heaven.

'T

Imperfect, half-seen objects meet the sight,

The other half our fancy must portray
;

wan,

dull, lengthen' d sheet

of swimming light

Lies the broad lake : the moon conceals her ray,

Sketch'd faintly by a pale and lurid gleam
Shot thro' the glimmering clouds the lovely planet
:

shrouded in obscurity the scream

Of owl is silenced and the rocks of granite
Rise tall and drearily, while damp and dank
Hang the thick willows on the reedy bank.
Is

Beneath, the gurgling eddies slowly creep,

Blacken'd by foliage and the glutting wave,
;

That saps eternally the cold gray steep.

Sounds heavily within the hollow cave.
It

weak

is

for

all

in spots

that,

it

the

'

dark, dusky,' etc.

has more of promise in

it

but,

than the

other.

There

is

great variety of metre

poems, but Alfred never writes

that Charles affects in the

Two

other pieces.

in the

rhymed heroics

of these

'

Sunday Mobs

are in a

which we should hardly have looked

soberer brother.
as this

from

'

The

wit,

in the

above quotation and several

'Phrenology' (pages 197, 200)

vein,

and stanza

however,

Sunday Mobs

'

may

is

'

and

humorous
for in the

rather laboured,

illustrate

OF LORD TENNYSON.
Tho' we

at times

ly

amid the mob may find

many a charm combined

beauteous face, with

wants the signature of mind.

On such a face no fine expression dwells,
That eye no inborn dignity reveals
Tho' bright its jetty orb, as all may see,
has no charms for me.
The glance is vacant
When Sunday's sun is sinking in the west,

Yet

still it

Our

To

swarm with numbers

streets all

Prankt out

in ribbands,

and

gaily drest

in silks array'd.

catch the eyes of passing sons of trade.

Then

giggling milliners

swim

pertly by,

Obliquely glancing with a roguish eye

With

And

short and airy gait they trip along,

vulgar volubility of tongue

Their minds well pictured

And that
But no

in their every tread,

backward tossing of the head

slight

idea, 'faith, that harbours there.

Is independent of a stomacher.
Their metaphors from gowns and caps are sought,

And
In

'

stays incorporate with every thought.

Phrenology

'

we have

of Byron mentioned above

the allusion to the death

:

E'en now, when Harold's minstrel left the scene,

Where such a brilliant meteor he had been.

Thus with

the

same

ofificiousness of pains.

Gazettes announc'd the volume of his brains.

The poem On
*

means up
critics

the Death of Lord Byron,' also cred-

Charles,

ited to

is

one of

his

have generally ascribed

VOL.

I.

best,

to the average of Alfred,

it

though by no
to

whom

the

THE LIFE AND WORKS

l8

ON THE DEATH OF LORD BYRON.

Unus tanta dedit ? dedit et majora
Ni ccleri letho corriperetur, erat.

daturus

Don Manuel de Souza

Coutino's
Epitaph on Cantoens.

the bard is gone

His bright career on earth is done,
Where with a comet's blaze he shone.

The hero and

He

died

Where

where vengeance arms the brave,

buried freedom quits her grave,

In regions of the eastern wave.

Yet not before his ardent lay

Had bid them chase all fear away,
And taught their trumps a bolder bray.
Thro' him their ancient valour glows,
And, stung by thraldom's scathing woes,
They rise again, as once they rose.

As once

To war

in conscious glory bold,

their

sounding cars they

roll'd,

Uncrush'd, untrampled, uncontroll'd

Each drop

that gushes from their side

Will serve to swell the crimson

That soon

At
At
At

last

last

shall

upon

last the

whelm

tide,

the Moslem's pride

their lords they turn,

shame

of

bondage

learn,

they feel their fetters burn

Oh how the heart expands to see

An injured people all agree
To burst those fetters and be free
!

'

OF LORD TENNYSON:

19

Each far-famed mount that cleaves

Each plain wliere buried glory lies,
All, all exclaim
'Awake arise

the skies,

Who would

not feel their wrongs ? and who

Departed freedom would not rue,
With all her trophies in his view ?

To

see imperial Athens reign,

And, towering

o'er the vassal main,

Rise in embattled strength again

To

see rough Sparta train once

Her

more

infants' ears for battle's roar.

Stern, dreadful, chainless, as before

Was

which

following
I

hand he came.
that path of fame

heart and

But perish'd

The

was Byron's aim

Byron's hope

With ready

'

in

On

Dead Enemy

'

(page

60 )

have always assumed to be Alfred's and now

find with the

'

A. T.' appended,

is

a remarkable pro-

duction for a boy of seventeen or less

I

came

in haste with cursing breath.

And

heat of hardest steel

But when
I felt

as

saw thee cold

man

should

in

death

feel.

For when I look upon that face.

That cold, unheeding, frigid brow,

Where neither rage nor fear has place,

By Heaven I cannot hate thee now
!

THE LIFE AND WORKS

20

The poem on

Egypt

'

is

said to have

by C. T. and finished by A.
that the

T.'

It

been

is

'

begun

easy to see

three stanzas, beginning

first

The sombre pencil of the dim-gray dawn

Draws a faint sketch of Egypt to mine
As yet uncolour'd by the brilHant morn,

And

eye,

her gay orb careering up the sky,

are Charles's, while the other four are Alfred's, be-

ginning thus

But the

first glitter

of his rising

beam

on the broad-based pyratnids sublime.

As proud to show us with his earliest gleam
Those vast and hoary enemies of time.
Falls

'Antony

to Cleopatra,'

by Alfred and one of the

best things in the volume,

is

well worth reproducing

may compare it with

A Dream of Fair Women

here, that the reader

the Cleo-

patra stanzas in

'

'

ANTONY TO CLEOPATRA.
O

Cleopatra

fare thee well,

We

two can meet no more

This breaking heart alone can

The

love to thee

tell

bore.

But wear not thou the conqueror's chain

Upon thy race and thee
And tho' we ne'er can meet again.
Yet still be true to me
For I for thee have lost a throne.
To wear the crown of love alone.

; ;!!

OF LORD TENNYSON.

Fair daughter of a regal line

To

thraldom bow not tame

My every wish on earth was

My every hope the same.
And I have moved
And lived within
And oh thou wert

thine,

within thy sphere,

thy light

me so dear,
breathed but in thy sight
A subject world I lost for thee,
For thou wert all my world to me !
!

to

Then, when the shriekings of the dying

Were heard along the wave,
Soul of my soul I saw thee flying
!

follow'd thee, to save.

The thunder

of the brazen prows

O'er Actium's ocean rung
Fame's garland faded from my brows,

Her wreath away

I

sought,

For what

saw,

to love

Thine on the

And

How

flung.

heard but thee

was victory

earth,

still I

and on the throne,

am I
am thine

in the grave,

And, dying,

Thy

own,

bleeding Antony.

shall

my

spirit joy to

hear

That thou art ever true

Nay weep not dry that burning
That bathes thine eyes' dark hue.
Shades of my fathers lo I come

hear your voices from the tomb

tear,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

22
*

The Old Sword,' which was generally ascribed to

it was known to be his, is another good

Alfred before

specimen of

his juvenile

work

THE OLD SWORD.

Old Sword

tho'

dim and rusted

Be now thy sheeny

Thy

blade,

edge incrusted
With cankers Time hath made
Yet once around thee swell'd the cry
glitt'ring

Of triumph's

fierce

dehght,

The shoutings of the victory,

The thunders of the fight
Tho' age hath past upon thee

With

still

corroding breath,

Yet once stream'd redly on thee

The

purpling tide of death

What

time amid the war of foes

The dastard's cheek grew pale,

As thro' the feudal field arose
The ringing of the mail.
Old Sword

what arm hath wielded

Thy richly gleaming brand.

Mid lordly forms who shielded
The maidens of their land ?
And who hath clov'n his foes
With thy

And

puissant

in

wrath

fire,

scatter'd in his perilous path

The

victims of his ire

Old Sword whose fingers clasp'd thee

Around thy carved hilt
!

.*

OF LORD TENNYSON.
And with that hand which
What heroes' blood was

When

grasp'd thee
spilt

open hearts,

fearlessly, with

And

23

lance to lance opposed,

Beneath the shade of barbed darts

The dark-eyed
Old Sword

warriors closed

would not burnish

Thy venerable
Nor sweep away

rust,

the tarnish

Of darkness and

of dust

Lie there, in slow and

decay,

still

Unfamed in olden rhyme,

The relic of a former day,

A wreck of ancient
Alfred's

poem

entitled

'

Love

'

time

contains an allusion,

The Palace

to

which there

to

which none of the commentators have called atten-

tion.

is

a parallel in

The passage
Or else,
Upon

is

'

as follows

of Art,' but

as Indian fables say,

thine emerald lory riding.

Thro' gardens mid the restless play

Of fountains in the moonbeam gliding,

Mid sylph-like shapes of maidens dancing,
Thy scarlet standard high advancing
;

Thy

fragrant

Twanging
*

bow

of cane thou bendest,^

the string of honey'd bees,

See Sir William Jones's works,

vol. vi., p.

313

He

bends the luscious cane, and twists the string;

With bees how sweet, but ah how keen the sting
!

He

with five flowrets tips thy ruthless darts,

Which

thro' five senses pierce enraptured hearts

THE LIFE AND WORKS

24

And

thence the flower- tipp'd arrow sendest,

gives or robs the heart of ease

Which

Camdeo, or Cupid, oh be near

listen, and to grant my prayer

To

Compare

'

The Palace

of Art

'

Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd,

And many a tract of palm and rice.
The throne of Indian Cama^ slowly sail'd
A summer fann'd with spice.
These opening lines of 'The Dell of E
mind me of the beginning of CEnone,' though they
parallelisms
cited by former
are not among the
'

'

editors

There was a long, low, rushy dell, emboss'd

With knolls of grass and clumps of copsewood green
Midway a wandering burn the valley cross'd,
And streak'd with silvery line the woodland scene
High hills on either side to heaven upsprung,
Y-clad with groves of undulating pine.

Upon whose heads the hoary vapours hung,

And far far off the heights were seen to

shine

In clear relief against the sapphire sky.

And many
1

Cama

or

a blue stream wander'd thro' the shade

Camdeo

is

the

Hindoo god

of love, sometimes

represented as riding by night on a parrot, or lory.

Sir

William Jones's

Hymn

to

Camdeo

thou for ages born, yet ever young,

For ages may thy Brahmin's

lay be

sung

And when thy lory spreads his emerald wings

To waft thee high above the towers of kings,
Whilst o'er thy throne the moon's pale light

Pours her

soft

radiance thro' the night, etc.

Ed.

Compare

OF LORD TENNYSON.
Of those dark groves

And
At

that

25

clomb the mountains high,

ghstening 'neath each lone entangled glade,

length with brawling accent loudly

fell

Within the limpid brook that wound along the

dell.

Certain critics have compared these juvenile

to the

first efforts

possibly not above the average quality of the

of Idleness

now

but the majority of those which

'

poems

of Byron, and those by Charles are

'

Hours

we can

me

confidently ascribe to Alfred seem to

im-

measurably superior to the best things in that book,

published

when

the author was nineteen.

There

is

scarcely a stanza in the latter which gives any indication of

budding genius, while not a few of the boyish

poems of Alfred Tennyson

and potency of greater work

'

The only contemporary

Two

Brothers

earthed

is

in

The

1827.

'

several

the
and

little

poems

promise

come.

criticism of the

Poems by

Literary Chronicle' of INIay 19,

reviewer says: 'This

union of kindred

little

tastes,

volume exand contains

pieces of considerable merit.'

are given in

full

stanzas beginning

clear,'

to

'

which the commentators have un-

'The

hibits a pleasing

the

show the

really

'

Yon

star

it is

the

first

of

whole

of eve, so soft

by Charles and not one of

perhaps taken because

Two

as samples of the

his best, but

piece in the book

and 'God's Denunciations against Pharaoh-Hophra,'

which

is

only an average specimen of Alfred's contri-

butions to the volume.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

26

The

four

'

Poems

Additional

ted in the 1827

but I suspect that the second,

Friend,' belongs to
others,

in the reprint, omit-

Charles.

'

The Dying Man

It

inferior

is

and has the pious turn to which

characteristic of

ferred as

him.

'

edition, are all ascribed to 'A. T.,'

The

stanza

last

is

many

to his

the

to

have re-

pieces assigned to

as follows

Other worlds are opening on me,

Now my course on earth is done

Holy Jesus look upon me,

Holy Father, take Thy son.
!

The whole poem

is

equally

commonplace, and

nothing clearly belonging to Alfred which

throughout.
*

The

the

of

third

Unhappy man, why wander

but the fourth, the spirited lines

Convulsions in Spain,'

is

'

I find

so

poor

appended poems,

there ?

what better than the second, may

is

'

though somebe Charles's

also

Written during the

correctly signed

A. T.'

In October, 1828, Alfred went to Trinity College,

Cambridge, where

his

two elder brothers, Frederick

and Charles, were already

residing.

He

remained

through the academic year, 1829-30, and for the

term of the next, leaving college in the

February,

1831.

first

latter part

of

'This premature departure from

the university, which,

it

will

be seen, he

left

without

graduating, was due to his father's death,'

The

tutor to

whom

Alfred was assigned, according

OF LORD TENNYSON.
to the

custom of the

college,

27

was William Whewell,

then recently elected Professor

of Mineralogy, and

Mrs. Ritchie says

afterwards Master of the College.

of him and his students at this time

ruled a noble generation,

a race of men born
beginning of the century, whose praise and loyal

Whewell
in the

indeed worth having, and whose good

friendship were

may have been proud to posWise, sincere, and witty, these contemporaries of
his spoke with authority, with the modesty of conscious
strength.
Those of this race whom I have known in later
opinion Tennyson himself
sess.

days
also

for they were many of them my father's friends

have been men of unmistakable stamp, of great
all

culture, of a certain dignified bearing,

and of indepen-

dence of mind and of character.

Most of them have succeeded in life as men do who are
possessed of intellect and high character. Some have not

made

the less

mark upon their time because their names

known but each name is a memorable

are less widely

chapter in

life

to

one and another of us who have known

them from our youth. One of those old friends, who also
my father, and whom he loved, who has himself just
passed away, one who saw life with his own eyes, described Alfred in his youth, in a pamphlet or book which
loved

has been privately printed, and which is a remembrance,

a sort of waking dream, of some bygone days and talks.

How many
and

poet,

of us

might have been glad to listen to our

who has made the philosophy of

to the poet

Omar Khayam known

gether

of

life,

more books, of
youth,

with

of

to the world, as they discoursed to-

of bo3'ish memories, of books,

chivalry,

mainly but

and again

another

name

for

a possible old age, so thoroughly seasoned

its spirit

that

all

the experience of the world should

serve not to freeze but to direct the genial current of the

THE LIFE AND WORKS

28
soul

and who that has known them both

will not recog-

nise the truth of this description of Alfred in those early

days ?

A man

at all points, of

grand proportion and feature,

sig-

and
honourable race when himself a Yonge Squire,' like him in
Chaucer, of grete strength,' that could hurl the crowbar farther than any of the neighbouring clowns, whose humours, as
knight, squire, landlord, and lieutenwell as of their betters,
ant,
he took quiet note of, like Chaucer himself like Wordsworth on the mountain, he too when a lad abroad on the world,
sometimes of a night with the shepherd, watching not only the
flock on the greensward, but also
nificant

becoming

of that inward chivalry

his ancient

'

'

the fleecy star that bears

Andromeda

far off Atlantic seas,

along with those other Zodiacal constellations which Aries, I

think, leads over the field of heaven.

R.

Arthur Hallam has also written of him, in some

J. Tennant, as

lines to

a friend, a rare one,

A noble being full

of clearest insight,
.

Is couching

As who

now

shall say, I

And have him

whose fame

with pantherised intent.

for

'11

my

spring to

him anon.

own.

All these men could understand each other, although

they had not then told the world their secrets. Poets,
such names as Trench and
critics, men of learning

Monckton Milnes, George Stovin Venables, the Lushingtons and Kinglake, need no comment; many more
there are, and deans and canons,
a band of youthful

friends in those days meeting to hold debate

on mind and

art,

And labour and the changing mart.

And all the framework of the land

OF LORD TEAWYSON.

29

When

one would aim an arrow fair,

But send it slackly from the string
And one would pierce an outer ring,
And one an inner, here and there

And

last the

Would

The

lines to

associates

J.

S.

master-bowman, he.

cleave the mark.

were written

to

one of these

earlier

And

gently comes the world to those

That are

cast in gentle mould.

It was the prophecy of a whole lifetime.

There were but
few signs of age in James Spedding's looks, none in his
charming companionship, when the accident befell him
which took him away from those who loved him. To another old companion, the Rev. W. H. Brookfield, is dedicated that sonnet which flows like an echo of Cambridge
chimes on a Sabbath morning. It is in this sonnet that
Tennyson speaks of Arthur Hallam as him the lost light
of those dawn-golden times.'
'

Brookfield was for

many

years a preacher in Lon-

don, but later went to a country parish in Lincolnshire.

During

his

humour and

Cambridge
his

life,

he was noted

power of mimicry.

wrote long afterwards

for

his

Dr. Whewell

At my age it is not likely that I shall ever again see a

whole party lying on the floor for purposes of unrestrained
number is pouring forth, with
a perfectly grave face, a succession of imaginary dialogues
between characters real or fictitious, one exceeding another
laughter, while one of their

humour or drollery. Brookfield almost lived with Arthur Hallam and the Tennysons, and, of course, with those
who could afford time for their nodes coenceque.
in

THE LIFE AND WORKS

whom

Arthur Hallam, to

this last

sentence alludes,

was the most intimate of Tennyson's friends

He

bridge.

entered the university in the same year.

the early age of twenty-three, and
the noble
ory.^

monument

the poet has

In the preface to a

poems and

Cam-

little

He

died at

Memoriam is
reared to his mem*

In

'

volume of

published after his

essays,

eminent

father, the

at

was two years younger than Alfred, but

his collected

death,

him

historian, says of

his

From

the earlier years of this extraordinary young man,

premature abilities are not more conspicuous than an
almost faultless disposition sustained by a more calm selfcommand than has often been witnessed in this season of
The sweetness of temper which distinguished his
life.
childhood became with the advance of manhood a habithis

ual benevolence,

and ultimately ripened

principle of benevolence towards

into that exalted

God and man which

ani-

mated and almost absorbed his soul during the latter

period of his life.
He seemed to tread the earth as
and in bowing to the
a spirit from some better world
mysterious WiU which has in mercy removed him., perfected by so short a trial, and passing over the bridge
which separates the seen from the unseen life in a
moment, and as we may believe without a moment's
pang, we must feel not only the bereavement of them to
whom he was dear, but the loss which mankind have sustained by the withdrawing of such a hght.
.

Rev. Henry Alford, the

late

intimate friend, thus addresses

the Heart
^

'

In the notes to that

have occasion to refer

to

poem

Dean
him

of Canterbury, an
in

'

The School of

in the present edition I shall

him more

at length.

OF LORD TENNYSON.

Gentle soul

That ever moved among us in a veil

Of heavenly lustre in whose presence thoughts
Of common import shone with light divine,
Whence we drew sweetness as from out a well
Of honey pure and deep, thine early form
;

Was

not the investiture of daily men,

But thou didst wear a glory

From inward

And

in thy look

converse with the

won

thou hadst

spirit of love

in the first strife of

youth

Trophies that gladden'd hope, and pointed on

To days when we should stand and minister
To the full triumphs of thy gather'd strength.

Mr. W. E. Gladstone says

The memory

of Arthur

Henry Hallam, who died sud-

denly in 1833, at the age of twenty -two, will doubtless live

chiefly in connection with this volume [' In Memoriam '].
well known to have been one who, if the term of
had been prolonged, would have needed no aid
from a friendly hand, would have built his own enduring
monument, and would have bequeathed to his country a

But he

is

his days

name

in

all

than that of

his very

writer of this paper

was more

likelihood greater

distinguished father.

The

than half a century ago in a condition to say,

mark'd him
As a far Alp and loved to watch the sunrise
Dawn on his ample brow.
I

There perhaps was no one among those who were

nay, as we see, not even Mr.
Tennyson
who did not feel at once bound closely to
him by commanding affection, and left far behmd by the
rapid growth and rich development of his ever-searching
mind; by his
blessed with his friendship

All-comprehensive tenderness,
All-subtilising intellect.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

32
It

would be easy to show what, in the varied forms of

excellence, he might, had Hfe been granted him,

human

have accomplished; much more difficult to point the

finger and to say,
This he never could have done.'
Enough remains from among his early efforts to accredit
whatever mournful witness may now be borne of him.
But what can be a nobler tribute than this, that for
'

seventeen years after his death, a poet, fast rising towards

the lofty summit of his art, found that young fading
image the richest source of his inspiration, and of thoughts
that gave him buoyancy for a flight such as he had not
hitherto attained.''

Richard Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton), in a

small

volume of poems published a few months

after

Arthur Hallam's death, has a dedication to Henry

Hallam,

in

Arthur's

memory

If

which he pays the following tribute to

:

have ever entertained pleasurable anticipations

connected with the publication of any production of my

mind, they have owed not a little to the thought that I
should thus be enabled to give, in my humble way, an
open testimony to the affectionate admiration with which I
regarded one whom I loved with the truth of early friendship, and you with a parent's passion.
It has pleased
that high Will to which we must submit everything, even
our loves, to take him away, in whom the world has lost
so much, and they who knew him so much more. We are
deprived not only of a beloved friend, of a delightful

companion, but of a most wise and influential counsellor

in all the serious concerns of existence, of an incomparable critic in all our literary efforts, and of the example of
one who was as much before us in everything else as he
is

now

in the

way

of

life.

OF LORD TENNYSON.
I

hold his kind words and earnest admonitions in the

my

best part of

by

my

side,

sumption

in

have his noble and tender letters

from any charge of prethus addressing you under the shield of his
heart,

and

feel secure

sacred memory.

lady, speaking of

said to Tennyson,

'

young Hallam

think he was perfect.'

he was,' the poet replied,

mortal
In

man can
the

after his death,

as

so

near perfection as a

be.'

summer

of

1829 Tennyson gained

Chancellor's gold medal at Cambridge

on

And

'

His

Timbuctoo.

friend

competitor for the prize.

for a

Hallam was

Mr. Church says

poem
also

the

poet tells a curious story of the way in which

English verse prize came to be won. His father
imagined, not, it may be, wholly without reason, that his

The

this

son was doing very little at the university, and knowing

that he had a certain gift for writing verse, told him that
he ought to compete for the Chancellor's medal. Alfred

Tennyson had composed, two years before, a poem on

The Battle of Armageddon.' This he took, furnished it
with anew beginning and a new end, and sent it in for the
theme of Timbuctoo.'
'

'

The same

poem

The

writer gives the following sketch of the

central idea

Fable and Truth.

may be said to be the

The poet, standing on

the mountain which o'erlooks

The narrow

sea whose rapid interval

Parts Afric from green Europe,

VOL.

I.

relation of

THE LIFE AND WORKS

34

muses on the great legends

of the past,

such as were

those that had pictured Atlantis and 'Imperial Eldorado

roof'd with gold,'

and

asks,

Wide
Lighten, thy

As

He

is

soul

Afric, doth thy

hills enfold,

Sun

a city as fair

those which starr'd the night

o'

the elder world

answered by a Spirit who opens the eyes of his

till

each failing sense,

As with a momentary flash of light,

Grew thrillingly distinct and keen.
I

saw,' he goes on,

The smallest grain that dappled the dark earth,

The indistinctest atom in deep air,
The moon's white cities, and the opal width
Of her small glowing lakes, her silver heights
Unvisited with dew of vagrant cloud,

And

the unsounded, undescended depth

Of her black

Among

billows.

the glories thus revealed to

the great African city

Then

first

him

the sight of

is

within the South methought I

saw

wilderness of spires, and crystal pile

Of rampart upon rampart, dome on dome.

Illimitable range of battlement

On

battlement, and the Imperial height

Of canopy

o'ercanopied.

Finally the spirit explains the secret of his being

I

am

the Spirit,

The permeating life which

courseth through

All th' intricate and labyrinthine veins

Of the great vine of Fable, which, outspread

With growth of shadowing leaf and clusters rare,

OF LORD TENNYSON.
Reacheth

35

to every corner under heaven,

Deep-rooted

in the living soil of truth.

But the time was near when

the

this

throne would have to be yielded up to

Soon yon

brilliant

'

Spirit's

latest

keen Discovery

'

towers

wand
Darken and shrink and shiver into huts,
Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand,
Shall darken with the waving of her

Low-built, mud-wall'd, barbarian settlements.

It

was the

poem

in

time the prize had been awarded to

first

blank verse,

all

precedents requiring that

should be in the orthodox heroic couplet.

'

it

Against

blank verse, in particular, so easy to write badly, so

difficult

to write well, there

founded prejudice

and

and

originality of the

was a strong and not

it

says

much

poem, and,

it

ill-

for the vigour

is

only

fair to

add, for the liberal and open-minded temper of the

examiners,

that

the

metre was

not considered

disqualification.'

'Timbuctoo' was noticed

John

Sterling,

We

who

said of

it

in
:

have accustomed ourselves

the 'Athenaeum' by

to think,

out any very good reason, that poetry

among

was

perhaps with-

likely to perish

us for a very considerable period after the great

The age
is now passing away.
seems determined to contradict us, and that in the most
decided manner, for it has put forth poetry by a young
in a prize
man, and that where we should least expect it
poem. These productions have often been ingenious and
elegant, but we have never before seen one which indicated
generation of poets which

THE LIFE AND WORKS

36

and which would have done

Such we do not hesiwork before us, and the exam-

really first-rate poetic genius,

honour to any

man

that ever wrote.

tate to affirm is the little

seem to have felt about it like ourselves, for they

have assigned the prize to its author, although the measure
in which he writes was never before (we believe) thus
iners

selected for honour.

The

reviewer goes on to quote

the poem, and

adds

'

some

for a century that could equal that ?

praise,

forty lines of

How many men

have lived

This

'

the writer was acquainted with Tennyson and

something of

was shown

his

Tennyson put
Poems,

book of poems

his

name appeared,

fifty-four

Thirty-two

but

promise aside from what

first

chiefly Lyrical.'

hundred and
pieces.

knew

poem.

in this

In 1830 the

brilliant

high

is

and possibly may be deemed extravagant

It

to

which Alfred

with

the

title

was a volume of one

pages, and contained fifty-six

of these were suppressed in 1842,

but nine of them have been restored at intervals in

more recent
^

editions.

These

are

'The Deserted

The number is given as twenty-seven by Church and other

who are misled partly by the fact that in the book

authorities,

four of the rejected pieces are grouped under the one head of
' Sonnets,'
and partly because several pieces, omitted in 1842,
were restored so soon afterwards that their brief suppression
was overlooked. I may add that others have been restored in

editions printed very recently.

reappear until

its

Foresters' (1892).

The

'

introduction with a

National Song

new

'

chorus

'

'

did not
in

'

The

OF LORD TENNYSON.
House,' 'Nothing

Mind,'

We

'

Elegiacs

are Free

'

(now

(now

'

'

entitled

Kraken,' and

Among

'

'

will

Die,^

Leonine Elegiacs

Song,' beginning,

the contents of this volume were

and The

ory,'

'

'

Mariana,'

Ode to MemThis last-named poem is espe'

noteworthy as indicating the high ideal of the

and vocation with which the young singer

poet's art
started

on

his career.

no mere

is

Poet.'

'),

The winds
'

National Song.'

Recollections of the Arabian Nights,'

cially

'

'The Sea- Fairies,' The

as at their hour of birth'),

'

Things

Supposed Confessions of a Second-rate Sensitive

'

Die,' 'All

will

37

The

poet, as he describes him,

minstrel, playing

crowd, but a power in

teacher, inspirer, ruler,

and singing

the world

to

amuse the
prophet,

seer,

king by a divine

right higher

than any hereditary monarch can boast from the acci-

dent of

birth.

In January, 1831, a notice of the book'-^ appeared

in the

'Westminster Review.'

tences read

Among

now

like

The concluding

prophecy

fulfilled.

sen-

After

the pieces suppressed and never restored

was

which is one of the twenty-two poems or

parts of poems from Tennyson included by R. W. Emerson in
'

Hero

his

'

to Leander,'

Parnassus,' published in 1875.

According to Mr. Church,

Stuart Mill

but

it is

one from Mill's pen

this notice

was written by John

probable that he confounded

it

with the

'Westminster' for July, 1835.

Lord Tennyson had the impression that it was written by Sir
John Bowring.
in the

THE LIFE AND WORKS

38

quoting from the piece just mentioned ('The Poet'),

the writer says of the author

He
own

has shown, in the lines from which we quote, his

grandeur of a poet's destiny

just conception of the

and we look

men

to

him for its fulfilment. It is not for such

mere verse-makers for the amusement of

to sink into

They can

themselves or others.

influence the associations

unnumbered minds they can command the sympathey can disseminate printhies of unnumbered hearts
ciples they can give those principles power over men's
imaginations they can excite in a good cause the susof

tained enthusiasm that

is

sure to conquer; they can blast

the laurels of the tyrants, and hallow the memories of the

they can act with a force, the exwhich it is difficult to estimate, upon national feelings and character, and consequently upon national hapIf our estimate of Mr. Tennyson is correct, he
piness.
too is a poet and many years hence may he ^ read his
juvenile description of that character with the proud consciousness that it has become the description and history

martyrs of patriotism

tent of

of his

own work.

More than

sixty years

have passed since these

quent and prophetic words were penned

elo-

and there

could not be a more truthful description and history

of Tennyson's work than those inspired strains of his
1

that

In the
I

'

Westminster,' as in

have seen, 'he

'

is

doubt that the author wrote

[Since writing this note
fred

Lord Tennyson'

made

it first

in

quotations of the passage

at least

have no

'he.'

(1892),

my Young
'

all

misprinted 'be,'

see that Mr.

Waugh,

in his

'

Al-

has made the same correction.

People's

Tennyson

'

(1886), p. 90.]

OF LORD TENNYSON.
The

youth.

39

The

estimate of the critic was correct.

young singer was a poet, and he proved himself such

a poet as he saw in that immortal vision.
a lofty and

noble

made

but he

ideal,

was

It

it

living

reality.

Tennyson's

Charles

first

volume,

'Sonnets and

Fugitive Pieces,' appeared almost simultaneously with

the

Poems,

'

chiefly Lyrical

'

and the two books were

reviewed at considerable length in 'The Tatler,' by

Leigh Hunt, who praised the work of both brothers,

but gave the pre-eminence to Alfred.

few months

peared in

later,

a review of Alfred's book ap-

The Englishman's Magazine,' from

pen of Arthur Hallam.

critical withal.

poet

It

Tennyson

His ear has a

is

is

the

highly eulogistic, but

declared to be a true

fairy fineness

there

a strange

is

earnestness in his worship of beauty, which throws a

charm over
described,

once

felt

manner

his

impassioned song more easily

and not

noted

nation, and, at the

second, his
acters

objects,

of

felt

than

be escaped by those who have

Five distinctive merits of the poet's

it.'

are

to

first,

same

his luxuriance

power of embodying himself

third,

his vivid,

and the peculiar

them fused

in

of imagi-

time, his control over

picturesque
skill

delineation of

with which he holds

medium

of

it

in ideal char-

strong

all

emotion

fourth, the variety of his lyrical measures and exquisite

modulation of words and cadences to the swell

THE LIFE AND WORKS

40

and

of the feelings

fall

expressed

elevated habits of thought

and imparting

tions,

impressive than

if

opinions in verse,

impHed

and

the

fifth,

in these

composi-

mellow soberness of tone, more

the author

had drawn up a

and sought

to instruct the

set of

under-

standing rather than to communicate the love of beauty

to the heart.'

In May, 1832, 'Christopher North' (Prof. John

Wilson) reviewed the young poet's work in

wood

'

in a very different vein, praising

respects, but showing

merciless severity.

was

justice in

It

many

up

its

faults

it

Black-

some

in

and defects with

must be admitted that there

of the strictures, and they

may

have had their influence in leading Tennyson to suppress

up

some pieces

to ridicule

in later editions, the passages held

by the reviewer being mostly from these

Wilson did not spare the

discarded poems.

critics

who had already passed judgment upon Tennyson.

The writer in the Westminster is called a crazy
*

charlatan

been the death of the short-lived

azine.'

The

article

'

'

and Hallam's essay

'

declared to have

is

Englishman's Mag-

'

'awoke a general guffaw, and

it

[the magazine] expired in convulsions.'

After ridiculing certain of the

poems

in detail (of

which only 'The Poet's Mind' and 'The Merman'

appear in the recent editions) the reviewer selects for
praise certain others,

Memory,'

'

among which

The Deserted House/

'

are the

Isabel,'

'

'

Ode

to

Mariana,'

Farringford, Freshwater,

Isle

of IVight.

Photogravure from photograph.

OF LORD TENNYSON.
'

Adeline,'

'

The Sleeping

Beauty,'

41

and Recollections
'

of the Arabian Nights.'

That Tennyson was nettled by the

dent from the
in his

little

rhymed

retort

criticism

is

which he inserted

next volume, but never afterwards reprinted

You

did late review

my

evi-

lays,

Crusty Christopher;

You

did mingle blame and praise,

Rusty Christopher.
When I learnt from whom it came,
I forgave you all the blame,

Musty Christopher;
I

could not forgive the praise,

Fusty Christopher.

(1830) Tennyson contributed

In the same year

three

The

poems

first is

to

for

1831.

a bit of seven lines, interesting as perhaps

containing the
that are

'The Gem,' an 'annual'

germ of the

No More

'

in

'

The

exquisite song,

Princess

'

'

The Days

NO MORE.
No More ! Oh sweet No More !
Oh strange No More !

Oh

sad

By

a moss'd brook-bank on a stone

smelt a wildwood flower alone

There was a ringing

And

both

Surely

all

my

in

my

ears,

eyes gush'd out with tears.

pleasant things had gone before,

Low-buried fathom deep with thee,

No More

1 Only the portion of

The Day-Dream bearing this
appeared in 1S30, the rest having been added in 1S42.
'

'

title

THE LIFE AND WORKS

42

The second
reontics.'

twelve lines long and entitled

is

These

trifles in

ten to order, and

and

which he

it

also discarded,

zine

(August,

third

somewhat longer

is

title,

The

'

Fragment.'

has been quoted above (page i8).

In the same number of

'

writ-

author did not think them

the

in blank verse, with the

passage from

Anac-

rhyme were evidently

worth reprinting in any of his volumes.

piece,

The Englishman's Maga-

831) which contained Arthur Hal-

lam's review of the

'

Poems,

chiefly L)-rical,' there

sonnet by Tennyson, beginning,

is

at

Check everj' outflash, every ruder sally

Of thought and speech speak low, and give up wholly
;

Thy

spirit to

This

is

mild-minded Melancholy.

also

among

latter part of these

Lotos- Eaters

To
To

'
:

rejected poems, but

the

the

opening Hnes reappears in 'The

lend our hearts and spirits wholly

the influence of mild-minded Melancholy.

Another sonnet, beginning 'There are three things

which

fill

my

heart with sighs,' appeared in

'The

Yorkshire Literary Annual' for 1832.

third^ contributed to

the same

year, has

'

Friendship's Offering

been reprinted since the

'

death, by permission of his son, with a few slight

terations

for

poet's
al-

which appear to have been made by the

author in a copy given to a friend

Me

mine own fate to lasting sorrow doometh,

Thy woes are birds of passage, transitory

OF LORD TENNYSON.
Thy

spirit, circled

summer

In

Alone

my

still

43

with a living glory,

summer

joy resumeth.

hopeless melancholy gloometh.

Like a lone cypress, through the twilight hoary,

In some old garden where no flower bloometh,

One

And

yet

my

As round

And

lonely spirit follows thine.

the rolling earth night follows day

yet thy lights on

my

Into
I

am

cypress on an island promontory.

night,

so dark, alas

When we

my

horizon shine

when thou

art far

and thou so

two meet there

's

away.

bright,

never perfect

light.

In the winter of 1832-33 a second volume of 'Poems

by Alfred Tennyson

many

'

(that

was the

title)

was brought

London by Edward Moxon, who continued

out in

years to be the author's publisher.

thirty

for

contained

of which were discarded in

fourteen

pieces,

It

1842, though the following six have since been restored

'

To

,'

beginning, in

of weary days

life is full

Buonaparte
;

'

'

its

revised form,

(see notes

the sonnet,

'

If I

on

that

'

My

poem)

were loved as

I de-

How long, O God,'

sire to

be

etc.),

and the sonnet, 'As when with downcast eyes

'

'

we muse and

Rosalind,'

brood.'

'

Poland

'

(<

This volume was contemptuously reviewed (by the

editor,

On

John Gibson Lockhart,

it is

generally believed)

the number of suppressed and of subsequently repoems in this volume, as concerning that of 1S30, all
the authorities are inaccurate. Compare the foot-note on
1

stored

page

36.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

44

'Quarterly' for July,

in the

Coleridge, while admitting

deal of beauty

tune

that he

is

book, added

in the

'

Samuel Taylor

1833.

was *a good

that there

'

[Tennyson] has begun

The

to write verses

without very well understanding what metre

Church, quoting

much

he had had

remarks

this,

The

practice in writing in the accepted

be so regular

in

me

assure

'

Tennyson's shorter pieces

minute rhythmical lapses

in

that,

common

with

dead, he has neglected to

make

of the principles of metre

so perfect

is

seems

see

to

his

with

in

'

stinct

poets, living

Poe,

like

minute lapses

'

in their application.

to attain a finer

Edmund

strict letter ot

Clarence Stedman, poet

same volume of 1832 (or of 1833,

it

'

the

Pos-

rhythmical in-

as well as critic, in his 'Victorian Poets,'

called), notes in

Coleridge,

he fancies that he detects

which taught that poet how

the technical law.

this

and

mastery of ' the principles of

his

music by occasional variations from the

on

command

commenting
as

it is

often

of delicious metres,

the rhythmic susurrus of stanzas whose every word

as needful

to

on the other hand,

Tennyson's verse were due to the

'

sufficient

precise investigation

but,

earJ

his

and was a precisian

sibly the

all

rhythmical instinct in general that he

plumed himself upon

metre,'

him not

Later (in 1844)

rhythms.'

in his

Edgar A, Poe wrote

abound

Mr.

is.'

was that

fact

metres, and that his father had even advised

to

misfor-

and studied

is

as the flower or scroll of orna-

OF LORD TENNYSON.

mental architecture,

yet so

much an

45
interlaced por-

tion of the whole that the special device

general

the

in

He

excellence.'

and

these lyrics

adds

forgotten

is
:

'

Even

if

had expressed nothing, they

idyls

were of priceless value as guides to the renaissance of

Thenceforward slovenly work was impossible,

beauty.

The

subject to instant rebuke by contrast.

made

metrical elegance

thing before

Certain

its

it.'

poems

printed in 1842 belong to this

first

period in the poet's career.

In a note to the

volume of the edition published

told that the following,

written in 1833

'

old sat

land

;
'

with

Freedom on

May Queen;' 'The

and

'

the

heights

The Goose.'

'

first

we

are

one exception, were

You ask me why, though

'

also dated

at

ill
'

'

ease

the

'

Black;
'

'

Of

Love thou thy

The Two Voices

'

is

1833.

'The Lover's Tale

in

'

in that year,

Lady Clare Vere de Vere

'

'

'Conclusion' of 'The
bird

force of

way, and carried every-

'

(written in 1828) was printed

1833, b^^ withdrawn before publication for reasons

which the author gives in the preface to the reprint

of 1879.

During the next nine years (1833-42) the poet

was
to
'

silent,

except for the contribution of

'The Keepsake'

The Tribute

'

in

'

Saint

Agnes

'

1837, and some 'Stanzas' to

(a collection of miscellaneous

poems

by various authors, edited by Lord Northampton)

in

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

46

The

the same year.

't

were possible,'

Maud,' of which work

been the germ.

'The Academy'

poem

'

of deepest charm and

new form and

reappearance

for

it

fit

it

refreshed with

among

as 'the

of pathos
;

since re-

new beauty

to

the crowning passages

"Maud."'

of

poem

This

subject of the

the

'

says

is

(October, 1837)

'

contribution
;

'

hand

and the

The

writer

to understand the

of

sional absurdities of expression,

the

somewhat mysMr. Alfred Tennyson, entitled

but amidst some quaintness, and some occa-

do not profess

Stanzas

Tennyson received from

notice that

We

been the

also interesting as having

first

Edinburgh Review
:

terious
'

may be

it

fullest delight

and melody ever written by Mr. Tennyson

cast into

that

Swinburne, in 1876 (in

January 29), refers to

for

'

was, eighteen years afterwards,

etc.,

incorporated into
said to have

latter piece, beginning,

of a true poet

lines

it is

not

difficult to

such as the author of

'

on the Arabian Nights undoubtedly

'

'

detect

Mariana
is

in

those stanzas which describe the appearance of a visionary form, by which the writer

is

amidst the streets of a crowded

The

'

Morte d'Arthur

as early as 1837,

'

must

supposed to be haunted
city.

also have

though not published

been written

until

1842

for

Walter Savage Landor, writing to a friend on the 9th

of December, 1837, says

Yesterday a Mr. Moreton, a young

ment, read to

me

man

of rare judg-

a manuscript by Mr. Tennyson very

OF LORD TENNYSON:

47

It is more
in style from his printed poems.
Homeric than any poem of our time, and rivals some of

different

the noblest parts of the

'

Odyssey.'

According to Mr. Waugh,

the

same time (1837)

was written,
the author
in the "

The

till it

that

poem

'

it

must have been about

'The Progress of Spring'

laid aside

and forgotten by

turned up again in 1888, to be printed

Demeter

"

poet's father

volume

in the following year.'

had died

in

1831, but the family

continued to reside at Somersby for several years,

passing two Christmas seasons there (see
riam,' xxix.

Hallam.

and

Ixxviii.) after

the

'

In

Memo-

death of Arthur

For the greater part of the years from

1837 to 1842 Alfred appears to have lived in London.

In 1838 he was a
to

which Carlyle,

member

Anonymous

Club,

Cunningham, John Stuart

Mill,

of the

Thackeray, Forster, Sterling, Landor, and Macready

belonged.

Mrs. Ritchie, in the

already quoted, writes

article

from which

have

It was about this time that Carlyle introduced Sir John

Simeon to Tennyson one night at Bath House, and made
the often-quoted speech, There he sits upon a dungheap
surrounded by innumerable dead dogs
by which dead
dogs he meant CEnone and other Greek versions and
adaptations.
He had said the same thing of Landor and
his Hellenics.
I was told of this,' said Mr. Tennyson,
and some time afterwards I repeated it to Carlyle " I 'm
told that is what you say of me."
He gave a kind of
'

'

'

'

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

48

" Eh, that

guffaw.

was

n't

a very luminous description of

you," he answered.'

The

well worth retelling, so completely does it

grim humour and unaffected candour of a
dyspeptic man of genius, who flung words and epithets
without malice, who neither realised the pain his chance
sallies might give, nor the indelible flash which branded
them upon people's memories.
Carlyle and Mr. Fitzgerald used to be often with Tennyson at that time. They used to dine together at the
Cock tavern in the Strand among other places sometimes Tennyson and Carlyle took long solitary walks late

story

is

illustrate the

'

'

into the night.

At length in 1842,

after repeated calls for a

new

edition of the earlier books, which had long been out

of print, Tennyson's protracted

by the publication of two volumes of

first

of which was

made up

was broken

silence
'

Poems,' the

of selections from the

volumes of 1830 and 1832, with the pieces mentioned

above (page 45) as written in 1833. The second volume contained poems entirely new, with the exception
of

The Day-Dream

1830), and

'

'

(a portion of which appeared in

Saint Agnes,' printed in 1837.

Among these ^ were The

'

'The

'Dora,'
Hall,'

Talking

Godiva,'

and

Epic

Oak,'
'

'

('

Morte d'Arthur ')

'Ulysses,'

The Two

Voices,'

'

Locksley

none of

which have been materially altered since 1842.

of the
1

poems from

Most

the volume of 1832 were almost

In the notes to the poems in the present edition, the date

of the publication of each

unnecessary here.

is

given, so that a complete

list

is

OF LORD TENNYSON.
entirely rewritten for this edition
earlier

49

but those from the

volume of 1830 were reprinted with

slight

alteration.

The

general recognition of Tennyson as chief poet

of the century dates from this period.

Hitherto his ad-

mirers had been the select few, and the leading critics

had been divided

now he was
'

All

England rang with the

ley Hall

"

work

in their estimate of his

but

hailed with almost unanimous eulogies.

and nearly

all

stirring

music of " Locks-

of the choicer spirits of the

age conspired to chant the praises of the poet and to

do him honour.'

Up

to this time

America.

It is

Tennyson was almost unknown

in

doubtful whether a dozen copies of

the volumes of 1830 and 1832 had crossed the Atlantic.

Neither of them

great libraries,

and

in

is

to

be found in any of our

private

collections

The only extended

exceedingly rare.

they are

notice

they

received in any of our literary journals of that day

was in the 'Christian Examiner'

pen of Mr. John

S.

the books of Ralph

in

1S33, from the

Dwight of Boston.

He

loan them to his friends and endeavoured

them reprinted

borrowed

Waldo Emerson, who delighted

in Boston.

This

Samuel Longfellow, who showed

Messrs. C. C. Little

&

to

to

have

learned from Mr.

me

letter

from

Co. to his brother the poet,

dated April 27, 1838, in which they refer to Emerson's

desire for an

VOL.

I.

American reprint of Tennyson, and

their

50

THE LIFE AND WORKS

intention of

making one

but for some reason

the

plan was not carried out.

The

edition of 1842 was reprinted the

Boston by Mr.

W. D. Ticknor

copies sufficed to supply the American

next three years.

The

audience, though

it'N.^

and

demand

marked
I

am

poets.

for

in the

Christian

'

'

Examiner

'

Democratic Review'

fit

Tennyson

is

for
for

In the latter

December, 1844, Edgar A. Poe

not sure that

The

The volumes were reviewed

January, 1844, by Mrs. Frances Kemble.

magazine

in

for the

poet, however, found here

by Prof. C. C. Felton in the

November, 1842

same year

but fifteen hundred

re-

not the greatest of

uncertainty attending the public conception

me from demonstrating
Other bards produce effects which are, now
and then, otherwise produced than by what we call poems,
but Tennyson an effect which only a poem does. His
alone are idiosyncratic poems. By the enjoyment or
Morte d'Arthur,' or of the
non-enjoyment of the
CEnone,' I would test any one's ideal sense.
of the term poet alone prevents

that he

is.

'

'

Margaret Fuller wrote thus in August, 1842

have just been reading the new poems of Tennyson.

has he thought, much suffered, since the first
ecstasy of so fine an organisation clothed all the world in
rosy light. He has not suffered himself to become a mere
intellectual voluptuary, nor the songster of fancy and
passion, but has earnestly revolved the problems of life,
and his conclusions are calmly noble.
In these later
verses is a still, deep sweetness how different from the
I

Much

OF LORD TENNYSON.

51

I
melody of his earlier cadence
and taken him to heart as
a brother. One of his themes lias long been my favourite,
and his, like mine, is
the last expedition of Ulysses,
the Ulysses of the Odyssey,' with his deep romance of
wisdom, and not the worldling of the Iliad.' How finely
masked his slight description of himself and of TelemaIn Dora,'
chus
Locksley Hall,' 'The Two Voices,'
Morte d'Arthur,' I find my own life, much of it, written

intoxicating, sensuous

have loved him much

this time,

'

'

'

'

'

out.

In England a second edition of the

in

Poems was
'

and two more editions were

called for within a year,

issued in 1845

'

The volumes were reviewed

and 1846.

1842 by Richard Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton)

in the

the

Westminster

Quarterly

'

'

'

(October)

(October)

by John Sterling in

and anonymously

in the

'Examiner' (August 28), 'Tait's Edinburgh Magazine

'

(August), and the

(December).

'

London University Magazine

Most of these

criticisms

'

were highly

eulogistic.

In 1844 a portrait of Tennyson, with a criticism of

his work,

edited
*

Orion.'

appeared in

A New

'

by Richard Hengist

He

remarked

Spirit

Home,

of the Age,'

the

author

of

It may fairly be assumed that the position of Alfred

Tennyson, as a poet of fine genius, is now thoroughly
established in the minds of all sincere and qualified

lovers of the higher classes of poetry in this country.

But
what is his position in the public mind ? Or, rather, to
what extent is he known to the great mass of general
readers ? Choice and limited is the audience, we appre-

THE LIFE AND WORKS

52
hend, to

whom

this

his melodious song.

is

'

a rising

man

'

favoured son of Apollo pours forth

It is true, however, that the public

in its

gradual appreciation, perhaps, of

every genius of the present time

appreciation

is

really

on the
It is

he published his

volume

time for

the best judges

'

'

this

with respect to the

only some thirteen years since

poetry of Tennyson.
first

and certainly

rise

and

if

it

require

to discover his

all

this

existence,

and

in one way, and the other,' upon some of his

most original features, the public may be excused for not
knowing more about his poems than they do at present.
That they desire to know more is apparent from many
circumstances, and partly from the fact of the last edition
of his works, in two volumes, having been disposed of in
Probably the edition was not large such,
a few months.

determine

'

however,

is

the result after thirteen years.

His power as a lyrical versifier is remarkable. The

measures flow softly or roll nobly to his pen as well one
He can gather up his strength, like a seras the other.
or dart it out straight
pent, in the gleaming coil of a line
and free. Nay, he will write you a poem with nothing in
it except music, and as if its music were everything, it
;

charm your soul. Be this said, not in reproach, but

honour of him and of the English language, for the
The Italian lyrists
learned sweetness of his numbers.
may take counsel, or at once enjoy, Where Claribel low
lieth.'
But if sweetness of melody, and richness of
harmony, be the most exquisitely sensuous of Tennyson's
pipe to the spirit
characteristics, he is no less able to
ditties of no tone,' for certainly his works are equally
characterised by their thoughtful grace, depth of sentiment, and ideal beauty. And he not only has the most
musical words at his command (without having recourse
to exotic terminologies), but he possesses the power of
conveying a sense of colour, and a precision of outline by
shall
in

'

'

'

OF LORD TENNYSON:

53

means of words, to an extraordinary degree. In music

and colour he was equalled by Shelley, but mforfn, clearly
defined, with no apparent effort, and no harsh shades or
lines, Tennyson stands unrivalled.
His ideality is both adornative and creative, although
up

to this period

it is ostensibly rather the former than

His ideal faculty is either satisfied with an
exquisitely delicate arabesque painting, or clears the
ground before him so as to melt and disperse all other

the latter.

objects into a suitable atmosphere, or aerial perspective,

while he takes horse on a passionate impulse, as in some

of his ballads

which seem to have been panted through

This is the case in Oriana,' in

without a single pause.

'

Locksley Hall,' in

times, selecting

'

The

'

Sisters,'

Or,

etc.

some ancient theme, he stands

and self-contained, and

rolls out,

of dignity, orb after orb of that

at

other

collected

with an impressive sense

grand melancholy music

of blank verse which leaves long vibrations in the reader's

memory

as

in

'

Ulysses,' the divine

'Morte d'Arthur.'

With
ful

respect to

'

'

CEnone,' or the

CEnone,'

it is

an exquisitely success-

attempt of the poet to infuse his

own

beating heart's

blood into the pale, blind statues of the antique times, and
loses

no

grace.

jot of the majesty,

It is

while the vitality informs the

not surpassed by anything of the kind in

The

Morte d'Arthur
Greek revival, and,
with equal success, draws back the Homeric blood and
or Landor.

Keats, or Shelley,

'

precisely reverses the design of the

spirit

to inspire a romantic legend.

Ulysses we would say that the mild dignity

and placid resolve the steady wisdom after the storms
of life, and with the prospect of future storms
the mel-

Of

the

'

'

ancholy fortitude, yet kingly resignation to his destiny

which gives him a restless passion for wandering; the

THE LIFE AND WORKS

54

unaffected and unostentatious modesty and self-conscious

power; the long softened shadows of memory cast from
the remote vistas of practical knowledge and experience,

with a suffusing tone of

breathing over

ideality

the

whole, and giving a saddened charm even to the suggesall this, and much more, indetion of a watery grave,

pendent of the beautiful picturesqueness of the scenery,

render the poem of Ulysses one of the most exquisite
(as it has hitherto been one of the least noticed) poems in
'

the language.

'

Wordsworth and Tennyson met

Moxon's house

in

1843

at the publisher

and two years

later (July

i,

1845) the venerable Laureate wrote to Prof. Henry

Reed of Philadelphia
in London several times.
our living poets,

world

still

and

saw Tennyson when

'

He

hope

decidedly the

is

live to

will

was

first

of

give the

better things.'

was in September of the next year (1846) that

It

Mr. Thomas Cooper asked Wordsworth's opinion of

the poetry of the day.

'

There

little

is

called high poetry/ was the reply.

affords the richest promise.
yet,

and ought

to have

will

that can be

Mr. Tennyson

do great things

done greater things by

Cooper remarked

time.'

He

'

that

this

Tennyson's sense of

music seemed more perfect than that of any of the

new
1

race of poets.

'

Yes,'

said

Wordsworth

'

the

Home's book was reprinted in New York in 1844, and

make Tennyson better known in this

doubtless helped to
country.

'
;

OF LORD TENNYSON.
perception of harmony

that he

cited Tennyson's

endowed with

is

Cooper

it.'

rich association of musical

'

as proof of his possessing

in syllables as

essence of

Tennyson gives magnifi-

the poet's nature, and Mr.

cent proofs

the very

in

lies

55

as

words

a sense of music

fine

Keats and even Milton,'

Wordsworth assented with an approving

and

to this

smile.

In August, 1844, Thomas Carlyle, in reply to a

letter

from Emerson, asking

nyson, wrote thus

Moxon
means

to

me

informs

come and

that

is

figures (a not increasing

main beautiful

me,

to

Tennyson
Of this

see me.

Alfred

be very glad.

for a description of

Ten-

now

is

in town,

latter result

and

shall

one of the few British and foreign

number, I think) who are and re-

a true human

thentic approximation thereto, to

soul, or

whom

some

au-

your own soul

I think he must be under forty

can say, Brother
not much under it. One of the finest-looking men in the
world. A great shock of rough, dusty-dark hair; bright,
laughing, hazel eyes massive aquiline face, most massive
yet most delicate; of sallow-brown complexion, almost
.

Indian-looking;

smokes
fit

infinite

loose,

His voice

is

free-and-easy;

musical metallic,

and piercing wail, and all that may

speech and speculation free and plenteous

for loud laughter

between
do not meet,

lie
I

clothes cynically

tobacco.

a pipe

We

in these late decades,

shall see

Emerson wrote
Tennyson was
of mine,

though

in reply

right

welcome,

owned

I love

what he

his

will

such company over

grow

to.

The sketch you drew

for

he

is

book before

him with allowance.

of

an old favourite
I

saw your

face,

O, cherish him

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

$6

with love and praise, and draw from him whole books

new

of

full

verses yet

In 1S43 Tennyson was parodied in a somewhat

ribald

manner

in the

'

Bon

Gualtier Ballads

by Theo-

'

dore (afterwards Sir Theodore) Martin and William

Edmonstoune Aytoun, which appeared

in

'

Tait's

and 'Eraser's' Magazines, and

form,

]Martin

way

in a

later (1845) i^ book

had afterwards the grace to apologise

He

for these travesties.

In these papers we ran

a-tilt,

with

said

all

the recklessness

of youthful spirits, against such of the tastes or follies

of the
.

day as presented an opening

for ridicule or mirth.

Fortunately for our purpose, there were then

liv-

and manner of thought

were sufficiently marked to make imitation easy, and sufficiently popular for a parody of their characteristics to be
readily recognised. ... It was precisely the poets whom
we most admired that we imitated the most frequently.
This was not certainly from any want of reverence, but
ing not a few poets whose

st3-le

rather out of the fulness of our admiration, just as the excess of a lover's fondness often runs over into raillery of

the very qualities that are dearest to his heart.

In 1845 Tennyson was the recipient of a govern-

ment pension of _;^200 a

ill-natured
ton, in
at

the

while
*

newspaper

'The New Timon

'

Theban

starves

taste

'

'

Wordsworth and

'

which provoked some

and led Bulwer Lyt-

(London, 1846),
that

Knowles.'

School-miss Alfred

ing

year,

criticism,

'

The

to sneer

Tennyson

pensions

productions

were described as

'

of

Out-baby-

out-glittering Keats,' with

much

'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
more

the

in

Tennyson

same

The

vein.

lowed
titled

comes

It

'

'

to

fol-

less severe, en-

sober second thought

is

such spiteful attacks.

all

offensive

from the third edition of

verses

The New Timon,' and

called,

friends.

Tennyson,

father of
in

after-

In a public speech in

the thought so exquisitely expressed

'

by our Poet-Laureate,'
silent

two authors

that the

alluding to Prince Albert, quoted

1862, Lytton, in

what he

the

'

18,

and

pleasant to be able to add that Bulwer struck

is

the

wards became good

'

this

from

to the wise conclusion that silence

the noblest answer

out

In

After-thought.'

the poet

Alcibiades,'

next number by another,

in the
'

'

drew

attack

'Punch' (Feb.

a rejoinder printed in

1846), over the signature of

57

namely,

that the Prince

our kings to be

dedicating

Harold

'

'

to

'

and

the

is

later

younger

Lytton, gracefully acknowledged his indebtedness to

the novel on the

The poet was

work

'

for

same subject by the elder Lytton.

in

which

for the five years

lished nothing

was added
1846.

no haste

to

his friends

send forth the

greater

were clamouring

and

between 1842 and 1847, he pub-

new except

'

The Golden

to the fourth edition of the

We know

little

of his

life

which

Year,'
'

Poems

'

William Howitt in 1847, in the work from which

have before quoted, says

It is

very possible you

try inn, with a foot

may come

in

during this period.

I

across him, in a coun-

on each hob of the

fireplace, a

volume

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

58

Greek in one hand, his meerschaum in the other, so

advanced towards the seventh heaven that he would
not thank you to call him back into this nether world.
of

far

The

In 1847 'The Princess' appeared.

gested by Johnson's

'

Rasselas,'

princess thought that of

was the

idea of

some have thought, may have been

the poem, as

all

She desired

best.

where we read

'

sug-

The

sublunary things knowledge

first

to learn of sciences,

and

then proposed to found a college to teach women, in

which she would

In

preside.'

'

Love's Labour

's

Lost

the King of Navarre and his friends would form

little

Academe

cluded

but

from which

'

Dan Cupid

Tennyson's poem.
Mrs. Ritchie remarks

The

women

are

spoils the plan as

to

'

be ex-

he does

in

and glowing
and
smuts of Lincoln's Inn, although, like all works of true
art, this poem had grown by degrees in other times and
The poet came and went, free, unshackled, mediplaces.
One of my family remembers hearing
tating, inditing.
Tennyson say that Tears, idle Tears,' was suggested by
Tintern Abbey who shall say by what mysterious wonder
transient
of beauty and regret, by what sense of the
'

Princess,' with all her lovely court

harmonies, was born in London,

among

the fogs

'

'

with the abiding

'

The

'

Princess

favour by the

'

was

critics.

at

first

with

received

Mr. Wace says of

it

little

Although admittedly brilliant, it was thought scarce

worthy of the author. The abundant grace, descriptive

OF LORD TENNYSON.

59

human sentiment were evident but the medwas thought somewhat incongruous, and the main
web of the tale too weak to sustain the embroidery raised
upon it.
beauty, and

ley

On
In

this

country, Prof.

'New

a long

James Hadley, of Yale Col-

and laudatory review of

and

for

it

Englander' (May, 1849), which has been

reprinted in a revised form in his

cal

were

critics

of the poem.

true merit

recognise the

to

wrote

lege,

the

other hand, a few eminent

the

prompt

Critical.'

second edition of

within a year

'

Essays, Philologi-

'

The

and a third

Princess

'

was called

for

edition, materially altered,

and with the addition of the intercalary songs, appeared in 1S50.

In 1849 the lines 'To

and

Letters,'

March
1850,

after

were contributed to the

'

when In Memoriam was given

'

'

'

most characteristic and

Life

Examiner

The poet published nothing

24.

the poet's

Reading a

else

for

'

until

to the world,

significant

work

not so ambitious as his epic of King Arthur, but more

distinctively a

poem

of this century, and displaying

the author's genius in a subjective form.'

that, a

It is said

few years ago, when a number of authors were

asked to name three leading poems of

this

century

they would most prefer to have written, each gave

1
'

For some quotations from

The

Princess,'

edition.

this

'

and other early reviews

see the notes on the

poem

in

In
of

the present

THE LIFE AND WORKS

6o

Memoriam
list.

'

'

either the

Obviously

first

or second place

upon

not a work to read at a

is

it

his

sitting,

nor to take up in every mood, but one in which we

are sure to find something of worth in every stanza.
It

contains

more notable sayings than any other

The wisdom,

Tennyson's poems.

mind

pirations of a noble
for once, is

shut in

are here

not out of place

upon

itself,

strives

ture's eternal miracle

is

to

of
as-

curious reasoning,

irradiate with

life.

At the

made symbolic

and the tender and

palingenesis,

and

the poet's imagination,

problems of

light the mystic

yearnings,

inward

close.

Na-

of the soul's

beautiful marriage-

lay tranquillises the reader with the thought of the

dear

common

living kind.'

In

this

joys which are the heritage of every

same

year, 1850,

on the 13th of June, the

poet was married to Emily Sellwood, the daughter of

Mr. Henry Sellwood, a

solicitor at Horncastle, belong-

ing to one of the oldest families of Berkshire.

wife was

sister

Arctic navigator.

His

of Sir John Franklin, the famous

Charles Tennyson Turner married

a younger daughter of Mr. Sellwood.

The marriage

of Alfred Tennyson and Miss Sellwood was solemnised

at Shiplake, a parish

on the Oxfordshire

Thames, a few miles from Henley.

vicarage stand

'

side of the

The church and

upon a somewhat bold eminence over-

looking the valley of the

1

Thames

Stedman.

in the direction of

OF LORD TENNYSON:
The

Sonning and Reading.

6l

some

of which

view,

glimpses can be obtained through the trees which

almost encircle the churchyard,

Mr.

James

Fields

T.

says

Once,

village

with

We came

to

Hill.'

remem-

a pilgrimage to a

church with a tower

grand old
ivy.

'

me on

Miss Mitford carried

ber,

not wholly unlike

is

Thames from Richmond

the prospect of the

half- covered

through laurel hedges, and

it

passed on the way a magnificent cedar of Lebanon.

It

was a superb

pile, rich in

the

man

to stop,

and turning

" This

siasm, said,

is

the 19th of

to

me

with great enthu-

Shiplake Church, where Alfred

Tennyson was married."

On

painted glass windows and

Here Miss Mitford ordered

carved oak ornaments.

'

November, 1850, Tennyson was ap-

pointed to succeed Wordsworth as Poet- Laureate.

formal presentation to the

Queen

His

in this capacity took

place at Buckingham Palace on the 6th of March,

1851.
After his marriage

cept for a

visit

to

which was thus

Tennyson

France and

made

'

lived

two years

twice

classic

'

and

worthy of a pilgrimage in future days than

memories
render

it.

it

poet's son

more

'

all

can boast of Walpole and Pope

Here the

(ex-

Twickenham,

Italy) at

'

the

may

Hallam was born

in

1852.

In 1850 Tennyson contributed a stanza of eight

^

Church.

'

:;

THE LIFE AND WORKS

62
lines

to

'

Here often when a

('

child

I lay

reclined/ etc.)

The Manchester Athenaeum Album,' which he did

not think worth preserving.

In

85

'Come

he wrote for 'The Keepsake' the

when

not

am

which are

stanzas,

volumes

not

lines,

and the following

dead,'

included

in

published

his

What
One

time

wasted youthful hours,

of the shining

Show'd me vast

winged powers
with crowns of towers.

cliffs,

As toward that gracious light I bow'd,

They seem'd high palaces and proud,
Hid now and then with sliding cloud.

He

said,

'

The

labour

is

not small

Yet winds the pathway free to all

Take care thou dost not fear to fall

Other contributors to

'

The Keepsake were Lord

'

John Manners, Monckton Milnes, Bulwer Lytton, Barry

Cornwall, Thackeray, and Albert Smith.

year Tennyson wrote a sonnet

Macready,

March

i,

be read

to

on

his

at a

from the

was among the rejected poems

in

1850;

section

The

and the

(lix.),

'O

'

In

this

year,

until

This

stage.

1891.

Memoriam had been

'

issued

fourth, in 1851, contained the

sorrow, wilt thou live with

fourth revised edition of

peared

Charles

dinner given to the actor,

retirement

Three editions of

The same

William

to

'

The

Princess

'

new

me?'

also ap-

and the seventh edition of the

OF LORD TENNYSON.
*

dl

Poems,' with the dedicatory verses to the Queen and

not

when

tioned

am

and

'

Come

dead,' which has already been

men-

new poems

three other

The

'

Eagle.'

the address to the Queen,

Edwin Morris

The

'

following stanza in
the Crystal

referring to

Palace Exhibition of 1851, was afterwards omitted:

She brought a vast design to pass,

When Europe and the scattered ends
Of our fierce world did meet as friends

And
In

brethren in her halls of glass.

December,

185

Louis

1,

coup (Tetat startled the world

early in

lowing year the Laureate wrote the

poems,

Britons,

'

February,' and
in

'

Hands

all

for

the

three

fol-

spirited

The Third of
Round.' The first (printed

Guard your Own,'

the 'Examiner'

famous

Napoleon's

and

'

January 31) has not been

among the collected poems of the author.

The other two poems (both printed in the Exampreserved

'

iner' for February

7), with sundry alterations (for

which see the 'Notes'), have since been included

in

the published volumes.

In November, 1852, the Duke of Wellington died,

and on the day of

memory

his funeral the

of the hero was published.

tion, considerably modified,

great

'

Ode

'

in

second edi-

soon followed.

In 1853 the eighth edition of the 'Poems' was

brought out, with alterations in the dedication to the

Queen.

The

'

Sea- Fairies,' from the volume of 1830,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

64

was restored, and the

in

Greece

cess

sage

'

'

also

from

lines

were added.

'

To

fifth

appeared, with the

'

E. L. on his Travels
edition of

The

'

Prin-

addition of the pas-

the gallant glorious

chronicle

'

in

the

Prologue.

In 1852 Tennyson had purchased the estate of

Farringford, at Freshwater, in the Isle of Wight, and

Mr.

the next year he took up his residence there.

Church gives the following description and

of the place

The domain
ler's right

history

of Farringford can

hand as he makes

his

be seen on the

travel-

way westward from Fresh-

water Bay, lying at the foot of the inland slope of the

down. The house itself is not visible from any point of
this route, but a glimpse of the roof may be caught from

The

the ascent on the eastern side of the bay.

estate

extends to between four and five hundred acres, part of

them downland, and contains what is known as King's

Manor. The royal ownership indicated by

this

name

is re-

corded by Domesday Book, where we find the following

entry: 'Ye King holds Frescewatre in demesne. It was
held by Tosti [Earl Tostig, brother of King Harold this,
;

of course, refers to the

'

time of King Edward,' a standard

of comparison used throughout the Survey],

assessed at

15 hides.

It

is

now

and was then

assessed at 6 hides.

There are fifteen ploughlands, two ploughlands are in

demesne, and 18 villages and 10 borderers employ 8
There are seven servants and six acres of
ploughs.
meadow. It was worth in King Edward's time sixteen
but it is let
pounds and afterwards twenty pounds
;

at thirty pounds."

OF LORD TENNYSON-.
At

65

all Freshwater was what we

But it would appear that part
of it was afterwards bestowed on some ecclesiastical body.
This body seems to have been the Abbey of Quarr or Quarrera (so called from the stone quarries in the neighbourhood).
Quarr was near the town of Ryde, and was one

this time, therefore,

should call

Crown

lands.

of the first Cistercian monasteries established in England.

Its

foundation was due to Baldwin, Earl of Devon,

first

who endowed

in the thirty-second year of

it

sequent benefactors added to

solution

its

income was estimated

names

of the local

Among them are

recall this

Henry

I.

Sub-

revenues, and at the dis-

its

at

;/^

134 3 j. \\d.

Some

ecclesiastical ownership.

'Maiden's Croft '('Virgin Mary's Field'),

'Abraham's Mead,' and 'The Clerk's Hill.' Lord Tennyson has in his possession transference deeds signed by
Walter de Fferingford, evidently the chief owner of land
at Freshwater.

The

has something singularly attractive about

tensions,

Not

house, while not possessing any architectural pre-

the least of

its

it.

charms are the creeping plants which

from roof-tree to foundation with a mantle ol

delightful garden, laid out by the poet and
his wife, surrounds it, and beyond this again is a small
well-wooded park. Both house and park are sheltered
from the southwesterly gales by a ridge of down. Westward of the house is a walled garden, and beyond this
clothe

it

green.

home or dairy farm.

The poet's younger son Lionel was born here [in 1854].
The tablet which commemorates him
he died on his
way home from India [April 20, 1886]
is to be seen in
Freshwater Church. ... A beautiful statue of St. John,
from the chisel of Miss Mary Grant, has been erected by
Lord and Lady Tennyson near the communion table of
the church in memory of their son.
again the

VOL.

I.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

66

Mrs. Ritchie,

Cameron

who

spent

known

(well

some weeks with Mrs.

for her artistic

at Freshwater, refers to the place thus

The house

photographs)
:

Farringford seemed

like a charmed
and speaking walls
There hung Dante with his solemn nose and
within.
wreath; Italy gleamed over the doorways; friends' faces
lined the way books filled the shelves, and a glow of
crimson was everywhere the great oriel drawing-room
window was full of green and golden leaves, of the sound
of birds, and of the distant sea.
The very names of the people who have stood upon
the lawn at Farringford would be an interesting study for

palace,

at

with green walls without,

some
the

future biographer

Duke

Consort.

of Argyll,

Good

Longfellow, Maurice, Kingsley,

Locker,

Dean

Stanley, the Prince

Garibaldi once planted a tree there, off

which some too ardent republican broke a branch before

twenty-four hours had passed. Here came Clough in the
year of his life. Here Mrs. Cameron fixed her lens,
marking the well-known faces as they passed Darwin
and Henry Taylor, Watts and Aubrey de Vere, Lecky
and Jowett, and a score of others.
I first knew the place in the autumn, but perhaps it is
even more beautiful in spring-time, when all day the lark
trills high overhead, and then when the lark has flown out
of our hearing the thrushes begin, and the air is sweet
with scents from the many fragrant shrubs. The woods
narcissus grows wild
are full of anemones and primroses
in the lower fields; a lovely creamy stream of flowers
flows along the lanes, and lies hidden in the levels; hyacinth pools of blue shine in the woods; and then with a
later burst of glory comes the gorse, lighting up the
country round about, and blazing round about the beacon
last

OF LORD TENNYSON.

67

If you cross the little wood of nightingales and

and follow the lane where the blackthorn hedges
shine in spring-time (lovely dials that illuminate to show
the hour), you come to the downs, and climbing their
smooth steeps you reach Mr. Tennyson's Down,' where
the beacon-staff stands firm upon the mound. Then, following the line of the coast, you come at last to the
Needles, and may look down upon the ridge of rocks that

...

hill.

thrushes,

'

rises, crisp,

sharp, shining, out of the blue

wash

of fierce,

delicious waters.

The

lovely places

and sweet country

all

about Farring-

Beyond the
and the blue Solent, the New Forest spreads its shades, and the green depths reach to the
very shores. Have we not all read of the forest where
Merlin was becharmed, where the winds were still in the
wild woods of Broceliande ? The forest of Brockenhurst,
in Hampshire, waves no less green, its ferns and depths
are no less sweet and sylvan, than those of Brittany.

among

ford are not

Primrose Island

the least of

charms.

its

itself

Before an oak, so hollow, huge, and old

It look'd a tower of ruin'd mason-work,

At
I

Merlin's feet the wily Vivien lay.

have heard of Mr. Tennyson wandering for days

gether in the glades round about Lyndhurst.

ple once told

coming out

me

it

of meeting a mysterious figure in a cloak

was Mr. Tennyson,'

The

poem

only

left.

Examiner

'

of

'

It

was

either a ghost

said they.

published by Tennyson in 1S54 was

'The Charge of the Light

'

to-

peo-

of a deep glade, passing straight on, looking

neither to the right nor the

or

Some

December

ten after reading the

first

Brigade,' printed in the

9,

with the note

'

Writ-

report of the " Times' " cor-

THE LIFE AND WORKS

68

respondent, where only 607 sabres are mentioned as

having taken part in the charge.'

It

was printed

terwards on a quarto sheet of four pages, with the

lowing note at the bottom

Having heard that

whom I am proud
for my ballad on

affol-

the brave soldiers at Sebastopol,

to call

my

countrymen, have a liking

the charge of the Light Brigade at

have ordered a thousand copies of it to be

No writing of mine can add to the
glory they have acquired in the Crimea but if what I
heard be true, they will not be displeased to receive these
copies of the ballad from me, and to know that those who
sit at home love and honour them.
Balaclava,

printed for them.

Alfred Tennyson.
%th August,

8 55.

In the spring of 1854, Dr. Elisha Kent Kane, the

Arctic explorer, gave the

ment
he

'

gives

single

following

the

Explorations

name

of

'

Tennyson's Monu-

to a rocky formation in Greenland, of which

'

cliff

description

of greenstone,

in

his 'Arctic

marked by

the

slaty

from a crumbled base of sandstones, hke the boldly chiselled rampart

At its northern extremity, on the
of an ancient city.
brink of a deep ravine which has worn its way among the
ruins, there stands a solitary column or minaret-tower, as
sharply finished as if it had been cast for the Place Vendome. Yet the length of the shaft alone is 480 feet, and
it rises on a plinth or pedestal itself 280 feet high.
I remember well the emotions of my party as it first
broke upon our view. Cold and sick as I was, I brought

limestone that once encased

it,

rears itself

OF LORD TENNYSON.

69

back a sketch of it, which may have interest for the reader,
though it scarcely suggests the imposing dignity of this

Those who are happily

magnificent landmark.^

familiar

communed

with the writings of Tennyson, and have

with

apprehend
name.

his spirit in the solitudes of a wilderness, will

the impulse that inscribed the scene with his

In the same year (1854) Rev. Frederic D. Maurice,

who had long been an

had stood godfather
following

Essays

'
:

intimate friend of the poet and

to his son

Hallam, prefixed the

dedication to his volume of 'Theological

To Alfred Tennyson, Esq.,

My dear

Poet- Laureate.

have maintained in these Essays

that a theology which does not correspond to the deepest
thoughts and feelings of human beings cannot be a true
theology. Your writings have taught me to enter into

many

Sir,

and feelings
Will you forgive
presumption of offering you a book which at least
acknowledges them and does them homage ?
As the hopes which I have expressed in this volume
are more likely to be fulfilled to our children than to ourof those thoughts

rne the

I might perhaps ask you to accept it as a present

one of your name, in whom you have given me a very

selves,

to

Many years, I trust, will elapss before

he knows that there are any controversies in the world
into which he has entered.
Would to God that in a few
sacred interest.

more he may
if

find that they have ceased

At all events,
he should ever look into these Essays, they may tell
!

him what meaning some

to

words which
1

will

of the former generation attached

be familiar and dear to his generation,

full-page engraving

Kane's book.

from

this sketch is given in Dr.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

70

and to those that follow his,

how there were some
longed that the bells of our churches might indeed

who

Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Believe me,

my

dear

Sir,

Yours very

and

truly

gratefully,

F. D.

Maurice.

In May, 1855, the University of Oxford conferred

the degree of D. C. L.
that

'

upon

the Laureate.

It is said

although his colleagues in this honour were Sir

De Lacy Evans and

Sir

John Burgoyne,

from their victorious exploits

in the

just returned

Crimea, the en-

thusiasm with which he was received had never been

surpassed.'

The same year

*

is

notable for

the

publication of

Maud,' which was received by the majority of the

critics

with even less favour than

'

The

Princess

'

had

been, and on the merits of which their verdicts are

still

divided.

the

poem

as

That there were certain obscurities

first

printed cannot be denied

made

additions and alterations

in

and the

subsequently by the

author show that he came to see this defect, and en-

deavoured to supply the

The

'

missing links

division into three parts

is

'

another obvious im-

provement, rendering the alternations of

intelligible.

It is

in the plot.

mood more

amazing that so many of the

failed to recognise the

critics

dramatic character of the work,

though in the early editions

it

was not called a

OF LORD TENNYSON.
*

This putting a whole drama into the

monodrama.'

mouth of a

single speaker

was a new form of poetry

which Tennyson might claim

'

Maud

'

71

to

have invented

remains the sole example of

still

In 1856 the second edition of

Maud

'

and

it.

appeared,

'

with most of the alterations to which reference has

been made.

Dr. R.

"Maud"

nyson's

J.

Mann

'Ten-

Vindicated,' an admirable explana-

and defence of the poem.

tion

also published

Tennyson, acknowl-

edging the receipt of the pamphlet, said

'

No one

with this essay before him can in future pretend to

misunderstand

my

commentary

as true as

is

another gentleman

dramatic

poem

"

who had

sent

Maud."

him a copy of a

favourable review, the poet wrote thus

I

tique

Your

In replying to

it is full.' ^

am much obliged to you for sending me your crion my poem and happy to find that you approve of
;

and, unlike most of the critics (so-called), have taken

it,

some pains to look into it and see what it means. There

has been from many quarters a torrent of abuse against
and I have even had insulting anonymous letters
it
;

indeed,

am

quite at a loss to account for

ness of feeling which this poor httle

work

the

of

bitter-

mine has

excited.

Nimue or
poem of consid-

In 1857 the poet printed 'Enid and

the True and the False,' an Arthurian

erable length (139 pages), but decided not to

^

Extracts from this and other reviews of

found

in the

notes on the poem.

'

Maud

pubHsh
'

will

be

THE LIFE AND WORKS

72

According

it.

to

'are said to be

Mr. Shepherd, a few copies of

still

Nathaniel Hawthorne, describing a

visit

hibition at Manchester in 1857, says:

While

it

extant in private hands.'

was among the Dutch

an Ex-

to

painters,

accosted

me. He told me that the Poet-Laureate (as he called

him) was in the Exhibition rooms, and, as I expressed
great interest, was kind enough to go in quest of him,
'

'

not for the purpose of introduction, however, for he was

Soon Mr.
returned,
and said he had found the Poet-Laureate, and, going into
the saloon of the Old Masters, we saw him there, in company with Mr. Woolner, whose bust of him is now in the
not acquainted with Tennyson.

Exhibition.

Gazing at him with all my eyes, I liked him well, and

rejoiced more in him than in all the wonders of the
Exhibition.

How

strange that in these two or three pages

cannot

get one single touch that may call him up hereafter

I would gladly have seen more of this one poet of our

him for I must own that it

be dogging him through the saloons, or
him, since it was to be done stealthily, if

day, but forbore to follow

seemed mean
even to look
at

to

at

all.

He is as un-English
man of genius usually
and

is

as possible,

indeed, an

English-

lacks the national characteristics,

great abnormally.

Un-English as he was, Tennyson had not, however, an

American look. I cannot well describe the difference,
softer,
but there was something more mellow in him,
sweeter, broader, more simple than we are apt to be.
Living apart from men as he does would hurt any one

of us

I may as well leave him

it does him.
cannot touch the central point.

more than

here, for

OF LORD TENNYSON:

73

Referring to this narrative, Mr. James T. Fields, in

his

It

Yesterdays with Authors,' says

was during one

rambles with Alexander

of his

Ireland through the Manchester Exhibition rooms that

Hawthorne saw Tennyson wandering about.

always thought

have

men

unfortunate that these two

it

of

genius could not have been introduced on that occasion.

Hawthorne was too shy to seek an introduction, and

Tennyson was not aware that the American author was
When I afterwards told Tennyson that the
present.
author whose Twice-Told Tales he happened to be then
reading at Farringford had met him at Manchester, but
did not make himself known, the Laureate said in his
frank and hearty manner; 'Why did n't he come up and
have
let me shake hands with him ?
I am sure I should
been glad to meet a man like Hawthorne anywhere.'
.

'

In the
the Isle

'

Life of

of Wight

Sydney Dobell,' who had

for his health,

1857 from which the following

is

is

visited

a letter written in

an extract

We have had many cloudy days lately, but even they

soft, shady days,
have been almost equally abnormal
with southwest winds, as tender often as spring, and with

thrushes singing in

all

the hedges,

in

another season, would be so exquisite, but

death and funeral of the year,
natural.

is

way
now in

that, at

the very-

sad enough, because un-

hardly think Tennyson has done well, as a

poet, in fixing his house in such exceptional conditions.

He

you know, about twenty miles from us along the

The country people are much amazed at his
bad hat and unusual ways, and believe devoutly that he
writes his poetry while mowing his lawn.
However, they
hold him in great respect, from a perception of the
lives,

same

coast.

''

THE LIFE AND WORKS

74
honour

in

wife here

which he

is

us with an account of

Opening

awed.

held by their

'

betters.'

Our house-

a friend of his servant, and she entertained

is

how

said servant

had

lately

been

when the Tennyhandsome gentleman

to a ring at the door,

sons were out, she saw a

tall,

standing there, who, on learning they were not at home,

'What message shall I give?' quoth the

Merely say Prince Albert called.'

turned to go.
maid.

'

Bayard Taylor,

in his

'

At

the following account of a

same year

ford in this

Home

visit

and Abroad,' gives

he made to Farring-

had so long known the greatest of living English

Tennyson, not only through his works, but
from the talk of mutual friends, that I gladly embraced
an opportunity to know him personally, which happened
He was then living at his home,
to me in June, 1857.
I

poets, Alfred

the estate of Farringford, near Freshwater, in the Isle of

Wight.

should have hesitated to intrude upon his

had I not been kindly assured beforehand

would not be unwelcome. The drive across
the heart of the island from Newport to Freshwater was
alone worth the journey from London. The softly unretirement,

that

my

dulating

visit

hills,

the deep green valleys, the blue waters of

the Solent, and the purple glimpses of the

beyond, formed a fit vestibule of

which to approach a poet's house.

New

landscape

Forest

through

As we drew near Freshwater, my coachman pointed

out Farringford, a cheerful gray country mansion, with a

small thick-grassed park before

beyond
in

it,

a grove behind, and

the deep shoulder of the chalk downs, a

all,

gap

which, at Freshwater, showed the dark blue horizon of

the Channel.
little

inns,

Leaving my luggage at one of the two

walked to the house with lines from Maud
'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
chiming in

my

mind.

'The dry-tongued

glossily in the sun, the cedar

the lawn, and

'

75

'

laurel'

shone
on

sighed for Lebanon

the liquid azure

bloom

'

of a crescent of

glimmered afar.
had not been two minutes in the drawing-room beSo unlike are the published
fore Tennyson walked in.
portraits of him that I was almost in doubt as to his
The engraved head suggests a moderate
identity.
stature, but he is tall and broad-shouldered as a son of
Anak, with hair, beard, and eyes of southern darkness.
Something in the lofty brow and aquiline nose suggests
Dante, but such a deep, mellow chest-voice never could
have come from Italian lungs.
He proposed a walk, as the day was wonderfully clear
and beautiful. We climbed the steep combe of the chalk
cliff, and slowly wandered westward until we reached the
Needles, at the extremity of the island, and some three or
During the confour miles distant from his residence.
versation with which we beguiled the way, I was struck
with the variety of his knowledge. Not a little flower on
the downs, which the sheep had spared, escaped his
notice, and the geology of the coast, both terrestrial and
submarine, was perfectly familiar to him. I thought of
a remark which I once heard from the lips of a distinguished English author [Thackeray], that Tennyson
was the wisest man he knew, and could well believe
that he was sincere in making it.
sea

'

shall respect the

circle to

which

sanctity

of

the delightful family

was admitted, and from which

the next afternoon with true regret.

Suffice

it

parted

to say that

not only fortunate and happy in his family

but that, with his large and liberal nature, his
sympathies for what is true and noble in humanity, and

the poet

is

relations,

his depth

and tenderness of

feeling,

he deserves to be

so.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

76

On

occasion of the marriage of the Princess

the

Royal to Frederick WiUiam of

Prussia,

1858, the Laureate wrote two additional

the National

Anthem,

were printed

in the

God

'

Vivien,'

'

Elaine,'

and

'

the

four poems,

'

Enid,'

Guinevere,' as they were then

Ten thousand

entitled.

of January 29.

instalment of the 'Idylls of

first

the King 'was published,

*

25,

They

save the Queen.'

London 'Times'

In July, 1859, the

Jan.

stanzas to

copies were sold in about six

weeks, and the critics were almost unanimous in their

Among

eulogies of the volume.

was Prince Albert, who sent

asking him

continued

write

to

his

warmest admirers

its

copy to the poet,

his

name

in

The note

it.

thus add a peculiar interest to the book

You would

containing those beautiful songs, from the perusal of

which

rekindle

derived the greatest enjoyment.

the

They

quite

which the legends of King

feeling with

Arthur must have inspired the chivalry of

old, whilst the

graceful form in which they are presented blends those

feelings with the softer tone of our present age.

In 1862 a new edition of the

with a dedication to the

'

memory

Idylls' appeared,

of the Prince,

who

died in December, 1861.

It

was not

1869 that

until

this

'

master- work

'

of

the poet was continued by the publication of four

more

'

Grail,'

Idylls,'
'

thur,' in

Pelleas

'

The Coming

and

which the

'

Ettarre,'

of Arthur,'

and

'

The

Morte d'Arthur

'

'

The Holy

Passing of Ar-

of 1842

is

incor-

OF LORD TENNYSON.
In

porated.
to the

872

The

Last Tournament (contributed

'

'Contemporary Review'

and 'Gareth and Lynette

'

77

'

December, 18 71)

for

appeared; and

1885

in

Balin and Balan,' the last of the series, was included

in

'

Tiresias

and Other Poems.'

In the

of the Laureate's collected works, the

ranged in

'

twelve books

divided into

and Enid

'

'

'Morte

The Marriage

of Geraint

'

and

'

are ar-

Enid
'

'

being

Geraint

and are put in the order in which he

')

last

(or

d' Arthur

cessively

poems

(the original

tended they should be read.

tion the

latest editions

by the

'

In the order ol publica-

the portion of

included in the

it

of 1842) was the

third,

in-

first,

followed suc-

fourth (these two, as just ex-

plained, being originally one), sixth, seventh, eleventh

(as the five

were arranged

in 1859),

first,

eighth, ninth,

twelfth (as arranged in 1869, the twelfth being the

amplification of the

and

fifth.

'

'

Morte d'Arthur

Nave and

'),

second, tenth,

transept, aisle after aisle, the

Gothic minster has extended,

until,

with the addition

of a cloister here and a chapel yonder, the structure

stands complete.'

continues

Stedman, from

whom

quote

this,

has grown insensibly, under the hands of one man

given it the best years of his life,
but somewhat as Wolf conceived the Homeric poems to have
grown, chant by chant, until the time came for the whole
It

who has

to be

welded together

of chivalry,

the

in heroic form.

It is

the epic

Christian ideal of chivalry which

have deduced from a barbaric source,

we

our conception

THE LIFE AND WORKS

78
of

what knighthood should

what

be, rather than

really

it

was, but so skilfully wrought of high imaginings, fairy

legends, and mediaeval splendours that

spells, fantastic

the whole work, suffused with the Tennysonian glamour

a chronicle illuminated by
and often blazes with light like that which
flashed from the holy wizard's book when the covers were
unclasped. And, indeed, if this be not the greatest narrative poem since Paradise Lost,' what other English
production are you to name in its place? Never so lofty
as the grander portions of Milton's epic, it is more evenly
sustained and has no long prosaic passages while Paradise Lost is justly declared to be a work of superhuman
genius impoverished by dreary wastes of theology.
of golden mist, seems like

saintly hands,

'

'

'

The

Idylls

'

as

completed form

poem, dealing not only with the

Round

of the

meaning

illustrative

'

Idylls

and decadence
an

allegorical

The

Dean Alford,

late

view

friends, set forth this

Contemporary Review
'

history

of the origin, the struggles, and

one of the poet's intimate

'

a great connected

Table, but containing

the passing of the soul of man.'

in the

'

'

for January,

The

1870.

are to be read in the light of a passage in

the epilogue, which describes the king as shadowing

the Soul in

its

war with Sense.

In this aspect they

deal with the very highest interests of man.

noble design warms and unites the whole.

coming,
gles

his foundation of the

Round

'

One

In Arthur's

Table, his strug-

and disappointment and departure, we see the

conflict continually

the flesh

and

maintained between the

in the pragmatical issue

spirit

and

we recognise

'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
down

the bearing

in history,

and

79

in individual

man,

of pure and lofty Christian purpose by the lusts of the

by the corruptions of

flesh,

superstition,

by human

passions and selfishness.'

In July, 1859, the poet contributed 'The Grand-

Apology'

mother's

'The

(entitled

Grandmother'

Enoch Arden volume in

when included in the
where it Avas accompanied
Week,'
'Once
a
to
1864)
'

'

with an illustration by Millais, which, as Mr. Shep-

herd

says,

so beautifully

'

poem, and

is

minds of those who

that

embodies the pathos of the

so inseparably connected with

read

first

in

it

it

in the

magazine,

the

seems a pity the two should ever have been

it

dissociated.*

On
first

1859, the poet Longfellow

the 20th of July,

wrote in his diary

and third

come only from

['

'

Enid

'

and

a great poet.

Elaine

']

could have

The second and

['Vivien' and 'Guinevere'] do not seem to

fourth

me

reading; for later (August

first

12) he wrote

James T. Fields thus: 'The "Idylls" are a

success,

rich tapestries,

wrought

as only

Faerie Queene."
this

appeared in
Fields

I believe

side the water.'

'

there

is

When

to

brilliant

Tennyson

could have done them, and worthy to hang beside "

on

so

This was apparently a hasty judgment after

good.'
a

The

Finished the Four Idylls.

The

no discordant voice
'

The Holy

Grail

1869, he wrote on Christmas Eve to

What dusky splendours

of song there are

THE LIFE AND WORKS

8o
King

in

new volume

Alfred's

to get anything

light

It

always a de-

is

His " Holy Grail "

from him.

and Lowell's " Cathedral " are enough

and make

one notable. With such

this

you can go forward

good works

New

meet the

to

for a holiday,
''

"

Year with a

conscience void of reproach.'

made a tour in
Turner Palgrave, who was then

In August, 1859, Tennyson

tugal with Francis

paring his

'

Palgrave says
to begin the

pre-

Golden Treasury of English Songs and

In the dedication to

Lyrics.'

Por-

'

the

Laureate,

Your encouragement

work

and

Mr.

me

led

has been completed under

it

your advice and assistance.'

The next year (i860) Tennyson gave nothing

the

Magazine
hill

except

public

for January,

'

Magazine

'

and

in

'

to

Macrnillan's

Tithonus,' in the

'

Corn-

(then edited by Thackeray) for Febonly

'The

Sailor Boy,' contrib-

Regia,'

Christmas volume of

ruary; and in 1861

uted to

Sea Dreams,'

Victoria

miscellanies by various authors, edited by Emily Faith-

In 1862, besides the dedication to Prince Albert

full.

in the

new

edition of the

he wrote the 'Ode:

the

opening of

printed in

'

the

Eraser's

'

May

Idylls

'

already mentioned,

the First,

International

Magazine

1862,' sung at

Exhibition,

and

for June.

'

In 1861, he revisited the Pyrenees, where he had

travelled with Arthur

To

this

he alludes

Hallam

in the lines

in
'

his

early

manhood.

In the Valley of Cau-

OF LORD TENNYSON.
teretz,' written at this time,

though not printed

until

1864:
All along the valley, stream that flashest white,

Deepening thy voice with the deepening

of the night.

All along the valley, where thy waters flow,

I

walk'd with one

loved two and thirty years ago.

All along the valley, while

The two and

For

walk'd to-day,

were a mist that rolls away

along the valley, down thy rocky bed.

all

thirty years

Thy living voice to me was as the voice of the dead.

And all along the valley, by rock and cave and tree.
The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

Hugh Clough was

Arthur
time,

and

sons at

Pyrenees

at this

writes in his diary of meeting the

Tenny-

Mont

in the

Dore-les-Bains, Luchon, and elsewhere.

At Luchon he found them

comfortably established

in pleasant lodgings out of the town, in maize fields,

not far from the

*

"

The Laureate

river.'

CEnone " was written on the

nees, which stood for Ida.'

Clough writes
the

feet,

'

To-day

is

him

that

At Cauteretz, September

7,

heavy brouillard down to

or at any rate ankles, of the

to be done.

told

inspiration of the Pyre-

hills,

and

little

have been out for a walk with A. T. to

a sort of island between two waterfalls, with pines on

it,

of which he retained a recollection from his

thirty-one years ago,

a simile to "

The

place, evidently.'

VOL.

I.

visit of

and which, moreover, furnished

Princess."

He

is

very fond of this

THE LIFE AND WORKS

82

The

the

simile occurs in

fifth

part of

'The

Prin-

in the description of Ida standing

cess,'

Unshaken, clinging to her purpose, firm

Tho' compass'd by two armies and the noise
Of arms and standing like a stately pine
Set in a cataract on an island-crag,
When storm is on the heights, and right and left
Suck'd from the dark heart of the long hills roll
;

The

torrents, dash'd to the vale.

In 1863 the

'

Welcome

to Alexandra,'

which Thack-

eray compared to the waving of a flaring pine-tree

torch on a windy headland, was published on the ar-

England on the 7th of March;

rival of the Princess in

and

December

in

in Quantity

the

appeared

'

'

Attempts

in the

at Classical

Metres

Cornhill Magazine.'

In March, 1864, the Laureate contributed an

taph on the Late Duchess of Kent

who had

mother,
to

the

'

gives the

'

In August

was published.

to the

title

idyllic style

'

volume

is

'

Enoch Arden

The poem which

in its author's purest

noticeable for evenness of tone, clear-

ness of diction, successful description of coast

ocean,

finally, for

genre scenes.'
in 1864,

The

George William

remarked:

title

'

and

the loveliness and fidelity of

fascinating fancy which

under the

Epi-

Queen's

died on the i6th of that month)

Court Journal.'

and Other Poems

(the

'

Wakefield,' of a
^

its
it

Hawthorne elaborated

man

Stedman.

Curtis, reviewing

quietly withdrawing

OF LORD TENNYSON.
from

his

home and

severing himself for

windows

his family, yet stealing to the

many

in the

83
years from

darkness to

see wife and children and the changes tim.e works in his
familiar circle,

is

reproduced in

'

Enoch Arden,' except

and the unbetrayed

not a mere psychological diversion, but an act of the highest moral heroism.
Indeed, the tale is profoundly tragical, and like the last
Idyll of the King [' Guinevere '], is a rare tribute to the masIt is not the most subtle
ter-passion of the human heart.
that the separation

is

involuntar}',

looking in upon the changes of years

selfishness, whispers the poet

it

is

is

the perfection of self-

Xavier de Maistre says that the Fornarina loved

her love more than her lover. Not so would Raphael's
Madonna have loved. Not so loved Enoch Arden.
There is no nobler tale of true love than his.
It is told with that consummate elegance in which
Tennyson has no peer. The English language has a
burnished beauty in his use of it which is marvellous. In
denial.

it was too dainty, too conspicuously fasand the words were chosen too much for themselves and their special suggestions and individual melody.
But his mastery of them now is manly. It is as striking
as Milton's, although entirely different.
There are a
Miltonic and a Tennysonian blank verse in English literature
is there any other ?

his earlier verses

tidious,

Mr. Henry
the

poem

J.

Jennings

tells

the following story about

commandingly human quality is furit was on one occasion read to an

audience of the rudest, most illiterate people of the
slums of a great provincial town. Although the reader
had no marked gifts of elocution, the touching character
of the narrative held these poor folks in sobbing sympathy
sure test of

its

nished by the fact that

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

84

and they understood it all, as one might

have read in the moisture of their rapt and hungering
Lord Tennyson, on being made acquainted with
eyes.
this interesting circumstance, in thanking his informant,
said, If my poems have indeed power for good over the
people, it ought to be matter of great joy to me, and of
to the very end,

'

greater thankfulness.'

still
'

Enoch Arden

has been translated into French,

'

Italian,

Spanish,

Danish, Dutch, and

several

hands)

and

German

(by

1867 a Latin version was

in

published by Prof. William Selwyn.

'

'

The Northern Farmer,'

Enoch

Arden,' was

pathos, which

revealed a

The command
delightful

this

acter

the

poems, remarkable

dialect

same volume with

new power

in

'

had perhaps the

of dialect

The poem

surprise.

Lincolnshire

of the

first

alike for their

every pulse in every line

is

humour and
Tennyson.
least part in

throbs with charthe heart-beat of a

There are few things

marked individuality.
the way of word-portraiture more lifelike than the pic-

strongly
in

in the

ture this self-willed, opinionated old-world farmer

draws

of himself.^
'

Selection from the

Works of

published in the series of

in
'

1865, contained

On

a Mourner

spears

'

'

'

six

new poems

Home

Alfred Tennyson,'

Moxon's Miniature

they brought him slain wdth

(which, though not printed

till

bly an earlier version of the song in

*

Home

they brought her warrior dead

^

Poets,'

'The Captain;*

Jennings.

now,

The
')

is

proba-

Princess,'

and three

OF LORD TENNYSOM.
'Sonnets

Coquette,'

to

85

beginning,

respectively,

'Caress'd or chidden by the dainty hand,'

the form alone

is

thou to take the

among

On

the

'

eloquent,'

and 'Wan Sculptor, weepest

These sonnets are now printed

cast.'

Juvenilia,' without the original heading.

the 2ist of February, 1865, the poet's mother

She had resided

died, at the age of eighty-four years.

many

for

'The form,

years at

Hampstead (London) with her

Miss Mary Anne Fytche.

sister.

Early in 1865 there were rumours that the

some

desired to confer

the

'

Athenrum

'

upon the

distinction

announced

the statement was incorrect.

Disraeli

poet,

and

a baronetcy had

that

The

been offered him and accepted.

Queen

latter part of

Nine years

later,

when

was premier, the baronetcy was again offered

and declined.
series of twelve songs, entitled

In 1867 the

'The

Window, or the Loves of the Wrens,' was printed

for private circulation at the press of Sir Ivor Bertie

Guest, of Canford

with

almost

dedicate

to

the

least

printer.'

them when published

set to

at

These

that they are

is

were written

'

merit

sole

to music

Manor, now Lord Wimbounie,

dedication

this

at

in

little

till

so

songs,

they are

whose

wedded

excellently printed,

The note

prefixed to

1870 informs us that they

the request of Mr. Sullivan, to be

music by him.

The

Victim,'

which

had

also

been

privately

THE LIFE AND WORKS

86

printed at Canford Manor, was contributed to

Words
Letter
*

'

Wages

few

appeared
in

'

'

in

and

'

Once a Week

'

On

'

for

Good

a Spiteful

month

the same

'

'

February

1865-1866,' in 'Good Words' for

Lucretius

'

in

With the exception of the

now

lines

Macmillan's Magazine

lines entitled

March

The

for January, 1868.

'

'

Macmillan

865-1 866,' these are

May.

for

'

included in the collected works of the poet.

In

brother

poet

James T.
says

summer of 1868 Longfellow

the

'

Farringford.

at

Fields, dated at

We came

last

his

visited

In a letter to Mrs.

Bonchurch, July 19, he

night from Fresl'^water, where

we had passed two happy days with Tennyson,

He

not at his house, but mostly with him.

cordial

and very amiable, and gave up

was very

whole time

his

to us.'

In 1869 'The Holy Grail and Other Poems' was

published, forty thousand copies of the volume having

been ordered in advance.

The same year

the poet

was elected an Honorary Fellow of Trinity College,

Cambridge.

The Fellows had

previously subscribed

for his bust

by Woolner, which now adorns the college

library.

It

may

Bar

May

'

for

also

be noted that a writer in Temple

'

informed a deluded world that

Tennyson has no sound pretensions

to

'

Mr.

be called a

great poet.'

In 1867 the

poet

had purchased an

Blackdown, a moorland height

rising

estate

above the

on

village

OF LORD TENNYSON.

o?

of Haslemere, in the northwestern corner of Sussex,

some

forty-two miles from

London; and here

in

1869

he built a summer residence from the designs of his

Mr.

friend,

Century,'

named

J.

and an excellent

architect

Aldworth, after one

place

the

Sellwood

T. Knowles, editor of the

demesnes.

The mansion

Nineteenth

'

He

withal.

of

the

old

stands

on

the

southern slope of the down, more than eight hundred

feet

above the

and most

sea,

commanding one

beautiful views in

all

of the broadest

England.

to the scene in the verses

an allusion

General Hawley

There

is

addressed to

birches yellowing and from each

Our

The
While

light leaf falling fast,

squirrels

Were

from our

fiery

beech

bearing off the mast,

You came, and look'd and loved the view

Long known and loved by me,
Green Sussex fading

into blue

With one gray glimpse

It is

of sea.

indeed the whole of 'Green Sussex' that

before one as he looks from where the Fairlight

dip into the Pitt Level on the

And

left to

lies

Downs

Chichester on the

on one
is visible
no small part of Kent can be seen and if one half
turns, the noble eminence of Leith Hill, and on the other
Portsmouth and the Hampshire Downs. The one gray
glimpse of sea' is where there is an opening in the South

right.

indeed more than Sussex

side

'

Downs

at Arundel.^
^

Church.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

88

Mrs. Ritchie says

Aldworth was built

when Mrs. Tennyson had
been ordered change, and Freshwater was found to be
unbearable and overcrowded during the summer months.
It must be borne in mind that to hospitable people there
are dangers from friendly inroads as well as from the
attacks of enemies. The new house, where for many
years past the family has spent its summers, stands on
the summit of a high lonely hill in Surrey, and yet it is
.

not quite out of reach of London

life.

a white stone

It is

house with many broad windows facing a great view

and a long terrace, like some one of those at Siena or
Perugia, with a low parapet of stone, where ivies and
roses

are trained,

making a foreground

to the lovely

haze of the distance.

In the Isle of Wight the poet had been greatly

annoyed

in

of tourists,

summer by

the vulgar curiosity of

who walked about

their telescopes

and

mobs

his grounds, pointing

field-glasses at

him, even indeed

flattening their inquisitive noses against his windows.'

At Aldworth, three miles from a railway

station

in a comparatively isolated situation high

and

above the

surrounding country, he was quite safe from these

impudent

Nothing of the house but the

intrusions.

chimney-tops or the gables and pinnacles of the upper

windows can be seen from any point near

belt of

at

hand.

dense foliage and undergrowth, hardly

penetrable than stone walls, girdles

and from the outside

it

is

it

less

im-

closely about

impossible to get any idea

;
'

OF LORD TENNYSON:

89

of the bright flower-gardens and pleasant glades that

lie

hidden
Within

who

in recesses of the hazel copse.'

from a writer in the London World

Aid worth in 1875] everything is ordered with

[to quote

visited

'

a quiet refined elegance that has in

soup^ofi of

keeping with the

life.

The

it,

perhaps, just a

an affectation of aestheticism not quite in

spirit either of

modern

or of mediaeval

hall, in spite of its richly tessellated

pavement,

has a delightful sense of coolness in its soft half-light.

The lofty rooms have broad high windows, the light from
which is tempered by delicately coloured hangings walls
;

of the negative tints in which

modern decorators

delight,

and panelled ceilings of darkly

Highribs and beams.
of ancient and uncompromising stiffness,

diapered with dull gold

stained

wood with moulded

backed

chairs,

flank the table, typifying the poet's sterner

moods

while

in cosey corners are comfortable lounges that indicate

a tendency to yield sometimes to the soft seductions

of

more effeminate

inspirations.

Nowhere

is

the spirit

vexed by garish ornament or the eye by glaring colours.

A few good etchings and paintings hang on the walls
among them an excellent copy of the Peter Martyr, which
is doubly valuable since the destruction of the original.
But there is one room in which all that is most interesting
in this house centres. The door opens noiselessly, and the
tread of your feet is muffled as you enter a dim corridor
divided from the room by a high screen. The air is heavy
with the odour of an incense not unfamiliar to men of
letters
and if you could doubt whence it arose, your
doubts would be speedily dissolved as the occupant of
the chamber comes forward to meet you, the inseparable
pipe still between his teeth. The figure, though slightly
bent, bears the burden of sixty-six years lightly; the
dark mass of hair falling backward from the broad high
;

THE LIFE AND WORKS

forehead, and the

'

knightly growth fringing his

are but sparely streaked with silver

and the

lips,'

though
of calm digface,

rugged and deeply lined with thought, is full

and of a tenderness strangely at variance with his
somewhat brusque tone and manner.
Though the
poet, like most thinkers, is slow of speech, and given
to lapse into reverie, his powers of conversation are
considerable. He speaks with a full rolling Saxon accent
nity

Cockneys would probably

that to the over-refined ears of

but no person could be more

correctly emphatic in pronunciation
and his ear is as

sound

like provincialism,

word be shorn of its due power, as

a great musician's by discordant sounds, or a painter's
eye by false colouring and he does not allow the forms
readily offended,

if

way

of society to stand in the

pression to his annoyance.

of giving very free ex-

His chief delight is to sit

here in this quiet secluded study, surrounded by a few
choice books of favourite authors and when not working
.

by the window that overlooks the pine glen

and the purple down westward, to lounge by the larger
one that looks down on the bright blossoming terrace
over the dense belt of beeches and hazels, where the
at the desk,

whirring of night-jars sounds ceaselessly in the twilight,

away

to the gray lines of undulating hills

and the streak

Whatever he is doing, the eternal pipe is

ever ready at hand, and a huge tobacco-jar, big enough
for an ancestral urn, on the floor beside him.
At other
times he will wander down to the zigzag pathways that
meander in all directions through the tall hazel-twigs
which hem his house around, where one comes suddenly
on a little secluded glade bright with mossy verdure, or a
of silver sea.

garden laden with odours from a score of pine-trees, or a

bigger lawn devoted to the innocent pursuit of croquet or
lawn-tennis.
Less frequently he may be seen walking
through neighbouring byways, and exciting the curiosity

OF LORD TENNYSON.

91

of the village folk by the strangeness of his mien and

the eccentricity of his costume.

Tennyson published nothing during 1870 and 1871

except 'The
'

Contemporary Review

year;
*

Last Tournament,'

but 1872

is

'

contributed to the

December

for

memorable

in the latter

appearance of

for the

Gareth and Lynette, and Other Poems.'

It

was now

generally assumed by the critics that the cycle of the

Arthurian Idylls was complete

but, as

we have

seen,

another 'book' was added in 1885.

In the

'

Library Edition

of the poet's complete

'

works (1872-73) several poems previously suppressed

were restored under the head of

Juvenilia

'

and

'

two early sonnets, 'Alexander' and 'The Bridesmaid,'

were published
ruary,

1852

'

for the first time.

'

The Third of Feb-

(printed in the ' Examiner that year)

'

and

'Literary Squabbles' (the 'Afterthought' of 'Punch,'

1846) were

new

first

ordium

'

To

the

'A Welcome

Some

acknowledged and included.

passages in the

'

Idylls of the

Queen were
'

to

Edinburgh,' printed

also

King

and the ex-

'

added.

Marie AlexandrovTia, Duchess of

in the

'Times' early

and afterwards issued on a separate

in

sheet,

1874,
is

now

included in the collected works.

The

'

Cabinet

Edition

'

of the poems, issued

1874, contained some additional matter.

entitled

in

'England and America

memory

of Sir John Simeon

in
('

The

1782,' the

in

stanzas

poem

In the Garden at

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

92

Swainston

'),

and

The Voice and

the Peak

'

now

first

and a new passage of nearly one hundred

appeared

and

lines

fifty

was inserted

in

'

Merlin and Vivien

'

opening paragraph.

after the

In 1875 the drama of

The next year

it

'

Queen Mary was pubhshed.

'

was produced, with some abridgment

and modification,

at the

Lyceum Theatre

in

London,

Miss Bateman playing Mary, and Mr. Irving the minor

The experiment con-

of Philip II. of Spain.

part

firmed the opinion of the

critics

work was

that the

better suited for the closet than the stage.

Late in 1876 (dated 1877) the Laureate published

another drama,

though
than

'

'

Harold,' which has never been acted,

was received with more favour by the

it

'

in their praises of both,

tic

that

'

the

'

Nineteenth Century

said to have

subsequent numbers a

and
*

'

'

first

name

Montenegro

Sonnet to Victor

Achilles over the Trench.'

Lines on Sir John

(the

'

of

been suggested by him) a prefa-

tory sonnet, with another entitled

to

close.'

1877 Tennyson contributed to the

During

is

critics

enthusias-

George Eliot declaring

Tennyson's plays run Shakespeare's

number of
which

Some were

Queen Mary had been.

Franklin

'

He

;
'

and

Hugo

also wrote the

cenotaph

for the

in

Westminster Abbey.

The next
Revenge

'

poem was

year (1878) he wrote the ballad of 'The

for the

Nineteenth Century.'

read to Carlyle, he exclaimed,

'

When
Eh he
!

this

has

'

'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
got the grip of

it

'

made

At Killarney, as Mrs. Ritchie

a tour in Ireland.

he said to the boatman,

us,

93

In the autumn Tennyson

'

heard eight echoes, and now

When
I

last

tells

was here

only hear one.'

The

man, who had often heard people quoting the Bugle

Song, replied,

brought

Why, you must be

money

the

all

the gentleman that

to the place.'

In 1879, as already stated (page 45), 'The Lover's

Tale

'

was published

the Princess Alice

and the

and

'

were contributed to the

one-act play of

'

heroine.

It

was

Dedicatory

Poem

The Defence

'

Nineteenth Century.'

of

to

Lucknow

The

The Falcon was brought out

at the

London, with Mrs. Kendal

as the

'

James Theatre

St.

'

in

a genuine success, and the charm

of the dialogue furnished an intellectual delight rare

in those days of " brainless
It

was

pantomime."

of this same year that Tennyson

in April

went to see Irving as Hamlet

who was

the occasion thus

I

no

and Mrs. Ritchie,

present at the same performance, refers to

:

once heard Mr. Tennyson talking to some actors, to

person indeed than to Hamlet himself, for after

less a

the whole play

seemed

from off
and I
could scarcely tell at last where reality began and Shakespeare ended. The play was over, and we ourselves seemed
a part of it still here were the players, and our own prince
poet, in that familiar simple voice we all know, explaining
the art, going straight to the point in his own downright
the curtain

fell

the stage into the box where

to flow

we had been

sitting,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

94

by the simand conviction carrying all before him.

You are a good actor lost,' one of these real actors said

fashion, criticising with delicate appreciation,

ple force of truth
'

to him.

In the spring of 1880 the Laureate was asked to

allow his

name

to be used as a candidate for the

Rectorship of Glasgow University

Lord

but learning that

he was being put forward as the nominee of the Conservative party

candidature.

among
In a

the students, he declined the

letter

who had requested him

position, he said

addressed to the gentlemen

to

stand for this honorary

You are probably aware that some years ago the Glasgow Liberals asked me to be their candidate, and that I,
in like

manner, declined; yet

would gladly accept a

nomination, after what has occurred on this occasion,

if

any time a body of students, bearing no political party

name, should wish to nominate me, or if both the Liberals
and Conservatives should happen to agree in foregoing
the excitement of a political contest, and in desiring a
Lord Rector who would not appear for installation, and
who would, in fact, be a mere roi fainiant, with nothing
but the literary merits you are good enough to appreciate.
at

All sensible people will

approve Tennyson's

refusal

to be a political candidate for a purely literary office.

Nothing, indeed, could well be more ridiculous than

the dragging of party considerations into a university
election of this character.

In the
'

same year (1880)

Ballads and Other

the

volume entitled

Poems was given

'

to the world.

OF LORD TENNYSON.
It

was dedicated

to

'

golden-haired Ally,' the poet's

He

grandson, Alfred Tennyson.

little

95

was the son of

Mr. Lionel Tennyson, and was then only a year and a

Mr. Stedman pays a

half old.
*

Ballads when,
'

upon the dramas, he goes on

the

fitting tribute to

commenting with qualified

after

to say

praise

In striking contrast, Tennyson's recent lyrical poetry

the afterglow of a

dimmed the

fire

and beauty of

What

increased with age.

is

Here we see unnatural gift, and wisdom

radiant genius.

still

his

collection, short

as

it

is,

forms the volume of Ballads issued in his seventy-first

It opens with the thoroughly English story of
year
'

'

'

The

First

And

the

Quarrel,'

boat

with

culmination,

tragic

its

down

went

that

night,

the

boat

Country life is what he

went down that night
has observed, and he reflects it with truth of action
The Northern Cobbler and The Village
and dialect.
Wife could be written only by the idyllist whose
Yorkshire ballads delighted us in 1866. But here are
greater things, two or three at his highest mark.
The
passion and lyrical might of Rizpah never have been
exceeded by the author, nor, I think, by any other poet of
his day.
The Revenge and Lucknow are magnificent
ballads.
The Voyage of Maeldune' is a weird and
'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

vocal fantasy, unequally poetic,

with

the

well-known

touch in every number.

The book drew from Theodore Watts

sonnet,

To

Alfred Tennyson,

his seventy-first year, the

of

English

century

'

verse

that

most
has

on

his

the following
publishing, in

richly various

appeared in

volume

his

own

THE LIFE AND WORKS

96
Beyond

the peaks of

Whose magic

Kdf a

rivulet springs

waters to a flood expand,

Distilling, for all drinkers

on each hand.

The immortal sweets enveil'd in mortal things.

From honey'd flowers, from balm of zephyr-wings,
From fiery blood of gems,^ thro' all the land,
The river draws
then, in one rainbow-band,
Ten leagues of nectar o'er the ocean flings.
;

Steep'd in the riches of a poet's years,

Stain'd in

all

colours of man's destiny,

So, Tennyson, thy widening river nears

The misty main, and, taking now the sea.

Makes rich and warm with human smiles and
The ashen billows of Eternity.

The Cup' was

In January, 1881, the play of*

duced

at

Lyceum

the

and had a

successful run than any of the Laureate's earlier

dramas.

In the course of the year he contributed

the dramatic monologue

Century/ and
*

pro-

London, with Mr.

Theatre,

Irving and Miss Terry in the leading roles,

more

tears

'

'

Despair

The Charge

'

of the

to the

'

Nineteenth

Heavy Brigade

'

to

Macmillan's Magazine.'

In March,

1882, the patriotic poem,

'Hands

all

Round,' written in 1852 (see page 63), revised by

the poet and set to music by Mrs. Tennyson, was

sung by Mr. Santley

Queen's birthday.

at a concert in

London on

the temperance reform, were troubled at the

1

of

According to a

Kaf

are entirely

the

Certain good people, interested in

Mohammedan

tradition, the

composed of gems, whose

dours colour the sky.

refer-

mountains

reflected splen-

OF LORD TENNYSON.
ences in the song to

and

to

Freedom

done

drinking a health

'

England

to

and the Executive Committee of the

Good Templars,

'

97

had

forgetful of the service the poet

their cause in

'

The Northern Cobbler and

'

of

the fact that he had exerted his influence in favour of

the

movement

on Sunday

to close public-houses

in

the Isle of Wight, passed a resolution remonstrating

against the ode

in

'

which drink was used as an ex-

The Chief Templar

pression of loyalty.'

Laureate a copy of the

the

resolution,

sent the

receipt

of

which was duly acknowledged by Mr. Hallam Tennyson as follows

My

father begs

me

to

thank the Committee of the

Executive of the Grand Lodge of England

Good Tem-

No one hoaours more highly the

by them than my father. I must, how-

plars for their resolution.

good work done

ever, ask you to remember that the common cup has in
all ages been employed as a sacred symbol of unity, and
drink in referthat my father has only used the word
ence to this symbol. I much regret that it should have
been otherwise understood.
'

'

An

anecdote told by Mrs. Ritchie

place here.

She

relates that the

is

not out of

poet was one day

walking in Covent Garden, when he was stopped by a

rough-looking man,
'

You

I 've

you

been drunk
will

shake

I.

for six

me

get drunk again.'

VOL.

who

Mr. Tennyson.

're

held out his hand, and said

am

I.

days out of the seven, but

if

Look

by the hand,

here,

sir,

'm d

here

if I

ever

THE LIFE AND WORKS

98

In November, 1882, another play from the Laureate's pen,

'The Promise of May,' was performed

Though

Theatre in London.

the Globe

condemned by

the critics,

it

had a run of

at

generally
six

weeks.

This was partially due to an incident of a somewhat

sensational character which occurred at one of the
earlier representations of the play.

of the

from

first

At the beginning

scene the Marquis of Queensberry rose

his seat in the stalls,

and loudly protested against

what he regarded as Tennyson's attack upon

thinkers in the character of Edgar.

After

free-

some delay

the performance was allowed to proceed, but at

its

close the Marquis rose again, declaring himself a freethinker,

and denouncing the play

The next day he explained

sect.

as a travesty of the
in a

morning paper

that his indignation had been particularly excited by

Edgar's comments on marriage.

I

am

pudiate

He added

a secularist and a freethinker, and, though

it,

re-

a so-called atheist, and, as President of the

British Secular Union, I protest against Mr. Tennyson's

abominable caricature of an individual whom [jxV], I presume, he would have us believe represents some body of
people which, thanks for the good of humanity, most certainly does not exist

among

But, as a writer in a

freethinkers.

London

journal remarked in

the course of the controversy that followed,

Edgar is not, as the critics will have it, a freethinker

drawn into crime by his Communistic theories Edgar is
not a protest against the atheism of the age Edgar is
;

OF LORD TENNYSON.

99

not even an honest Radical nor a sincere follower of

Schopenhauer
cere; but he

man.

he

nothing thorough and nothing

is

sin-

a criminal, and at the same time a gentle-

is

These are the two

sides of his character.

He has no

brought face to face with the consequences of his crime, and in the awakening of that conscience the poet has manifested his fullest and sublimest
conscience until he

At our

strength.

is

first

introduction to

Edgar we

see

him

perplexed with the haunting of a pleasure that has sated

Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die has
him.
'

'

been his motto

but

we can

detect that his appetite for

He repeats wearily the

all pleasure has begun to pall.
formulas of a philosophy which he has followed because it
suits his

mode

of

life.

He

plays with these formulae, but

they do not satisfy him. So long as he had on him the

zest of libertinism he did not in all probability trouble
himself with philosophy.

But now he begins

after his position as a gentleman, as a

He

feels

member

to

hanker

of society.

he has outlawed himself. He has no one but

to.
He must endeavour to justify himself

himself to look

His selfishness compels him to take a step of

which he feels the wickedness and repugnancy. The
companionship of the girl he has ruined no longer gives
him pleasure he hates her tears because they remind him
his proper self.
He abandons her with a
of himself,
pretence of satisfaction
but the philosophical formulae
he repeats no more satisfy him than they satisfy this poor
Her innocence has not, however,
girl whom he deserts.
been wantonly sacrificed by the dramatist. She has sown
the seed of repentance in her seducer, though the fruit is
slow in ripening. Years after, he returns like the ghost
He feels reof a murderer to the scene of his crime.
morse. He is ashamed of it he battles against it he
hurls the old formulas at it; he acts the cynic more
thoroughly than ever. But he is changed. He feels a
to himself.

THE LIFE AND WORKS

lOO

make amends.'

desire to

'

form of

selfishness.

idiocy

'

He

Communism,

of

Yet that desire

is still

has abandoned the

perhaps,

'

only a

Utopian

as he says with the

self-mockery that makes the character so individual and

remarkable, because he has inherited estates. His posi-

gentleman

forced on his notice

he would qualand without doing excessive

penance. To marry the surviving sister and rescue the
old father from ruin would be a meritorious act.
He sets
himself to perform it. At first everything goes well for
him the old weapons of fascination that had worked the
younger sister's ruin now conquer the heart of the elder.
He is comfortable in his scheme of reparation, and lays
tion of
ify

himself for

it,

is

selfishly

'

that flattering unction to his soul.'

Suddenly, however,

the girl whom he has betrayed and whom he thought

dead returns she hears him repeating to another the
words of love she herself had caught from him and beEdgar,' she cries, and staggers forth from her
lieved.
concealment, as she forgives him with her last breath,
and bids him make her sister happy. Then, and not till
;

'

then, the true

soul

of the

man

recognises his wickedness, he

rushes to his lips

knows

he

the blankness of his

He feels then and will

good which he can never or
only imperfectly fulfil. The position of independence on
which he prided himself is wrested from him he is
life.

That

always

is

his

punishment.

feel aspirations after

humiliated

the instrument of his selfish repentance turns

on him, with a forgiveness that annihilates him the

bluff and honest farmer, whom he despises, triumphs over
him, not with the brute force of an avenging hand, but
;

with the pre-eminence of superior morality.

the scene, never again,

we can

Edgar

quits

well believe, to renew his

libertine existence, but to expiate with lifelong contrition

the monstrous wickedness of the past.

justice.

This

is

dramatic

OF LORD TENNYSON.

loi

Characterisation so subtle was of course beyond the

ken of the average theatre-goer, and even of the average dramatic

critic.

We

need not wonder

that the

popular interest in the play, when the Queensberry

episode had ceased to be a nine days' wonder, soon

died out.

In the autumn of 1883, Tennyson accompanied

Mr. Gladstone on a sea excursion

parts

of the

King of Denmark

invited by the

to

the northern

At Copenhagen he was

Continent.

to

meet the Czar

and Czarina, the King and Queen of Greece, and the

Princess of Wales.
visited

the steamer

and

passenger,

them some of

at

his

The next day

urgent

their

poems.

It is

applauded,

enthusiastically

the royal party

on which the Laureate was a

especially demonstrative in

'

request

he read

reported that he was

the

royal

ladies

being

the expression of their

admiration.'

During

this

voyage the Orkneys were

visited,

and

the Premier and the Laureate were presented with the

freedom of the borough of Kirkwall.

in

Mr. Gladstone,

acknowledging the honour, referred to

companion thus

believe that in this case the honour

his

eminent

is not on one side

on both, and you will do well to associate yourself with him as well as ask him to associate himself with
Mr. Tennyson's life and labours correspond in
you.
point of time as nearly as possible to my own, but Mr.
Tennyson's exertions have been on a higher plane of
I

only, but

THE LIFE AND WORKS

I02

my own. He has worked in a higher

work will be more durable. We public men
who play a part which places us much in view of our

human
field,

action than

and

his

countrymen,
momentarily

homage

we

danger of being
the undue

are subject to the

intoxicated

of kindness,

by the

we may

kindness,

receive.

It is

our business

words which we speak have wings, and

fly away and disappear.
The work of Mr. Tennyson is
of a higher order.
I anticipate for him the immortality
for which England and Scotland have supplied, in the
to speak, but the

course of their long national

life,

many

claims.

record to-day of the additions which have been

Your

made

to

may happen to be examined in

distant times, and some may ask with regard to the Prime
Minister, Who was he, and what did he do? We know
your municipal body
'

But the Poet-Laureate has written

nothing about him.'

own song on
never die. Time
his

the hearts of his countrymen that can

is powerless against him, and I believe

were the period of inquiry to be so long distant
as between this day and the time when Maeshowe^ was

this, that

built, still, in

regard to the Poet-Laureate of to-day, there

would be no
had done to

difficulty in stating

who he was and what he

and hearts of his fellowand by so doing acquire a

raise the intellects

creatures to a higher level,

deathless fame-

In the

latter part

of

1883 the Queen offered a

peerage to Tennyson, and

this

time he accepted the

about nine miles from Kirkwall.

and one hundred
and twenty feet in diameter at the base. It was opened in
1861, and was found to be a chambered barrow of elaborate
construction. Runic inscriptions were found within, which are
1

This remarkable tumulus

It is a conical

mound

is

thirty-five feet in height,

believed to be of the twelfth century

the building was old and roofless

and

really belongs to a

much

when

but

it is

supposed that

the runes were inscribed,

earlier period.

OF LORD TENNYSON.
He

honour.

was gazetted Baron of Aldworth and

Farringford on the

Among

the

many

i8th of the

following

an old woman who

from

had been

in the service of his father

maid

many

letters

letter to

Susan

Epton,

Mrs. Tennyson.

to

January,

congratulatory letters he received

was one

lady's

1 03

and afterwards
have

received

of congratulation,' the poet remarked in

a friend,

'

some from

great lords

and

ladies,

but the affectionate remembrance of good old Susan

Epton and her

sister

touched

me more

than

There were those, however, who found

the Laureate for consenting to
'

but

it

was urged

rise to

own

that,

ideals,

to

him from a

title,

by taking one, he was scarcely

the height of his

no better answer

with

fault

become Lord Tennyson.

Not only could no fame accrue

true to his

all these.'

at all events, that

own

inspiration.'

to this than has

American and a republican.

he did not
I

know

of

been made by an

Mr. Stedman says

When the Laureate was raised to the peerage a station

which he twice declined in middle life
he gained some
attention from the satirists, and his acceptance of rank
no doubt was honestly bemoaned by many sturdy radicals.
It is difficult, nevertheless, to find any violation of principle
or taste in the acceptance by England's favourite and official poet of such an honour, bestowed at the climax of
Republicans should bear in mind
his years and fame.
that the republic of letters is the only one to which Alfred
Tennyson owed allegiance that he was the first citizen
of an ancient monarchy, which honoured letters by gratefully conferring upon him its high traditional award.
It

'

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

104

own form
from some
foreign potentate.
Longfellow, for example, promptly
declined an order tendered him by the King of Italy. But
a sense of fitness, and even patriotism, should make it
easy for an Englishman, faithful to a constitutional
monarchy, to accept any well-earned dignity under that
system.
In every country it is thought worth while for
one to be the founder of his family and in Great Britain
no able man could do more for descendants, to whom he
is not sure of bequeathing his talents, than by handing
down a class-privilege, even though it confers no additional
glory upon the original winner. Extreme British democrats, who openly or covertly wish to change the form
of government, and even communists, are aware that
Tennyson does not belong to their ranks. He has been a
liberal conservative,
liberal .n humanity and progressive
would be truckling for an American, loyal

to his

of government, to receive an aristocratic

title

thought, strictly conservative in allegiance to the national

system.

As

for that, touch but the territory, imperil the

institutions of

Great Britain, and Swinburne himself

the pupil of Landor, Mazzini,

blood in his veins.

and Hugo

Tennyson, a

'
;

he

is

Whitman

the

Maurice

liberal of the

group, has been cleverly styled by

feudalism

betrays
'

poet of

a celebrator of the past, of sovereignty

and knighthood he is no lost leader, just for a ribbon

some gallant cause forsworn or any song unsung.
*

leaving

In

all fairness, his

acceptance of rank savours less of

consistency than does the logic of those

who

rail at

in-

the

world for neglect of genius, and then upbraid them both

for

coming

In the
'

to

an understanding.

latter

part

of

1884

the

poet

published

Becket,' the longest of his dramas, completing

historic trilogy.'

'

the

In the dedication to the Earl of Sel-

OF LORD TENNYSON:
borne, the author states that the play
in

its

modem
put

form

present

it

Like

stage.''

historical series,

is

not intended

meet the exigencies of our

to

and no attempt has been made

theatre,'

on the

1 05

its

a drama for the reader and the

it is

student rather than the actor and the play-goer.

R. Green,

the

searches into

the

J.

to

predecessors in the

says that

historian,

'

all

Mr.

his re-

annals of the twelfth century had

not given him so vivid a conception of the character

Henry

and
"
Becket
Tennyson's
of

marks

II.

court

his
;

"

'

and Rev. Dr. Van Dyke

'backed by an authority

that,

not too daring to predict that the day

like this,

in
re-

it

is

coming when

is

of Shakespeare's historical

the study

embodied

was

as

plays

will

be

reckoned no more important to an understanding of

English history than the study of Tennyson's Trilogy.'

Other noteworthy events in the biographical record

for

1884 were the Laureate's election

to the presi-

dency of the Incorporated Society of Authors, and

the marriage of his eldest son Hallam.

In 1885

a
*

Ballads

Despair

'The
^

'

Tiresias

volume

and Other Poems

of five years before.

'

'

were

full

of power

Spinster's Sweet- 'arts

Since this was written,

'

'

was published,

some respects

as remarkable in

and

'

To-morrow

were no\vise

Becket,'

as the

The Wreck

and

'

'

and

inferior to

somewhat condensed and

modified for presentation on the stage, has been brought out

by Mr. Irving
this country.

Lyceum Theatre in London and also in

See note on page 322 below.

at the

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

io6

the earlier poems in dialect.

Balin and Balan,' as

ready stated, concluded the series of Arthurian

The dedication of

the volume was as follows

al-

Idylls.

TO MY GOOD FRIEND

ROBERT BROWNING
WHOSE GENIUS AND GENIALITY
WILL BEST APPRECIATE WHAT MAY BE BEST
AND MAKE MOST ALLOWANCE FOR WHAT MAY BE WORST

VOLUME

THIS

IS

AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

During the same year, The Fleet

*

'

was contributed

'Times' (April 23), 'To H. R. H. Princess

Beatrice to the same journal (July 23), and Vastness

to the

'

to

'

'

Macmillan's Magazine

'

for

November.

In 1886 'Locksley Hall, Sixty Years

peared,

Hall

'

forty-four

electrified

the

years after the

literary

poem was compared

later

many

critics

Hutton intimated

'

it.

the

inferior of the two.

it,

but, as

Mr. R. H.

in his masterly review in the

it

ap-

Locksley

Naturally

world.

justice to

(December 18),
they had carefully read
tator

'

After,'

with the earlier, and by

was pronounced the

They not only did no

first

'

Spec-

seemed doubtful whether

He

adds

We venture to say that it is at least as fine a picture of

age reviewing the phenomena of life, and reviewing them
with an insight impossible to youth into all that threatens
man with

defeat and degradation, though of course without

OF LORD TENNYSON.

107

any of that irrepressible elasticity of feeling which shows

even by the very wildness and tumult of its despair that
despair is, for it, ultimately impossible, as Tennyson's
earlier

poem was

of youth

resenting the

passionately

failure of its first bright hope,

and yet

utterly unable to

promise and potency of its buoyant vitality.

Locksley Hall of Tennyson's
early poems and the Locksley Hall of his latest is this,
that in the former all the melancholy is attributed to
personal grief, while all the sanguine visionariness which
repress the

The

'

'

difference between the

'

'

'

'

really springs out of overflowing vitality justifies itself

by

dwelling on the cumulative resources of science and the

arts; in the latter, the

melancholy

of ebbing vitality, justifies itself

in the

by the

man, a

failure of

result

knowl-

edge and science to cope with the moral horrors which

experience has brought to light, while the set-off against
that melancholy

is to be found in a real personal experience of true nobility in man and woman. Hence those

who

call the new

Locksley Hall pessimist seem to us
do injustice to that fine poem. No one can expect age
to be full of the irrepressible buoyancy of youth.
Now
Tennyson's poem shows us these happier aspects of age,
though it shows us also that exaggerated despondency in
counting up the moral evils of life which is one of the
consequences of dwindling vitality. Nothing could well
be finer than Tennyson's picture of the despair which his
hero would feel if he had nothing but evolution to depend
'

'

to

'

'

on, or than the

rebuke which the speaker himself gives to

that despondency when he remembers how much more
than evolution there is to depend on,
how surely that
has been already evolved in the heart of man which,

'

itself inexplicable,

'

yet promises an evolution far richer

and more boundless than

law.

and

The

final

is suggested by any physical

upshot of the swaying tides of progress

retrogression, in their periodic advance

and

retreat,

is,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

lo8

he tells us, quite incalculable by us, the complexity of the

forward and backward movements of the wave being
beyond our grasp and yet he is sure that there is that
;

which supplies an ultimate solution of the riddle.

... On the whole, we have here the natural pessimism
of age in all its melancholy, alternating with that highest
in us

mood
'

like

old experience,' which, in Milton's phrase,

'

doth attain to something like prophetic

strain.'

The

various eddies caused by these positive and negative

seem to us delineated with at least as firm a

hand as that which painted the tumultuous ebb and flow
of angry despair and angrier hope in the bosom of the
deceived and resentful lover of sixty years since. The

currents

later
its

'

Locksley Hall

'

is

in the highest sense

worthy of

predecessor.

And so,
who reads

it

seems

it

aright.

to

me,

it

must appear

to every

one

In 1887 Mr. Hallam Tennyson published 'Jack

and the Bean-Stalk,' a version of the

child's

tale

particularly

English.

in

familiar old

mock-heroic hexameters which are

good examples of
happen

to

regarded them as quite

illustrations of the

that classic

know

that

measure

in

Lord Tennyson

faultless in their

way.

The

book are from unfinished sketches

by Randolph Caldecott.

On

the

20th of April in the same year (1886),

the poet's younger son, Lionel, died

home from

(page 65) to the

monument

Freshwater church.
brass or marble,

on the voyage

Reference has already been made

India.

erected to his

tribute

memory

in

more enduring than

and more beautiful than sculptor

OF LORD TENNYSON.
could carve,
father's lines

is

built in lofty

and tender rhyme

in his

addressed to the Marquis of Dufferin

and Ava, which are the dedication of

Other Poems,' published

The appearance of
worthy event

109

in the

Demeter and

in 1889.

that

volume

the next note-

is

biography of the Laureate.

It is

said that twenty thousand copies were sold within a

week
rian
*

after

Critic

it

came

out.

As the work of an octogena-

was every way remarkable.

it
'

(New York)

well says of

it

writer in the

The Laureate has been spared the touch of senility

which so often comes to the poets who survive to write at
the age of fourscore there is no indication or hint of any
loss of mental vigour, no sign of weariness of the world,
and no token of physical infirmity on the contrary, the
poems in this volume are full of strength and the glow
of beauty, the breadth of vision, and the rare inspiration
which have always been conspicuously characteristic features of his work, are here to be found undiminished.
We should have to go back many years and many volumes
to find one of Tennyson's books that is in all respects so satisfactory and enjoyable from the first poem
to the last there is an evenness of excellence in the workmanship, a clearness of expression, and above all a highheartedness and content which are emblematic of a happy,
peaceful, and thoughtful life,
a hf e which enables the
;

poet to look forward with these words,

Twilight and evening

bell,

And after that the dark

And may there be no sadness of
!

\Vhen

embark

farewell

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

no
For
I

tho'

from out our bourne of Time and Place

may

The

flood

hope

to see

When

my

bear

me

far,

Pilot face to face

have crost the bar.

Several of the poems are written to personal friends,

The
and one of the longest as well as most delightful
The poem which
is inscribed to Mr. Lowell.
Ring'
gives its title to the book is addressed to Professor Jebb,
the eminent Greek scholar, of whom the poet writes
'

Fair things are slow to fade away,

Bear witness you, that yesterday

From out the Ghost of Pindar
Roll'd an Olympian.
.

you

in

Demeter and Persephone one renews the old-time

blank verse
CEnone and Ulysses,'
musical and everywhere beautiful such as only Tennyson
has written.
The two poems which have for us the
greatest charm are
Merlin and the Gleam and The
Progress of Spring.' In its manner the latter reminds
In

'

'

pleasure found in

'

'

'

'

one of the exquisitely wrought odes of Keats.

Van Dyke

Dr.
as 'the

most

regards

'

Merlin and the Gleam

most important, and

beautiful,'

remarkable

'

for the light

artistic principles

The wonder
recognised

it

is

for

and

He

adds

that none of the critics

what

it

the

respects

a group

which they throw upon

tastes.'

scription of his life-work,

as an idealist.

some

in

of Tennyson's art-poems,

really

and

is,

the

his

seem

poet's

to

have

own

de-

his clear confession of faith

OF LORD TEJSINYSON.
The
The
this

is

light that never

was on sea or

land,

consecration, and the Poet's dream,

'Gleam' that Tennyson has followed. It

on the world of fancy with its melodies and
dancing fairies and falling torrents. Then it

the

glanced
pictures,

first

and the stories of man's

and conflict, the faces of human love and heroism,
were revealed. Then it illuminated the world of imagination
and the great epic of Arthur was disclosed to the
poet's vision in its spiritual meaning, the crowning of the

touched the world of humanity

toil

blameless king.
the

Then

passed through the valley of

it

shadow of death, and clothed

And

with light

broader and brighter

The Gleam

Wed

flying

onward,

to the melody,

Sang

And

it

thro' the world

slower and fainter,

Old and weary.

But eager to follow,
I saw, whenever
In passing

glanced upon

it

Hamlet or city.
That under the Crosses
The dead men's garden,
The mortal hillock

Would break into blossom

And so to the land's
Last limit

And
But
For

came

can no longer.
die rejoicing.
thro' the

Of Him

Who

Magic

the Mighty,

taught

me

in childhood,

There on the border

Of boundless Ocean,

THE LIFE AND WORKS

112

And

but in

all

Heaven

Hovers The Gleam.

Not
Not
Not

of the sunlight,
of the moonlight,
of the starlight

young Mariner,

Down

to the haven,

Call your companions.

Launch your

And crowd

vessel,

your canvas.

And, ere it vanishes

Over the margin.
After

it,

Follow

That
is

is

'

follow

it.

The Gleam.*

the confession of a poet's faith in the Ideal.

It

the cry of a prophet to the younger singers of a faithless

and

irresolute generation.

If
this

Crossing the Bar,' which formed the epilogue to

volume, had proved, as some of us feared

be, the

'

Swan Song

not have been

the critic

whom

simple even

'

of the venerable poet,

sweeter or nobler.
I

have just quoted,

it

might

it

could

In the words of

it is

'

perfect poetry,

to the verge of austerity, yet rich with

the suggestions of wide ocean and waning light and

vesper bells

easy to understand and

full

of music,

yet opening inward to a truth which has no words,

and pointing onward

forms

it

is

to a vision

which transcends

all

a delight and a consolation, a song for

mortal ears, and a prelude to the larger music of

immortality.'

The

Laureate's eightieth birthday,

Aug.

6,

1889,

;:

OF LORD TENNYSON.
called forth

From

13

many apt tributes both in prose and verse.

may quote here Mr. Theodore Watts's

the latter I

sonnet in the 'Athenaeum' of August 10

THE EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY.

Another birthday breaks

he

is

with us

still.

There, thro' the branches of the glittering

The birthday sun

gilds grass

and flower

trees,

the breeze

a conscious thrill
Sends forth, methinks, a thrill,
That tells yon meadows by the steaming rill
Where, o'er the clover waiting for the bees,
The mist shines round the cattle to their knees
Another birthday breaks he is with us still.
loves our Tennyson
For Nature loves him,
I think of heathery Aldworth, rich and rife
With greetings of a world his song hath won
I see him there with loving son and wife,
His fourscore years a golden orb of life
My proud heart swells to think what he hath done.

August

6,

at sunrise.

Rev. H. D. Rawnsley sent the following sonnet to

'

Macmillan's Magazine

'

for

September, 1889

TO LORD TENNYSON.
The fourscore years that blanch the heads
Touch not immortals, and we bring to-day

No

of

men

flowers to twine with laurel and with bay,

Seeing the spring

Above

is

with thee now, as

when

the wold and marsh and mellowing fen

Thy song bade England listen. Powers decay,

Hands fail, eyes dim, tongues scarce their will can
VOL.

I.

say,

! !

THE LIFE AND WORKS

114

But

O
O
O

still

Heaven's

fire

burns bright within thy pen.

singer of the knightly days of old

ringer of the knell to lust and hate

bringer of

When God
The

new hope from memory's

souls that

own

Shall

shrine

hath set in Heaven thy harp of gold,

made

this generation great

the voice that help'd their hearts

was

thine.

In 1890 a portrait of the Laureate, in his robes as

D. C.

L,,

by Mr. G. F. Watts, was given to Trinity

College, Cambridge.

The following stanzas are from a poem by Mr.

Thomas Bailey Aldrich, which appeared in the 'Atlantic

Monthly'

for

March, 1890:

TENNYSON.
Shakespeare and Milton

what third blazon'd name

Shall lips of after ages link to these

His who, beside the wide-encircling

seas,

Was

England's voice, her voice with one acclaim,

For threescore years whose word of praise was fame,
Whose scorn gave pause to man's iniquities.
;

What

strain

was

his in that

bugle-call in battle;

Crimean war?

a low breath.

Plaintive and sweet, above the fields of death

So year by year the music roll'd afar,

From Euxine waves to flowery Kandahar,
Bearing the laurel or the cypress wreath.

Others shall have their little space of time,

Their proper niche and bust, then fade away
Into the darkness, poets of a day;

OF LORD TENNYSON.
O

But thou,

Thou

On
In

builder of enduring rhyme,

shalt not pass

Thy fame

earth shall live where

generally

known

'

New Review

for

duced

in

'

for

'

A Song,'

March.

It

was

in the latter part of the year that

finishing another play

gaged

some time

and

New York by

he

on which he had been en1892

early in

was pro-

this

Mr. Augustin Daly, and soon

afterwards published under the

ers,

in every clime

Saxon speech has sway.

89 1 the poet published nothing except

contributed to the

was

115

title

of

'

The

Forest-

Robin Hood and Maid Marian.'

Its success

on the stage

New

in

York, and later in

Boston, was of no doubtful character

of our best dramatic critics

Mr. William Winter, in the

ferred to

it

The realm
realm of

'

as follows
into

which

Ivanhoe,'

this

the

and the verdict

was decidedly in

New York

play allures
far-off,

its

favour.

Tribune,' re-

auditor

its

is

the

romantic region of

Sherwood

Forest, in the ancient days of stout King

Richard the First. It is not the England of the mine and
the workshop that he represents, and neither is it the
England of the trim villa and the formal landscape it is
of gray castle towers
the England of the feudal times,
and armoured knights, and fat priests and wandering minstrels, and crusades and tournaments.
To enter into that
;

realm

is

to leave the barren world of prose

the cool, sweet winds of

summer upon

the

to feel again

brow

of youth

shimmer of the Lincoln

green in the sunlit, golden glades of the forest, and to
hear the merry note of the huntsman commingled, far
to catch, in fitful glimpses, the

away, with 'horns of Elfland faintly blowing.'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

Il6

For once the public is favoured with a serious poetical

which aims simply to diffuse happiness by arousing
sympathy with pleasurable scenes and picturesque persons,
with virtue that is piquant and humour that is refined.
The play is pastoral comedy, written partly in blank verse
and partly in prose, and cast almost wholly out of doors,
in the open air and under the greenwood tree,
and, in
order to stamp its character beyond doubt or question,
play,

one scene of it is frankly devoted to a convocation of

fairies around Titania, their queen.

Robin Hood as a technical drama is

movement, indeed, is not more indolent than
'

'

Its

frail.

that of its

As You Like It and

'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' With all the pastorals
Time ambles. But, on the other hand, Tennyson's piece

lovely prototypes in Shakespeare,

'

'

not a match for either of those Shakespearian works, in

massiveness of dramatic signification or in the element of

is

Its charm resides more

and therefore it is more a poem
than a play, and perhaps more a picture than a poem. It
is not one of those works that arouse, agitate, and impel.
It aims only to create and sustain a pleased condition and
that aim it has accomplished. No spectator will be deeply
moved by it, but no spectator will look at it without delight.
While, however, Robin Hood as a drama is frail, it is
by no means destitute of the dramatic element. It depicts
a central character in action, and it tells a representative
love-story,
a story in which the oppressive persecutor of
impoverished age is foiled and discomfited, in which faithful affection survives the test of trial, and in which days
of danger end at last in days of bHssful peace.
The characters were creatures of flesh and blood to the
author, and they come out boldly; therefore Marian Lea
handsome, noble,
is a woman of the Rosalind order,
magnanimous, unconventional, passionate in nature, but

opportunity for the art of acting.

in being than in doing,

'

'

OF LORD TENNYSON.
unto

sufficient

with animal

herself,

humorous, playful, and radiant

The

spirits.

117

chief exaction of the part

is

which yet must not be allowed to degenerate

into tameness. The sweet affection of a daughter for her
simplicity,

father, the coyness yet the allurement of a girl for her

and
demeanour of a child of the woods, and the predominant dignity of purity and honour,
these are the
salient attributes of the part. The success of the comedy
is largely dependent upon the enchantment that is diffused by Marian; yet the burden of the acting is laid
upon Robin. The character is a crystal of manliness,
chivalry, and sentiment. Robin is brave, bluff, impetuous,
humorous, ardent in his feelings, yet not inapt to muse
and moralise, devoted to liberty, humane, affectionate, a
faithful friend and a fearless foe.
lover, the refinement of high birth, the lithe bearing

free

In a kindred vein the

Foresters

'

'

'

Athenaeum

picture-play,'

that

'

aptly calls

is,

'

one

in

'

The

which

the characters themselves, although sufficiently deline-

ated to
scene,

become

individualised, are really part of the

and could hardly

exist,

and could hardly have

a right of existence, apart from the scene.'

not recognise the fact that
of this
'

special

While

in

The

we

are

forms

of

kind,

other

Foresters

liable to

poetic

wherein takes place the movement,

must never be so obtruded

subordinate

and new,
the

place,

must

distract our attention

human

passion,

trary, the scene,

is

we do

work

misjudge

art

lyric or

as to take
not,

If
'

the

it.

scene

dramatic,

more than a

howsoever beautiful

from the movement of

in scenic poetr)',

on the con-

" clothed," as the feudal writers would

THE LIFE AND WORKS

Il8

say, with the " people,"

movement

of equal importance with the

is

The

of the story.'

critic

goes on to say

In every play a story there must, of course, be, or the

materials would not cohere.

plex or too absorbing,

if

But

the plot

if

too com-

is

the incidents are too striking,

if

the characters in their loves and hates are too intense,

then

seen that mingling of one kind of art with another

is

which

is

failure.

of almost every kind of artistic

at the root
.

That the

plot of

'

The

Foresters

is

'

slight, that the intensity of the interest

is

purposely kept

may be

produced,

purposely

down in order that a

is made manifest by

true picture-play

the

the materials are laid out and manipulated

tist.

Certain of Lord Tennyson's

made

and of the passion

poems

way

in

which

by the drama-

especially the

Rizpah and Happy,' where the power

of touching, and even of violently disturbing, the soul is
late ones,

such as

'

'

'

carried to the very limit permissible to art

strong

is

his

hand

for the strongest effects,

show how
when he con-

siders that such effects are in

harmony with the kind

poetic art in which he

is at

moment working

in the play before us

he seems to take trouble to avoid

strong effects.

the

Take the very framework

of

and yet

of the story,

Marian's father, Sir Richard Lea,

which is original.
owes the Abbot of St. Mary two thousand marks
borrowed to ransom Walter Lea, Marian's brother, from

Paynim

slavery.

The

abbot's brother, the Sheriff of Not-

tingham, a partisan of Prince John's, offers to pay this

debt and so save the estate from foreclosure, on condition that he

may wed Marian, who

of Huntington (Robin Hood).

is

affianced to the Earl

Now,

the ransom having

already been paid, the efforts to obtain the mortgage

money

are inspired simply by the desire to save the land.

Over and over again

'

the land

'

is

the cry, not the

OF LORD TENNYSON.

119

A vis tnotrix of this kind is no

But let us
doubt sufficiently strong for a picture-play.
suppose that the dramatist had set out to write a play in
which the movement was governed by the warring of deep
emotions and passions; nothing would then have been
easier than to make the quest of the two thousand marks
a real source of tragic interest in which Marian's love for
brother, not the son.

Robin Hood would be

to get that

The

money

at struggle with her intense desire

in order to

ransom her brother.

horrors of Moorish slavery sat upon the mediaeval

imagination like a nightmare, and no wonder. History

has no darker chapter than that which records those hor-

Many a follower of Richard who would have boldly

confronted death by torture would have paled at the idea
If the two thouof the lifelong woe of Paynim slavery.
rors.

sand marks had been required, not to save the land, but
to save a beloved brother, a beloved son, from the slavery
in which he was known to be languishing, an intense interest would have been lent to the quest of the two thousand marks, and the warring of two deep emotions in the
soul of the heroine, so important not only in tragedy, but

would have been achieved. The

have been so cast as to acquire
A palmer, for instance, might have
that intense interest.
come with a message from the son, a message full of
also in tragi-comedy,

most

plot could

easily

touching details of his anguish,

painful kind

to

awaken

details of

a sufficiently

that deep conflict in Marian's

Hood and her love

and pity for her brother at which we have hinted. There
is no exaltation of passion, or even of frenzy, that the
dramatist might not have got out of such a complication.
And there are throughout the play many situations where
the storj' might have been intensified had what is called
situations which might have
sensation been the quest,
been legitimately used had the play been a tragedy or a
breast between her love for Robin

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

I20
tragi-comedy.
(the chief of

He whose dramatis persona are outlaws

whom has to struggle for the possession of

must indeed be poor in invention if he pauses

from want of strong situations. But in the picture-play
such a strong interest would have marred the unity of
his mistress)

'

'

the organic harmony of

as much as the introduction of an interest

the impression

the picture
too absorb-

ing for a scenic tale mars the scenic organism of

'

Adam

Bede.'

Early in the following October (1892)

nounced
and

at

away.

that

1.35
Sir

it

was an-

Lord Tennyson was dangerously

a.m. on the 7th he passed

Andrew

Clark,

sick,

peacefully

who had remained by

old friend and patient to the

last,

his

said afterwards to

a representative of the London press

'

Lord Tenny-

my

son has had

a gloriously beautiful death.

experience

have never witnessed anything more glo-

rious.

and
the

all

There were no
was

moon

artificial lights in

In

all

the chamber,

in darkness save for the silvery light of

at its full.

The

soft

beams of

upon the bed, and played upon the

light

fell

features of the

dying poet like a halo of Rembrandt.'

Dr.
thus

Dabbs, who was also in attendance, wrote

Nothing could have been more striking than the scene

On the bed a figure of breathing marble, flooded and bathed in the light of the full
moon streaming through the oriel window his hand
clasping the Shakespeare which he had asked for but
recently, and which he had kept by him to the end the
during the last few hours.

OF LORD TENNYSON.
moonlight

121

the majestic figure as he lay there

thicker breath,'

irresistibly

'

drawing

brought to our minds his

His last conscious words

of King Arthur.'
words
were words of love addressed to wife and son,
too sacred to be written here.

own Passing
'

We

from

learn

another source

that

when

Shakespeare was handed to the dying poet in

sponse to his request, he

'

with his

the
re-

own hands turned

he had found " Cymbeline."

His eyes

were fixed on the pages, but whether and

how much

the leaves

till

he read no one

will

dream or slumber, or

ever know, for again he lay in

let

his eyes rest

on the scene

outside.'

On
in the

Wednesday, October
'

London

Poets' Corner
'

Times

'

'

12, the poet

of Westminster Abbey.

of the next day begins

account of the services as follows

All that

was buried

its

The

detailed

was mortal

of the late Poet-Laureate has been

honour and simplicity side by side with
the dust of Chaucer, Spenser, Jonson, Dryden, Cowley,
and Browning. Of the immortal memory which surely

laid to rest with all

belongs to his poetry, instinct with strength, purity, grace,

and music, this is not the place to speak. Yet the solemn

ceremony

in

Westminster Abbey yesterday forms the

strongest possible testimony of the national belief that the

late

Lord Tennyson

the immortals.

is distinctly

Inside the

and emphatically one of

Abbey and without

testimony was given in different ways.

the

same

Within the walls

the privileged seats were filled by an assemblage eminently representative of the whole English-speaking race.
The Sovereign and the leading members of the Royal

THE LIFE AND WORKS

122

Family had

and sent
and regret the two Archbishops
were the embodiment of the Church of England. Statestheir official representatives present

their tributes of affection

men
side

common

of either party stood in

;

medicine, the law,

art,

sorrow at the grave-

the drama, poetry, literature,

and even the crude socialism of the day were repwho shared in one deep feeling
of general loss.
For the time, doubtless, all of them felt,
as they stood in mournful silence, as Tennyson felt when
he wrote of the Duke of Wellington,
science,

resented by leading men,

The

last great

Englishman

is

low.

And

their feeling was clearly shared by the seething

crowd of men and women without, waiting for the Abbey
doors to be opened, in the hope, not indeed of catching a

passing glimpse of the ceremonial, but of hearing the

music of the organ and the singing of the choir or of

catching in the distance the solemn sentences of the service.

Not

less impressive

was the throng

of those who,

despairing of obtaining even standing-room in the

Abbey

during the time while the service of burial proceeded,

waited in patience without, and then, when all was over,
poured in an uninterrupted stream through the doors to
take one last look at the grave, and perhaps to lay near it

some humble tribute of affection. In brief, the occasion

was altogether unique in its grandeur and its simplicity
and the day was one deserving to be recorded, not merely
by reason of its present and pathetic interest, but also as
a piece of English history.

The two anthems sung

settings of

at the funeral service

words by the dead Laureate

the

were

first

be-

ing the beautiful 'Crossing the Bar,' set simply and

impressively by Professor Bridge, the

Abbey

organist,

OF LORD TENNYSON.
*in

ment

123

for four-part choir without

major

accompani-

and the second, Lady Tennyson's musical

'

rendering of

'

The

melody

pressive

Silent Voices,' a

F minor

in

'

gentle and ex-

very effectively harmo-

nised for four voices with organ accompaniment by

Professor Bridge.'

Then

from the 'Times'] came the last

The clergy and the mourners

[to quote again

scene at the grave-side.

and the

coffin,

with the pall-bearers, advanced, to the

Marche Funebre,' and here for the

strains of Chopin's
first

time the

'

Dean took

part in the service, reading the

committal to the grave and the prayer and collect. Close

by the Dean and on his right hand were the Masters of

whom

Trinity College and of Balliol, of

the last-named

Close to them was a

lingered long by the grave.

little

Behind the little boy

were Mr. and Mrs. Augustine Birrell. At the far end from
the Dean were the Hon. Mr. and Mrs. Hallam Tennyson,
the former upright and calm, the latter with her head
bowed and closely veiled. Immediately behind them was
Mr. Irving, and not far back in the throng of mourners,
Mr. Lewis Morris. Behind the principal mourners, again,
was the Speaker of the House of Commons. Lord Salisbury kept his original place in relation to the coffin. Soon
all was over, and it was almost a relief to hear the choir
boy, a grandson of Lord Tennyson.

singing in triumphant

Holy, Holy

'

('

Nicaea

harmony Heber's hymn Holy,

which Lord Tennyson chose for
'

'),

wedding and considered to be the most beautihymns. Then, after the blessing had been said by
the Dean, one mourner after another gazed long at the
open grave, and left the Abbey amidst the silent crowd,
while the Dead March in Saul came floating from the
his son's
ful of

'

organ.

'

'

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

124

we may

Surely
*

as

say,

another has

Tennyson's burial was of a piece with

was

life,

that

which

of dignity and of calm and of an unbroken

full

Had

steadfastness.

over him,

it

any verse but

own been sung

his

could but have been the unequalled, Ely-

sian lines of Virgil, telling

and among

laurels,

said,

his

" fields

how among

the odorous

invested with purpureal

gleams," chanting together by the waters, and crowned

with snowy wreaths, are warriors and priests, and

who

deserve well of mankind

Quique

The

Phoebe digna

pii vates, et

grave of the Laureate

all

is

locuti.'

in the aisle of the

South Transept ('Poets' Corner'), near the entrance

to

Next

the Royal Chapels.

Browning, with

its

to

On

the other side

that 'near this stone

1400

Robert Moray,

Sir

Society,

1673;

above the spot

the

is

are

is

the

tomb of

Pilgrimage

'

buried Geoffrey Chaucer,

first

Immediately

1700.'

the beautiful Chaucer window, over

being reproduced

in

through which the chastened light

are in the

Denham,

President of the Royal

the poet, the incidents in the

ments below.

Robert

the slab which bears record

John Dryden,
is

Dryden memo-

Francis Beaumont, 1616; Sir John

1669;

the grave of

is

white stone slab inscribed

Browning, 1889,' and close by

rial.

it

The

the
falls

'

Canterbury

stained glass

on the monu-

busts of Longfellow

and Milton

same corner, with the memorials of Thomas

Gray, Ben Jonson, and Samuel Butler.

OF LORD TENNYSON,

was generally known before the death of Lord

It

Tennyson

that he

hands

printer's

with the

later,

had another volume of verse

and

title,

'

of

The Death of CEnone, Akbar's

London 'Academy'
it

in the

was published, a few weeks

this

Dream, and Other Poems.'

the

125

Mr. Lionel Johnson,

for

Nov.

in

1892, well says

5,

Like Browning's 'Asolando,' Tennyson's posthumous

is full of fine things, not unworthy of his prime
all varieties of Tennysonian thought and music are to be
found in this little book of twenty-four poems.
The

volume

'

Death

of

Dream'

CEnone,'

are

'

narrative

The

Telemachus,'

St.

or meditative

Bandit's Death

and

poems

'

Akbar's

in

blank

and Charity are rhymed

dramatic idyls
The Churchwarden and the Curate is a
dramatic study of Lincolnshire humours in the Lincolnverse

'

'

'

'

'

'

shire dialect

'

Kapiolani

'

is

a piece of savage heroism

unrhymed rhythm. There are five occasional

poems, three of them dedicatory, one patriotic, and one
memorial there are some eight poems of what may be
termed cosmic emotion and spiritual speculation, mostly
chanted

in

and sonorous measures three simple

and one sonnet.
It is very noticeable that Tennyson's later verse has
renounced much of that rich intricacy of workmanship
which used to distinguish it the emble?na verviiculatu7n,
in Lucilius's phrase,
intricate mosaic-work in words,
which was at once the poet's glory and his peril, ceased
written in long
lyrics

to fascinate him.

Like his

own

'laborious orient ivory,

sphere in sphere,' so his verse was a mar\'el of dexterous,

cunning craft but it is no new reproach or heresy to dare
;

to say that the

geous.

His

work was sometimes over-delicate or gorwas more direct in its beauty.

later verse

'

THE LIFE AND WORKS

126
more

and severe it became more Virgilian, less

more austere. It relied more and
more upon the powers of rhythm, and less upon the
charms of rhyme
and while something of the old
peculiar magic was lost, we were compensated by the
greater simplicity and strength.
No one doubts that the
'Lotos-Eaters,' Ulysses,' and many more of the poems
which we have known for years, including some score of
lyrics, will be held his greatest work
but in my judgment the books of his old age contain poems finer than
any but the very finest works of his middle age and
classical

Statian; less opulent,

'

youth.

There

Even

much beauty and power

is

so shght a thing as

perfect line,

and 'The

Ralph went down

'

in

the book.

'The Journey' contains the

Silent Voices' are

like a fire to the fight

still

echoing in our ears,

The Making of Man,' Faith,' and God and the

Universe are triumphs of rhythm and of prophetic fire, of
Delphic majesty and vision. But it is of little avail to
spend words upon these things just now. Under the
shadow of death not even the criticism of a master would
while

'

'

'

'

be of much value.
Year

will

graze the heel of year,

But seldom comes the poet here,

And
In closing

this

literary career of

to

me

in his
his

still

imperfect sketch of the

Tennyson,

let

me

seems

fortunate

fortunate in his university teachers and

whom

Voices

and

and the surroundings and influences of

birth

friends, to

life

say that he

one of the most fortunate of poets

boyhood

Two

the Critic's rarer

;
'

he alludes so eloquently

fortunate in the

in

'The

experiences, though

OF LORD TENNYSON.

127

the chief of these was the loss of his dearest friend,

that led to the silence of ten years, during

which

his

genius was maturing without the necessity of his earning his bread with the pen, as

compelled

do

to

many

poets have been

fortunate in later years in

no more of poverty

(if

poverty

it

knowing

could be called)

than might suffice to give a zest to the prosperity and

renown

that followed

fortunate in his marriage and

in his whole domestic

blest as
*

it

was with

all

life

fortunate in his old age,

that should

accompany old

honour, love, and troops of friends

in his death,
his

and

'

age,

fortunate even

which was heralded by no impairment of

powers and attended with no prolonged sickness

suffering

terity will

and fortunate

in the place that pos-

accord him in the royal succession of the

great English poets.

W.

J.

R.

POEMS.

VOL.

I.

yictoria.
Mezzotint by G. W. H. Ritchie.

TO THE QUEEN.
Revered, beloved

nobler

office

O you that hold

upon earth

Than arms, or power of brain, or birth

Could give the warrior kings of old,
Victoria,

since your

Royal grace

To one of less desert allows

This laurel greener from the brows

Of him

that utter

d nothing

base

And should your greatness, and the care

That yokes with empire, yield you time

To make demand of modern rhyme

If aught of ancient worth be there ;

Then

while a sweeter music wakes.

And thro
Where

The

wild March the

throstle calls.

all about your palace-walls

sun-lit almond-blossom shakes

TO THE QUEEN.

132

Take,

For

Madam,

this

poor book of song ;

thd' the faults

were thick as dust

In vacant chambers, I could trust

Your

kifidtiess.

And leave
As

rule us long,

us rulers of your blood

noble

May

May you

till

the latest day !

children of our children say,

'

She wrought her people lasting good

'

Her court was pure ; her

God gave her peace ;

thousand claims

life serene ;

her land reposed

to reveretice closed

In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen ;

And statesmen
Who knew

at her council met

when

the seasons

Occasion by the hand,

to

take

and 'make

The bo2inds offreedom wider yet

'

By

shaping some august

decree.

Which kept her throne unshaken

still,

Broad-based upon her people' s will,

And compassed by
March,

1851.

the inviolate sea.'

JUVENILIA.
CLARIBEL.
A MELODY.
I.

Where
The

Claribel low-lieth

"^

breezes pause and die,

Letting the rose-leaves

fall

But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, ^

Thick-leaved, ambrosial,

With an ancient melody

Of an inward agony,

Where

v ^

<-

Claribel low-lieth.

II.

At eve

the beetle

boometh

Athwart the thicket lone

At noon
About

the wild bee

hummeth

the moss'd headstone

CLARIBEL.

134

At midnight

And

looketh

Her song
The

the

moon cometh,

down

alone.

the lintwhite swelleth,

clear-voiced mavis dwelleth,

The

callow throstle lispeth,

The slumbrous wave

The babbling

The hollow
Where

outwelleth,

runnel crispeth,

grot replieth

Claribel low-lieth.

NOTHING WILL

DIE.

NOTHING WILL
When

will the

DIE.

stream be aweary of flowing

will the

Under

When

135

my

eye?

wind be aweary of blowing

Over the sky?

When
When

will the

clouds be aweary of fleeting?

will the heart

And
Never, oh

be aweary of beating?

nature die?

never, nothing will die

The stream
The wind
The cloud

The

blows,
fleets,

heart beats,

Nothing
Nothing

flows,

will die.

will die

All things will change

Thro* eternity.
'T

is

the world's winter

Autumn and summer

; ;

NOTHING WILL

136

DIE.

Are gone long ago

Earth

is

dry to the centre,

But spring, a new comer,

A spring rich and strange,

Shall

make

Round and

the winds blow

round,

Thro' and thro',

Here and

there,

Till the air

And

the ground

Shall be

fill'd

with

life

anew.

The world was never made

It will

So

let

change, but

it

will

the wind range

For even and morn

Ever

will

be

Thro' eternity.

Nothing was born

Nothing

will die

All things will change.

not fade.

! ;

ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

ALL THINGS WILL

Clearly

the blue river chimes

Under

my

Warmly and broadly the

137

DIE.

in its

flowing

eye
south winds are blowing

Over the sky.

One

after

another the white clouds are fleeting;

Every heart

May morning

this

in

joyance

beating
Full merrily

Yet

all

The stream
The wind

things must die.

will cease to flow;

will cease to

blow

The

clouds will cease to

The

heart will cease to beat

For

all

fleet

things must die.

All things must die.

Spring

will

Oh

come never more.

vanity

Death waits

at the

door.

is

; ;

138

ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

See

our friends are

all

forsaking

The wine and

the merrymaking.

We

we must go.

are call'd

Laid low, very low,

In the dark

we must

The merry

glees are

The

still

voice of the bird

Shall no

Nor

lie.

more be heard,

the wind on the

hill.

Oh! misery!
Hark

death

While

The jaw

The

is

calling

speak to ye,
is

falling,

red cheek paling.

The strong limbs

Ice with the

The

failing

warm blood mixing;

eyeballs fixing.

Nine times goes the passing

Ye merry
The

souls, farewell.

old earth

Had a birth,
As all men know,
Long

And

ago.

the old earth must die.

bell

ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

So

let

And

the

warm winds

range,

the blue wave beat the shore

For even and morn

Ye

will

never see

Thro' eternity.
All things were born.

Ye

will

For

all

come never more,

things must die.

139

LEONINE ELEGIACS.

140

LEONINE ELEGIACS.
Low-flowing

breezes are roaming the broad

dimm'd

valley

in the

gloaming:

Thoro' the black-stemm'd pines only the

far

river shines.

Creeping thro' blossomy rushes and bowers of

rose-blowing bushes,

Down by

the poplar

babble and

tall rivulets

Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly;

hopper carolleth

fall.

the grass-

clearly;

Deeply the wood-dove coos;

shrilly the owlet

halloos

Winds creep

dews

fall

chilly

in

her

first

sleep

earth breathes stilly

Over the pools

in the

burn water-gnats murmur

and mourn.
Sadly the

far

kine loweth

the glimmering water

outfloweth

Twin peaks shadow'd with pine slope

dark hyaline.

to

the

LEONINE ELEGIACS.
Low-throned Hesper
peaks

Throbbing

in

is

141

stayed between the two

but the Naiad

mild unrest holds him beneath

in

her breast.

The

ancient poetess singeth, that Hesperus

all

things bringeth,

Smoothing the wearied mind

bring

me my

love,

Rosalind.

Thou comest morning

or even; she

cometh not

morning or even.
False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where

RosaHnd?

is

my

sweet

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS,

142

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS
OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND.

God

my God

Men

1 faint, I fall.

have mercy now.

say that

Thou

Didst die for me, for such as me,

Patient of

ill,

and death, and scorn.

And that my sin was as a thorn

Among the thorns that girt Thy brow,
Wounding Thy soul.
That even now,

In this extremest misery

Of ignorance,

A sign

Would
While

and

I
if

rive the
I

should require
a bolt of

fire

slumbrous summer noon

do pray

to

Thee

alone,

my belief would stronger grow

Is not my human pride brought low?
The boastings of my spirit still?
The joy I had in my freewill

Think

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

143

grown?

All cold, and dead, and corpse-like

And what

And

is left

faith in

to

me, but Thou,

Men

Thee?

Christians with

me by;

pass

happy countenances

And children all seem full of Thee

And women smile with saint-like glances
Like Thine own mother's when she bow'd

Above Thee, on

When

that

happy morn

angels spake to

men

aloud.

And Thou and peace to earth were

Goodwill to me as well as all

born.

one of them

my

Brothers in Christ

brothers they

a world of peace

And
And
And

then one Heaven receive us

How

sweet to have a

confidence, day after day

trust

and hope

till

things should cease,

common

To hold a common scorn

And at a burial to hear

all.

faith

of death

The creaking cords which wound and

Into

my human

heart, whene'er

Earth goes to earth, with

With hopeful

eat

grief,

grief,

not fear.

were passing sweet

; ;

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

144

Thrice happy state again to be

The

on the knee

trustful infant

Who

rosy fingers play

lets his

About

Nothing beyond

his mother's eyes.

They comfort him by

They

He
He

and knows

his mother's neck,

night and day;

light his little life

alway

hath no thought of coming woes;

hath no care of

or death

life

Scarce outward signs of joy

Because the

And
And

arise,

Spirit of happiness

perfect rest so inward

is

loveth so his innocent heart

Her temple and her

Where

place of birth,

she would ever wish to dwell.

Life of the fountain there, beneath

Its salient springs,

and

far apart,

Hating to wander out on

Or breathe

Whose
Her

into the hollow air.

chillness

subtil,

would make

Oh

him with

sure

visible

warm, and golden breath,

Which, mixing with the

Fulfils

earth.

it is

infant's blood,

beatitude.

a special care

HS

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

Of God,

To arm

from doubt,

to fortify
in proof,

and guard about

triple-mailed trust, and clear

With

Delight, the infant's dawning year.

my gloomed fancy were

As thine, my mother, when with brows
Propt on thy knees, my hands upheld
Would

that

In thine, I Hsten'd to thy vows.

For me outpour'd
For me unworthy

Thy

in holiest
!

prayer

and beheld

mild deep eyes upraised, that knew

The beauty and repose of faith,

And

the clear spirit shining thro'.

Oh

wherefore do we grow awry

From

roots

which

strike so

Paths in the desert?

Bow
To

Could not

Here, and

What

I feel

until the ice

From

Devil had the heart to scathe

thine

deep,
I.

would melt

as thou hast felt?

Flowers thou hadst rear'd

VOL.

myself down, where thou hast knelt,

the earth

Was

deep ? why dare

lO

own

my

lily,

to brush the

when thy grave

mother,

in

the clay?

dew

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

146

Myself?

So

little

Is

it

Had

Myself?

thus?

Why

Prevail'd not thy pure prayers?

To one who heeds

But

Great

not?

will

not,

But why

love for thee?

who can

pray

save

and strong

in faith,

Against the grief of circumstance

Wert

thou, and yet unheard.

Thou

pleadest

still,

Thro' utter dark a

Unpiloted

drive

full-sail'd skiff,

whirlwinds, stooping low

Unto the death, not sunk

At matins and
That thou,

me

and seest

if

the echoing dance

i'

Of reboant

What

if

at

know,

evensong,

thou wert yet

alive.

In deep and daily prayers would'st strive

To

Albeit,

At
'

me

reconcile

my

hope

with thy God.

is

gray, and cold

heart, thou wouldest

Bring

My

this

Lord,

Would'st

lamb back

if

so

tell

it

me

into

be Thy
I

murmur

Thy

still

fold,

will;'

must brook the rod

And

chastisement of

That

pride, the sin of devils, stood

Betwixt

me and

human

the light of

pride;

God

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.
That hitherto

And had

had defied

rejected

God

that grace

Would drop from His o'er-brimming

As manna on my
If

would pray

And

Would

that

God would move

hard rock, and thence,

utmost bitterness,

in their

issue tears of penitence

Which would keep green

I

love,

wilderness,

strike the hard,

Sweet

I47

think that pride hath

Nor sojourn

in

me.

hope's

now no

am

life.

Alas

place

void.

Dark, formless, utterly destroyed.

Why

Why

not believe then?

Anchor thy

where man

frailty there,

Hath moor'd and rested?

At

midnight,

when

not yet

Ask

the sea

the crisp slope waves

After a tempest, rib and

fret

The broad-imbased beach, why he

Slumbers not

Wherefore

And

like a

mountain tarn?

his ridges are not curls

ripples of an inland

Wherefore he moaneth

Draw down

into his

mere?

thus, nor can

vexed pools

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

148

All that blue heaven which hues and paves

The other?

am

too forlorn,

my own weakness fools

My judgment, and my spirit whirls,

Too shaken

Moved from beneath

'

Yet,' said

I,

in

The unsunn'd

When
'

my

went forth

in

strength,

quest of truth,

may

stand forth

at length

unmoved of change,

image with profulgent brows,

And

perfect limbs, as, from the storm

Of running
Of

of youth,

freshness of

be that from doubt

Truth

An

my morn

lawless

fires

and

fluid

airs, at last

range

stood out

This excellence and solid form

Of constant
Feeds

in

And

For the ox

beauty.

the herb, and sleeps, or

The horned

In

fear.

man's privilege to doubt,

It is

If so

with doubt and

valleys

all

about,

hollows of the fringed

summer

Unfearing,

About

fills

hills

heats, with placid lows

till

his

his hoof.

own blood

And

in

flows

the flocks

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.
The lamb

149

rejoiceth in the year,

And raceth freely with his fere,

And answers to his mother's calls
From

In a time,

the flower'd furrow.

Of which he wots
Thro' his

warm

He knows

not,

A shadow;

not, run short pains

heart

on

and

and then, from whence

his light there falls

his native slope,

Where he was wont

to leap

and climb.

Floats from his sick and filmed eyes.

And

something

in the

darkness draws

His forehead earthward, and he

dies.

Shall

man

As

young lamb, who cannot dream,

live thus, in

joy and hope

Living, but that he shall live on?

Shall

we not look

Of life and

And

death, and things that seem.

things that be, and analyse

Our double
All creeds
If

into the laws

nature,

till

we have found

one there be?'

may
Some must

All

Whom

and compare

Ay me

the one,

fear

not doubt, but everyv/here

clasp Idols.

call I

Idol?

Let

Yet,

my

God,

Thy dove

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS.

ISO

Shadow me

over,

and

my

sins

Be unremember'd, and Thy love

Enlighten me.

Somewhat

Oh

me

teach

Weighs on me, and the busy

Of

yet

before the heavy clod

that sharp-headed

worm

fret

begins

In the gross blackness underneath.

O weary life O weary death

O spirit and heart made desolate
O damned vacillating state
!

THE KRAKEN.

151

THE KRAKEN.
Below

the thunders of the upper deep,

Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea.

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep

The Kraken
About

his

sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee

shadowy

Huge sponges

And

far

away

From many

sides

above him swell

of millennial growth and height;

into the sickly light,

wondrous grot and

secret cell

Unnumber'd and enormous polypi

Winnow

with giant arms the slumbering green.

There hath he

lain for

ages and

will lie

Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,

Until the latter

fire shall

Then once by man and

heat the deep

angels to be seen,

In roarincr he shall rise and on the surface die.

152

SOA'G.

SONG.

The

winds, as at their hour of birth,

Leaning upon the ridged

sea,

Breathed low around the rolling earth

With mellow

preludes,

'

We

The streams through many

are

a lilied

free.'

row

Down-carolling to the crisped sea.

Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow

Atween the blossoms,

'

We

are free.'

LILIAN.

153

LILIAN.
I.

Airy,

fairy Lilian,

Flitting, fairy Lilian,

When

ask her

if

she love me.

Claps her tiny hands above me,

Laughing

She

'11

not

Cruel

all

me

tell

little

she can
if

she love me,

Lilian.

II.

When my

passion seeks

Pleasance

in love-sighs.

She, looking thro' and thro'

Thoroughly

to

me

undo me,

Smiling, never speaks

So

innocent-arch, so cunning-simple,

From beneath

her gathered wimple

Glancing with black-beaded eyes.

Till the lightning

laughters dimple

The baby-roses

in

Then away she

flies.

her cheeks

LILIAiV.

1 54

m.

May

Prythee weep,

Lilian

Gaiety without eclipse

May

Wearieth me,

my
When

Thro'

very heart

Lilian
it

thrilleth

from crimson-threaded

Silver-treble laughter trilleth

Prythee weep,

May

Lilian.

IV.

Praying
If

all I

can,

prayers will not hush thee.

Airy

Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf

I will

Fairy Lilian.

crush thee,

lips

Airy, Fairy Lilian.

Lilian.

Photo-Etching from Painting by

Maud Humphrey.

ISABEL.

155

ISABEL.
I.

Eyes not down-dropt nor

With the

over-bright, but fed

clear-pointed flame of chastity,

Clear, without heat, undying, tended

Pure vestal thoughts

Of her

still

spirit;

Madonna-wise on
Sweet

lips

either side her

head

whereon perpetually did reign

of golden charity,

fixed shadows of thy fixed

Revered

The

in the translucent fane

locks not wide-dispread,

The summer calm

Were

by

Isabel, the

mood,

crown and head,

stately flower of female fortitude.

Of perfect wifehood and pure

lowlihead.

ISABEL.

156

II.

The

intuitive decision of a bright

And

thorough-edged

Error from crime

The

love

To

a prudence to withhold

laws of marriage character'd in gold

Upon

intellect to part

the blanched tablets of her heart

still

burning upward, giving light

read those laws

an accent very low

In blandishment, but a most silver flow

Of subtle-paced

counsel

in distress.

Right to the heart and brain, tho' undescried,

Winning
Thro'

all

its

way with extreme

gentleness

the outworks of suspicious pride;

A courage to endure and to obey

A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway,
Crown'd

Isabel, thro'

her placid

all

The queen of marriage,

life,

most perfect

wife.

III.

The mellow'd

reflex of a winter

clear stream flowing with a

Till in its

With

onward current

swifter

The vexed

it

movement and
eddies of

its

moon

muddy

one,

absorbs
in

purer light

wayward brother

ISABEL.

157

leaning and upbearing parasite,

Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite

With

cluster'd flower-bells

Of rich

and ambrosial orbs

fruit-bunches leaning on each other

Shadow

forth

thee

the

world

hath

another

(Tho'

And

all

her

thou of

Of such

fairest

God

in

forms are types of thee,

thy great charity)

a finish'd chasten'd purity.

not

';

;:

MARIANA.

IS8

MARIANA.
*

Mariana

moated grange.'

in the

Measure for Measure.

With

blackest moss the flower-plots

Were
The

thickly crusted, one and

rusted nails

from the knots

fell

That held the pear

The broken sheds

all

to the gable-wall.

look'd sad and strange

Unlifted was the clinking latch

Weeded and worn

Upon

the ancient thatch

the lonely moated grange.

She only

said,

'

My

life is

dreary,

He cometh not,' she said

She said, I am aweary, aweary,
'

Her

would that

tears

Her

fell

tears

were dead

with the dews at even

fell

ere the dews were dried

She could not look on the sweet heaven,

Either at

morn

or eventide.

;;

'

MARIANA.
After the

When

flitting

159

of the bats,

thickest dark did trance the sky,

She drew her casement-curtain

And

by,

glanced athwart the glooming

She only

'The night

said,

is

flats.

dreary.

He Cometh not,' she said

She said, I am aweary, aweary,
'

Upon

would that

the middle of the night.

Waking she heard

the night-fowl crow

The cock sung out an hour

From

Came

were dead

ere light

the dark fen the oxen's low

to her

without hope of change,

In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn.

Till cold

About

winds woke the gray-eyed morn

the lonely

She only

moated grange.

said,

He Cometh
She
I

About

said,

'

The day

'

not,'

am

would that

is

dreary,

she said

aweary, aweary,

were dead

'
!

a stone-cast from the wall

A sluice with

blacken'd waters slept,

;; ' '

MARIANA.

l6o

And

o'er

The

it

many, round and

small,

cluster'd marish-mosses crept.

Hard by

shook alway,

a poplar

All silver-green with gnarled bark:

For leagues no other

The

mark

tree did

level waste, the

rounding gray.

She only

My

said,

'

life is

dreary,

He Cometh not,' she said

She said, I am aweary, aweary,
'

would

that

were dead

And ever when the moon was low,

And the shrill winds were up and
In the white curtain, to and

away,

fro,

She saw the gusty shadow sway.

But when the moon was very low,

And

wild winds

bound within

The shadow of the poplar

Upon

their cell.

fell

her bed, across her brow.

She only

said,

'

The night

is

dreary.

He cometh not,' she said

She said, I am aweary, aweary,
'

would that

were dead

MARIANA.
dreamy house,

All day within the

The doors upon

The

blue

fly

sung

i6i

their hinges creak'd

the pane

in

the

Behind the mouldering wainscot

Or from
Old

mouse
shriek'd,

the crevice peer'd about.

faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,

Old footsteps trod the upper

Old voices

call'd

She only

flioors,

her from without.

said,

My

'

life is

dreary,

He Cometh not,' she said

She said, I am aweary, aweary,
*

would that

The sparrow's chirrup on

The slow clock

Which

to the

When

the roof,

and the sound

ticking,

wooing wind aloof

The poplar made,

Her sense

'

were dead

did

all

confound

but most she loathed the hour

the thick-moted

sunbeam

lay

Athwart the chambers, and the day

Was

sloping toward his western bower.

Then, said she,

He

will

She wept,
VOU.

1.

O
II

'

am

very dreary.

not come,' she said;

*

am

God, that

aweary, aweary,

were dead

'
!

: :

TO

62

TO

I.

Clear-headed

friend,

Edged with sharp

The knots

scorn,

laughter, cuts atvvain

that tangle

The wounding
The

whose joyful

human

creeds.

cords that bind and strain

heart until

it

bleeds,

Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn

Roof not
If

a glance so keen as thine

aught of prophecy be mine,

Thou

wilt not live in vain.

II.

Low-cowering
Falsehood

shall the Sophist sit

shall bare her plaited

brow

Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not

With

Nor

shrilling shafts of subtle wit.

martyr-flames, nor trenchant swords

Can do away

that ancient lie;

A gentler death shall

Shot

now

thro'

and

Falsehood

thro' with

die.

cunning words.

TO

163

III.

Weak

Truth a-leaning on her crutch,

Wan, wasted Truth

Thy

in

her utmost need.

kingly intellect shall feed,

Until she be an athlete bold,

And weary

with a finger's touch

Those writhed limbs of lightning speed

Like that strange angel which of old.
Until the breaking of the light,

Wrestled with wandering

Past

And

Yabbok brook

heaven's

mazed

Israel,

the livelong night,

signs stood

In the dim tract of Penuel.

still

MADELINE.

64

MADELINE.
I.

Thou art not steep'd in golden languors,

No tranced summer calm is thine,
Ever varying Madeline.
Thro' light and shadow thou dost range,

Sudden

glances, sweet and strange,

Delicious spites and darling angers,

And

airy forms of flitting change.

II.

Smiling, frowning, evermore,

Thou

art perfect in love-lore.

Revealings deep and clear are thine

Of wealthy

smiles

but

who may know

Whether smile or frown be

Whether smile

fleeter?

or frown be sweeter,

Who may

know?

Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow

: ;

MADELIXE.
Light-glooming over eyes divine,
Like

clouds sun-fringed, are thine.

little

Ever varying Madeline.

Thy smile and frown are

From one another,
Each

each

to

Hues of the

dearest brother;

is

silken

Momently shot
All the mystery

not aloof

sheeny woof
into

is

each other.

thine

Smiling, frowning, evermore,

Thou

art perfect in love-lore,

Ever varying Madeline.

III.

A subtle,
By

sudden flame.

veering passion fann'd,

About thee breaks and dances

When
The

would

kiss

flush of anger'd

thy hand.

shame

O'erflows thy calmer glances,

And

o'er black

brows drops down

A sudden-curved
But when
Thou,

frown

turn away.

willing

me

to stay,

165

MADELINE.

66

Wooest

not, nor vainly wranglest

But, looking fixedly the while,

All

my

bounding heart entanglest

In a golden-netted smile

Then
If

in

my

Thy

madness and

lips

in bliss.

should dare to kiss

taper fingers amorously,

Again thou blushest angerly;

And

o'er black

brows drops down

sudden-curved frown.

"When merry

milkmaids

click the latch."

The Owl
Photogravure from painting by

E. H.

Garrett.

t
e

iS-v'

ft.**

SONG THE

OWL.

1 67

SONG THE OWL.

I.

When

cats run

home and

light

is

come,

And dew is cold upon the ground,

And the far-ofif stream is dumb,
And the whirring sail goes round,
And the whirring sail goes round
Alone and warming

The white owl

his five wits,

in the belfry sits.

n.

When merry milkmaids click the latch,

And rarely smells the new-mown hay.
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice

his roundelay,

Twice or thrice

his roundelay;

Alone and warming

The white owl

his five wits,

in the belfry sits.

SECOND SONG.

68

SECOND SONG.
TO THE SAME.
I.

Thy tuwhits are lull'd, I wot,

Thy tuwhoos of yesternight,
Which upon

the dark afloat,

So took echo with

delight,

So took echo with

delight.

That her voice untuneful grown,

Wears

day a

all

fainter tone.

II.

would mock thy chaunt anew;

But

Not

cannot mimick

it;

a whit of thy tuwhoo,

Thee

to

woo

to

Thee

to

woo

to thy tuwhit,

With

thy tuwhit.

a lengthen'd loud halloo,

Tuwhoo,

tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o.

;;

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

69

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN

NIGHTS.

When

the breeze of a joyful

In the silken

The

sail

of infancy,

tide of time flow'd

The

dawn blew

back with me,

forward-flowing tide of time

And many

a sheeny

summer-morn

Adown the Tigris I was borne,

By Bagdat's shrines of fretted gold.
High-walled gardens green and old

True Mussulman was

For

it

was

in the

my

Alraschid.

shallop, rustling thro'

The low and bloomed

The

foliage,

fragrant, glistening deeps,

The citron-shadows

By

and sworn,

golden prime

Of good Haroun
Anight

drove

and clove

in the blue

garden porches on the brim.

The

costly doors flung

open wide,

free

70

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

glittering thro' lamplight dim,

Gold

And

broider'd sofas on each side

In sooth

For

it

it

was

was a goodly time,

in the

golden prime

Of good Haroun

Alraschid.

Often, where clear-stemm'd platans guard

The

outlet, did I turn

The boat-head down

From
The

away

a broad canal

the main river sluiced, where

Was damask-work,

and deep inlay

Of braided blooms unmown, which

Adown

to

where the water

A goodly place,
For

it

was

in the

A motion

from the

Ridged the smooth

crept

slept.

a goodly time.

golden prime

Of good Haroun

My

all

sloping of the moon-lit sward

Alraschid.

river
level,

won
bearing on

shallop thro' the star-strown calm.

Until another night in night

I enter'd,

from the clearer

Imbower'd vaults of

light,

pillar'd

palm,

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS,

Imprisoning sweets, which, as they clomb

Heavenward, were stay'd beneath the dome

A goodly time,

Of hollow boughs.
For

it

was

golden prime

in the

Of good Haroun

Still

Is

onward

rounded

From

and the clear canal

to as clear a lake.

the green rivage

Of diamond
Thro'

Alraschid.

little

Down

many

fall

musical,

rillets

crystal arches

low

from the central fountain's flow

Fallen silver-chiming, seemed to shake

The

sparkling

flints

beneath the prow.

goodly place, a goodly time,

For

it

was

in

the golden prime

Of good Haroun
Above

thro'

many

Alraschid.

bowery turn

A walk with vary-colour'd

Wander'd

engrain'd.

On

shells

either side

All round about the fragrant

From

fluted vase,

marge

and brazen urn

In order, eastern flowers large,

72

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Some dropping low

their crimson bells

Half-closed, and others studded wide

With

disks and tiars, fed the time

With odour

golden prime

in the

Of good Haroun
Far

off,

Alraschid.

and where the lemon grove

In closest coverture upsprung.

The

living airs of

middle night

Died round the bulbul

Not he

but something which possess'd

The darkness

of the world, delight,

Life, anguish, death,

Ceasing

as he sung;

immortal love,

not, mingled, unrepress'd,

Apart from place, withholding time,

But

flattering the

golden prime

Of good Haroun

Alraschid.

Black the garden-bowers and grots

Slumber'd

the solemn palms were ranged

Above, unwoo'd of summer wind

A sudden splendour from

Flush'd

all

behind

the leaves with rich gold-green,

And, flowing rapidly between

RECOLLECTIONS OF

TILE

ARABIAN NIGHTS.

Their interspaces, counterchanged

The

level lake with

Of dark and
For

it

was

in

diamond-plots

bright.

lovely time,

the golden prime

Of good Haroun

Alraschid,

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead,

Distinct with vivid stars inlaid,

Grew darker from

that under-flame

So, leaping lightly from the boat.

With

silver

anchor

left afloat.

In marvel whence that glory

Upon me,

as in sleep

came

sank

In cool soft turf upon the bank,

Entranced with that place and time.

So worthy of the golden prime

Of good Haroun

Thence

thro' the

garden

A realm of pleasance,
And many

Alraschid.

was drawn

many

mound.

a shadow-chequer'd lawn

Full of the city's stilly sound.

And

deep myrrh-thickets blowing round

173

174

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS.

The

stately cedar, tamarisks,

Thick rosaries of scented thorn.

Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks

Graven with emblems of the time,

In honour of the golden prime

Of good Haroun
With dazed

From

vision

Alraschid.

unawares

the long alley's latticed shade

Emerged,

came upon the great

Pavilion of the Caliphat.

Right to the carven cedarn doors.

Flung inward over spangled

Broad-based

Ran up

flights

floors,

of marble stairs

with golden balustrade.

After the fashion of the time.

And humour

of the golden prime

Of good Haroun
The

As

Alraschid.

fourscore windows

all

alight

with the quintessence of flame,

million tapers flaring bright

From

twisted silvers look'd to

The hollow-vaulted

shame

dark, and stream'd

"

Ga^ed on

the Persian girl alone.''

Recollections of the Arabian Nights.

Etching from Painting by

W.

St.

John Harper.

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS,

Upon

the

mooned domes

In inmost Bagdat,

till

aloof

there seem'd

Hundreds of crescents on the roof

Of night
To

new-risen, that marvellous time

celebrate the golden prime

Of good Haroun
Then

stole

Alraschid.

up, and trancedly

Gazed on the Persian

girl alone.

Serene with argent-lidded eyes

Amorous, and

lashes like to rays

Of darkness, and

brow

of pearl

Tressed with redolent ebony,

In

many

a dark delicious curl,

Flowing beneath her rose-hued zone

The

sweetest lady of the time.

Well worthy of the golden prime

Of good Haroun

Alraschid.

Six columns, three on either

Pure

silver,

side.

underpropt a rich

Throne of the massive

Down-droop'd,

in

ore,

many

from which

a floating fold,

Engarlanded and diaper'd

75

76

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS,

With inwrought

flowers, a cloth of gold.

Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd

With merriment of kingly

Sole star of
I

saw him

all

pride,

that place and time,

in his

golden prime,

The Good Haroun Alraschid.

ODE TO MEMORY.

177

ODE TO MEMORY.
ADDRESSED TO

I.

Thou who

stealest fire,

From the fountains of the past,

To glorify the present, oh haste,
!

Visit

my

low desire

Strengthen me, enlighten

me

I faint in this obscurity,

Thou dewy dawn

of

memory.

II.

Come

not as thou earnest of

late,

Flinging the gloom of yesternight

On

the white

Of orient

day

but robed

in soften'd light

state.

VVhilome thou camest with the morning mist,

Even

as a maid,

whose

stately

brow

The dew-impearled winds of dawn have

When

kiss'd.

she, as thou,

Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight

VOL.

I.

12

ODE TO MEMORY.

178

Of overflowing blooms, and

Of orient green, giving

Which

earliest shoots

safe pledge of fruits,

in wintertide shall star

The black

earth with brilliance rare.

III.

Whilome thou

And

earnest with the

morning

mist,

with the evening cloud,

Showering thy gleaned wealth

into

my

open

breast

(Those peerless flowers which

Never grow

When

in the rudest

wind

sere,

rooted in the garden of the mind.

Because they are the

Nor was

earliest of the year).

the night thy shroud.

In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest

Thou

leddest

The eddying
The
Of

light of

by the hand
of her

thine infant

Hope.

garments caught from thee

thy great presence

and the cope

the half-attain'd futurity,

Tho' deep not fathomless,

Was

cloven with the million stars which tremble

O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.

Small thought was there of life's distress;

"

Thou

leddest by the

hand

thine infant

Hope."

Ode to Memory.
Photo-Etching from Painting by

Maud Humphrey.

: !

ODE TO MEMORY.
For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could

Those

spirit-thrilling

79

dull

eyes so keen and beautiful:

Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres,

Listening the lordly music flowing from

The

illimitable years.

strengthen me, enlighten

1 faint in this

me

obscurity,

Thou dewy dawn of memory.

IV.

Come
Thou

forth, I

of the

charge thee,

many

Thou comest

tongues, the myriad eyes!

not with shows of flaunting vines

Unto mine inner

Divinest

arise,

eye,

Memory

Thou wert not nursed by

the waterfall

Which ever sounds and shines,

A pillar of white light upon the wall

Of purple

cliffs,

Come from
The seven

the

aloof descried

woods

elms, the poplars four

That stand beside

And
To

that belt the gray hillside,

chiefly

my

father's door.

from the brook that loves

purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand,

ODE TO MEMORY.

l8o

Or dimple
Drawing

in the

into his

dark of rushy coves,

narrow earthen urn,

In every elbow and turn,

The

filter'd tribute

of the rough woodland,

hither lead thy feet

Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat

Of the

thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds,

Upon

the ridged wolds,

When

the

matin-song hath waken'd loud

first

Over the dark dewy earth

What

time the amber

forlorn,

morn

Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud.

V.

Large dowries doth the raptured eye

To

the

young

When first
And like a

spirit

she

is

present

wed

bride of old

In triumph led.

With music and sweet showers

Of festal

flowers.

Unto the dwelling she must sway.

Well hast thou done, great
In setting round thy

first

artist

Memory,

experiment

ODE TO MEMORY.

l8l

With royal frame-work of wrought gold

Needs must thou dearly love thy

And

foremost

in

first

essay,

thy various gallery

where sweetest sunlight

Place

it,

Upon

the storied walls;

falls

For the discovery

And

newness of thine

That

all

Or

art so pleased thee,

which thou hast drawn of

boldest since, but lightly weighs

With thee unto the

love thou bearest

The

first-born of thy genius.

Ever

retiring thou dost gaze

On
No

fairest

Artist-like,

the prime labour of thine early days:

matter what the sketch might be

Whether

the high field on the bushless Pike,

Or even

a sand-built ridge

Of heaped

hills

that

mound

the sea.

Overblown with murmurs harsh,

Or even

a lowly cottage

Stretch'd

whence we see

wide and wild the waste enormous

marsh,

Where from

the frequent bridge.

Like emblems of

The trenched

infinity,

waters run from sky to sky;

ODE TO MEMORY.

82

Or

a garden bower'd close

With

plaited alleys of the trailing rose,

Long

alleys falling

down

to twilight grots,

Or opening upon

level plots

Of crowned

standing near

lilies,

Purple-spiked lavender:

Whither

From

in after life retired

brawling storms,

From weary

wind.

With youthful fancy

We may

re-inspired,

hold converse with

forms

all

Of the many-sided mind.

And

those

whom

passion hath not blinded,

Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.

My

friend, with

you

Were how much

to live alone,

better than to

own

crown, a sceptre, and a throne

strengthen me, enlighten

1 faint in this

me

obscurity,

Thou dewy dawn

of memory.

SOA'G.

183

SONG.
I.

A SPIRIT haunts the year's

last hours,

Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers

To
For

At

himself he talks

at eventide, listening earnestly.

his

work you may hear him sob and sigh

In the walks

Earthward he boweth the heavy

Of the mouldering

flowers

stalks

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over

grave

its

i'

the earth so chilly

Heavily hangs the hollyhock.

Heavily hangs the

tiger-lily.

II.

The

As

air

is

a sick man's

An

My
At

damp, and hush'd, and

room when he

close,

taketh repose

hour before death

very heart

faints

and

my

whole soul grieves

the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves,

SONG.

l84

And
Of

And

the breath

the fading edges of

box beneath,

the year's last rose.

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower

Over

its

grave

i'

the earth so chilly

Heavily hangs the hollyhock,

Heavily hangs the

tiger-lily.

"And

like

a bride of old

In triumph led^

Ode to Memory.
Photogravure from painting by Louis Meynelle.

A CHARACTER.

185

A CHARACTER.
With
At

upon the sky

a half-glance

night he said,

Of this most

The wanderings

'

Universe

intricate

Teach me the nothingness of things,'

Yet could not

Beyond

He

all

creation pierce

the bottom of his eye.

spake of beauty

Saw no

that the dull

divinity in grass,

Life in dead stones, or spirit in air;

Then looking

He smooth'd
And said the

He spake
More

And
And

't

were

his chin

in a glass,

and sleek'd

not the gods

when they wish

and Juno

sitting

to

by:

with a sweeping of the arm,

a lack-lustre dead-blue eye,

Devolved

his

his hair.

earth was beautiful.

of virtue

purely,

Pallas

as

rounded periods.

charm

A CHARACTER.

86

Most

delicately

hour by hour

He canvass'd human mysteries,

And trod on silk, as if the winds
Blew

And

his

own

praises in his eyes,

stood aloof from other minds

In impotence of fancied power.

With

lips depress'd as

he were meek,

Himself unto himself he sold

Upon

himself himself did feed

Quiet, dispassionate, and cold,

And
With

other than his form of creed.

chisell'd features clear

and

sleek.

THE POET.

THE
The

poet

in

POET.

a golden clime

With golden

stars

187

was born,

above

Dower'd with the hate of

the scorn of

hate,

scorn,

The

He

saw

love of love.

thro' life

He saw
The marvel

An

thro' his

The

own

open

ill.

soul.

of the everlasting

Before him lay

The

and death, thro' good and

will.

scroll,

with echoing feet he threaded

secretest walks of

fame

viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed

And

wing'd with flame,

Like Indian reeds blown from his

And of so fierce a flight.

From Calpe unto Caucasus they
Filling with light

silver tongue,

sung,

88

THE POET.

And

vagrant melodies the winds which bore

Them

earthward

till

they

lit

Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,

The

fruitful wit

anew

Cleaving, took root, and springing forth

Where'er they

fell,

behold,

Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew

A flower
And

all

gold,

bravely furnish'd

The winged

To throng

all

abroad to

fling

shafts of truth.

with stately blooms the breathing

spring

Of Hope and Youth.

So many minds did gird
Tho' one did

Heaven

flow'd

Of high
Thus

truth

their orbs with

beams,

fling the fire.

upon the soul

in

many dreams

desire.

was multiplied on

truth, the

world

Like one great garden show'd,

And

thro' the wreaths of floating

Rare sunrise

flow'd.

dark upcurl'd,

THE POET.

And Freedom
Her

When

189

rear'd in that august sunrise

beautiful bold brow,

rites

and forms before

Melted

his

burning eyes

snow.

like

There was no blood upon her maiden robes

Sunn'd by those orient skies;

But round about the

Of her keen

And

in

circles of the

eyes

hem was

her raiment's

Wisdom,

name

to

All evil dreams of power,

And when
Her words

And
Which

traced in flame

shake

a sacred name.

she spake,

did gather thunder as they ran,

as the lightning to the thunder

follows

Making
So was

globes

their

it,

riving the spirit of

man,

earth wonder,

meaning

Of wrath her

to her words.

right

But one poor poet's

arm

scroll,

No

sword

whirl'd,

and with his word

She shook the world.

THE POET'S MIND.

19^

THE

POET'S MIND.
I.

Vex

not thou the poet's mind

With thy shallow

Vex

wit:

not thou the poet's mind

For thou canst not fathom

Clear and bright

Flowing

it

it.

should be ever,

like a crystal river;

Bright as

light,

and clear as wind.

II.

Dark-brow'd sophist, come not anear;

All the place

is

holy ground

Hollow smile and frozen sneer

Come

not here.

Holy water

will I

pour

Into every spicy flower

Of the
The

laurel-shrubs that hedge

flowers

would

faint at

it

around.

your cruel cheer.

; ;

THE POET'S MIND.

In your eye there

There

is

Where you

From
The

death,

is

your breath

frost in

Which would

IQI

blight the plants.

stand you cannot hear

the groves within

wild-bird's din.

In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants.

It

would

fall

to the

ground

if

you came

in.

In the middle leaps a fountain

Like sheet lightning,

Ever brightening

With a low melodious thunder;

All day and

From

night

it is

stands in the distance yonder

springs on a level of bowery lawn,

And
And
And

the mountain draws

it

it

from Heaven above.

sings a song of undying love

yet, tho'

its

So keep where you

would shrink

voice be so clear and

You never would hear

It

ever drawn

the brain of the purple mountain

Which
It

all

are

it,

full,

your ears are so

you

to the earth

dull

are foul with sin

if

you came

in.

THE SEA-FAIRIES.

192

THE
Slow

sail'd

SEA-FAIRIES.

the weary mariners and saw,

Betwixt the green brink and the running foam,

Sweet

To

faces,

little

harps of gold

Whispering
Shrill

rounded arms, and bosoms prest

to

and while they mused,

each other half

in fear,

music reach'd them on the middle

sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away?

fly

no more.

Whither away from the high green

field,

and the

happy blossoming shore?

Day and

night to the billow the fountain calls

Down shower the gambolling

From wandering over the lea
Out of the

They

And

waterfalls

live-green heart of the dells

freshen the silvery-crimson shells.

thick with white bells the clover-hill swells

Higfh over the full-toned sea:

:; :

THE SEA-FAIRIES.

hither,

Come

hither to

Hither,

Here

We

come

come

it is

hither and furl your

me and

only the

For here are the

furl

the day

your

blissful

sails.

downs and

the rainbow forms and

dales,

flies

on the land

islands free

the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand

come

hither and see

the rainbow hangs on the poising wave,

sweet

is

the colour of cove and cave,

sweet shall your welcome be

hither,

come

hither,

For merry brides

We

all

that wails

the spangle dances in bight and bay.

Hither,

me

merrily, merrily carol the gales,

Over the

And
And
And

mew

you

Mariner, mariner,

And

to

sails,

hither and frolic and play;

will sing to

And
And
And

193

will

kiss

are

sweet

and be our

lords,

we
kisses,

and speak sweet

words

listen, listen,

your eyes

With pleasure and

listen, listen,

VOL.

I.

13

shall glisten

love and jubilee

your eyes

shall glisten

THE SEA-FAIRIES.

194

When

the

sharp clear twang of

the

golden

chords

Runs up the ridged

Who

sea.

can light on as happy a shore

All the world o'er,

Whither away?
ner, fly

all

listen

the world o'er?

and stay: mariner, mari-

no more.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

I.

Life and Thought have gone away

Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide

Careless tenants 'they

II.

All within

is

dark as night:

In the windows

And

no murmur

So frequent on

no

is

light

at the door,

its

hinge before.

III.

Close the door, the shutters close,

Or

thro' the

windows we

shall see

The nakedness and vacancy

Of the dark

deserted house.

195

THE DESERTED HOUSE.

196

IV.

Come away
Is

no more of mirth

here or merry-making sound.

The house was builded

And

of the earth,

shall fall again to

ground.

V.

Come away

for Life

Here no longer
But

and Thought

dwell,

in a city glorious

A great and distant city have bought

A mansion incorruptible.
Would they

could have stayed with us

THE DYING SWAN.

1 97

THE DYING SWAN.

I.

The

plain

was grassy,

Wide, wild, and open

Which had

An

built

wild,

up everywhere

under-roof of doleful gray.

With an

inner voice the river ran,

Adown it floated a dying

And loudly did lament.
It

and bare.

to the air,

swan,

was the middle of the day.

Ever the weary wind went on.

And

took the reed-tops as

it

went.

II.

Some

And

blue peaks in the distance rose.

white against the cold-white sky,

Shone out

One

their

crowning snows.

willow over the river wept,

And shook

the wave as the wind did sigh

THE DYING SWAN.

198

Above

in the

Chasing

And

wind was the swallow,

itself at its

far thro' the

own

wild

will,

marish green and

The tangled water-courses

still

slept,

Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

III.

The

wild swan's death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste
Hidden

in

place with joy

sorrow

The warble was

And

at first to the ear

low,

and

full

and clear

floating about the under-sky,

Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole

Sometimes

afar,

and sometimes anear;

But anon her awful jubilant voice,

With a music strange and manifold,

Flow'd forth on a carol

As when

free

and bold

a mighty people rejoice

With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of

gold,

And

the tumult of their acclaim

Thro' the open gates of the city

To

the shepherd
star.

is

roll'd

afar,

who watcheth

the

evening

THE DYING SWAN.

And
And
And
And
And

the

The

desolate creeks and pools among,

199

the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,

the willow-branches hoar and dank,

wavy

swell of the soughing reeds,

the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank.

the silvery marish-flowers that throng

Were

flooded over with eddying song.

; ;

A DIRGE.

200

DIRGE.
I.

Now

is

done thy long day's work

Fold thy palms across thy breast,

Fold thine arms, turn to thy

rest.

Let them rave.

Shadows of the

silver birk

Sweep the green

that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

II.

Thee nor carketh care nor slander

Nothing but the small cold worm
Fretteth thine enshrouded form.

Let them rave.

Light and shadow ever wander
O'er the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

A DIRGE.

20I

III.

Thou

wilt not turn

upon thy bed

Chaunteth not the brooding bee

Sweeter tones than calumny?

Let them rave.

Thou

wilt

From

the green that folds thy grave.

never raise thine head

Let them

rave.

IV.

Crocodiles wept tears for thee

The woodbine and

eglatere

Drip sweeter dews than

traitor's tear.

Let them rave.

Rain makes music

in the tree

O'er the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

V.

Round

thee blow, self-pleached deep,

Bramble

And

roses, faint

and

pale,

long purples of the dale.

Let them rave.

A DIRGE.

202

These

in

every shower creep

Thro' the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

VI.

The gold-eyed kingcups

The

frail

fine,

bluebell peereth over

Rare broidry of the purple

clover.

Let them rave.

Kings have no such couch as

As

thine,

the green that folds thy grave.

Let them rave.

VII.

Wild words wander here and there

God's great

gift

of speech abused

Makes thy memory confused

But

The

let

them

rave.

balm-cricket carols clear

In the green that folds thy grave.

Let them

rave.

:; :

LOVE AND DEATH.

203

LOVE AND DEATH.

What

time the mighty

moon was

gathering

light

Love paced the thymy

And

all

about him

And talking
You must
*

all

eyes

roll'd his lustrous

When, turning round

Death, walking

plots of Paradise,

a cassia,

full in

view,

alone beneath a yew,

to himself,

first

met

his sight

Death,

begone,' said

'

these walks

are mine.'

Love wept and spread

his

sheeny vans

flight,

Yet ere he parted

Thou

art the

said,

shadow of

'

This hour
life,

in

thine

and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows

So

is

all

beneath,

the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death

The shadow
But

I shall

passeth

when

the tree shall

reign for ever over

all.'

fall.

for

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

204

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

My

heart

wasted with

is

my

woe,

Oriana.

There

is

no

rest for

me

below,

Oriana.

When the long dun wolds are ribb'd with

And loud the Norland whirlwinds blow^
Oriana,

Alone

wander

to

and

fro,

Oriana.

Ere the

light

on dark was growing,

Oriana,

At midnight

the cock was crowing,

Oriana

Winds were blowing, waters

We

flowing.

heard the steeds to battle going,

Oriana;

Aloud the hollow bugle blowing,

Oriana.

snow,

THE BALLAD OF OR/ANA.

205

In the yew-wood black as night,

Oriana,

Ere

rode into the

fight,

Oriana,

While

By

blissful tears

star-shine

blinded

my

sight

and by moonlight,

Oriana,
I to

thee

my

troth did plight,

Oriana.

She stood upon the

castle wall,

Oriana

She watch'd

my

crest

among them

all,

Oriana:

me

She saw me

fight,

When

there stept a foeman

forth

she heard

call,

Oriana,

Atween me and the

castle wall,

Oriana.

The

bitter

arrow went aside,

Oriana:

The

false, false

arrow went aside,

Oriana:

tall,

!!

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

206

The damned arrow glanced

And

pierced thy heart,

my

aside,

my

love,

bride,

Oriana

Thy

heart,

my

life,

my

love,

my

bride,

Oriana

Oh

narrow, narrow was the space,

Oriana.

Loud, loud rung out the bugle's brays,

Oriana.

Oh

deathful stabs were dealt apace,

The

battle deepen'd in

place,

its

Oriana;

But

was down upon

my

face,

Oriana.

They should have

me where

stabb'd

lay,

Oriana

How

could

How

could

I rise

and come away,

Oriana?
I

look upon the day?

They should have

me where

stabb'd

Oriana

They should have

Oriana.

trod

me

into clay,

I lay,

:
!!
!

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

breaking heart that

207

will not break,

Oriana
pale, pale face so sweet

and meek,

Oriana

Thou

And

thou dost not speak,

smilest, but

then the tears run down

my

cheek,

Oriana

What

wantest thou ?

whom

dost thou seek,

Oriana?

1 cry aloud

none hear

my

cries,

Oriana.

Thou comest atween me and

the skies,

Oriana.
I feel

Up

the tears of blood arise

from

my

heart unto

my

eyes,

Oriana.

Within thy heart

my

arrow

lies,

Oriana.

cursed hand

cursed blow

Oriana

happy thou

that liest low,

Oriana

THE BALLAD OF ORIANA.

2o8

All night the silence seems to flow

me

Beside

in

my

utter woe,

Oriana.

A weary, weary way I

go,

Oriana.

When

Norland winds pipe down the

sea,

Oriana,
I

walk,

dare not think of thee,

Oriana.

Thou
I

liest

beneath the greenwood

dare not die and

come

to thee,

Oriana.
I

hear the roaring of the sea,

Oriana.

tree,

;; ;

CIRCUMSTANCE.

209

CIRCUMSTANCE.

Two

children in two neighbour villages

Playing

mad pranks

along the heathy leas

Two strangers meeting at a festival

Two lovers whispering by an orchard wall
Two lives bound fast in one with golden ease
Two graves grass-green beside a gray churchtower,

Wash'd with

Two

still

rains

and daisy blossomed

children in one hamlet born and bred

So runs the round of

VOL.

I.

14

life

from hour

to hour.

THE MERMAN.

210

THE MERMAN.
I.

Who would be
A merman bold,
Sitting alone,

Singing alone

Under the

sea,

With a crown of gold.

On

a throne?

II.

would be a merman bold

would

sit

and sing the whole of the day;

would

fill

the sea-halls with a voice of power

But

at night I

would roam abroad and play

With the mermaids

in

and out of the rocks,

Dressing their hair with the white sea-flower

And
I

holding them back by their flowing locks

would

And

kiss

kiss

them

often under the sea,

them again

till

they kiss'd

me

THE MERMAN.

211

Laughingly, laughingly;

And then we would wander away, away

To the pale-green sea-groves straight and

high,

Chasing each other merrily.

III.

There would be neither moon nor

make music above

But the wave would

afar

Low

thunder and light

would

us

in the

moon nor

Neither

We

star;

call

magic night

star.

aloud in the dreamy

dells,

whoop and cry

Call to each other and

All night, merrily, merrily;

They would

pelt

me

with starry spangles and

shells,

Laughing and clapping

their

hands between,

All night, merrily, merrily

But

would throw

to

them back

in

mine

Turkis and agate and almondine:

Then leaping out upon them unseen

I

would

And

kiss

kiss

them

often under the sea,

them again

till

they kiss'd

me

THE MERMAN

212

Laughingly, laughingly.

Oh

what a happy

life

were mine

Under the hollow-hung ocean green

Soft are the moss-beds under the sea;

We

would

live merrily, merrily.

" l4^ho

would be

Mermaid fair,

Singing alone.

Combing

her bair?"

The Mermaid.
Photo-Etching- from Painting by

F. S.

Ciiurch.

'

THE MERMAID.

213

THE MERMAID.
I.

Who

would be

mermaid

fair,

Singing alone,

Combing her
Under

hair

the sea,

In a golden curl

With a comb of

On

pearl,

a throne?

II.

would be a mermaid

would sing

With

And
'

myself the whole of the day

my

comb

of pearl

would comb

as

comb'd

would sing and

still

Who

to

fair;

is it

loves

would comb

Low

me? who

my

hair

till

loves not

my ringlets

starry sea-bud

say,

me?

adown, low adown.

From under my

hair;

crown

would

fall

THE MERMAID.

214

Low adown
And

and around,

should look like a fountain of gold

Springing alone

With a

shrill

inner sound,

Over the throne

In the midst of the hall;
Till that great

From

sea-snake under the sea

his coiled sleeps in the central

Would

slowly

Round

trail

deeps

himself sevenfold

the hall where

sate,

and look

in at the

gate

With

And

his large

Would
Die

the

all

calm eyes

for the love of

mermen under

feel their

me

the sea

immortality

in their hearts for the love of

me.

III.

But
I

at night I

would

fling

would wander away, away,

on each side

my

low flowing

locks,

And

lightly vault

With the mermen

from the throne and play

in

and out of the rocks

We

would run

On

the broad sea-wolds in the crimson shells,

to

and

fro,

and hide and seek,

THE MERMAID.
Whose
But

silvery spikes are nighest the sea.

any came near

if

215

And adown

would

and shriek,

call,

the steep like a wave

would leap

From

the diamond-ledges that jut from the dells

For

would not be

kiss'd

by

all

who would

Of the bold merry mermen under

They would

sue me, and

list,

the sea;

woo me, and

flatter

me,

In the purple twilights under the sea;

But the king of them

Woo

all

would carry me,

me, and win me, and marry me.

In the branching jaspers under the sea;

Then

all

the dry pied things that be

In the hueless mosses under the sea

Would

curl

round

my

silver feet silently,

All looking up for the love of me.

And

if I

should carol aloud, from

aloft

All things that are forked, and horned, and soft

Would

lean out from the hollow sphere of the

sea.

All looking

down

for the love of

me.

ADELINE.

2i6

ADELINE.
I.

Mystery

of mysteries,

Faintly smiling Adeline,

Scarce of earth nor

Nor unhappy, nor

But beyond expression

With thy

Thy

divine,

all

at rest,
fair

floating flaxen hair;

rose-lips

and

full

blue eyes

Take the heart from out

my

breast.

Wherefore those dim looks of

thine,

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

II.

Whence
Like a

Looks

As

lily

bloom

of thine.

which the sun

thro' in his sad decline,

And
Thou

that aery

a rose-bush leans upon,

that faintly smilest

a Naiad in a well.

still,

ADELINE.
Looking

Or

at the set

of day,

phantom two hours

Of a maiden
Ere the placid

old

past away,
lips

Wherefore those

be cold?

faint smiles of thine,

Spiritual Adeline?

III.

What hope

Who

or fear or joy

art not all alone.

beating hearts of salient springs

Keep measure

with thine

Hast thou heard the

What
Or

in stillest

Or when

To

butterflies

evenings
violet

his heart the silver

How

own?

they say betwixt their wings?

With what voice the

To

thine?

talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou

Do

is

woos

dews?

little airs arise,

the merry bluebell rings

the mosses underneath?

Hast thou look'd upon the breath

Of

the

lilies

at sunrise?

ADELINE.

Wherefore that

faint smile of thine,

Shadowy, dreaming Adeline ?

IV.

Some honey-converse
Some

spirit

feeds thy mind,

of a crimson rose

In love with thee forgets to close

His curtains, wasting odorous sighs

All night long on darkness blind.

What

aileth thee?

With thy

And
Thou

soften'd,

whom

waitest thou

shadow'd brow,

those dew-lit eyes of thine,

faint smiler,

Adeline ?

V.

Lovest thou the doleful wind

When

thou gazest at the skies ?

Doth the low-tongued Orient

Wander from

the side of the morn.

Dripping with Sabaean spice

On

thy pillow, lowly bent

With melodious

airs lovelorn,

Breathing Light against thy

face.

ADELINE.
While

his locks

Round thy neck

Make

219

a-drooping twined
in subtle ring

a carcanet of rays,

And

ye talk together

still,

In the language wherewith Spring

Letters cowslips on the

Hence

hill ?

that look and smile of thine.

Spiritual Adeline.

MARGARET.

220

MARGARET.
I.

O
O
What

SWEET

pale Margaret,

rare pale Margaret,

lit

your eyes with

Like moonlight on a

Who

lent you, love,

tearful

falling

shower?

your mortal dower

Of pensive thought and

aspect pale.

Your melancholy sweet and

As perfume

power.

frail

of the cuckoo-flower?

From

the westward-winding flood.

From

the evening-lighted wood,

From

all

A tearful

things outward
grace, as tho'

you have won

you stood

Between the rainbow and the

The very

sun.

smile before you speak,

That dimples your transparent cheek.

Encircles

The

all

the heart, and feedeth

senses with a

still

delight

MARGARET.

Of dainty sorrow

221

without sound,

Like the tender amber round

Which

the

Moving

moon about

her spreadeth,

thro' a fleecy night.

II.

You
To

love,

remaining peacefully,

hear the

murmur

But enter not the

Your

spirit is

toil

of the

of

life.

the calmed sea.

Laid by the tumult of the

You

strife.

fight.

are the evening star, alway

Remaining betwixt dark and bright

Lull'd echoes of laborious

Come
Float

to you,

day

gleams of mellow light

by you on

the verge of night.

III.

What

can

What

songs below the waning stars

The

it

matter, Margaret,

lion-heart, Plantagenet,

Sang looking

thro' his prison bars?

Exquisite Margaret,

The

last wild

who can

tell

thought of Chatelet,

MARGARET.

2 22

Just ere the falling axe did part

The burning

brain from the true heart,

Even in her sight he loved so well?

IV.

A fairy shield your

And

Genius made

gave you on your natal day.

Your sorrow, only

sorrow's shade,

Keeps

far

real

You move

You

sorrow

away.

not in such solitudes,

are not less divine,

But more human

Than your
Your

hair

in

your moods,

twin-sister, Adeline.

is

darker, and your eyes

Touch'd with a somewhat darker hue.

And

less aerially blue,

But ever trembling

thro' the

dew

Of dainty-woeful sympathies.
V.

O
O

sweet pale Margaret,

rare pale Margaret,

Come down, come down, and

hear

Tie up the ringlets on your cheek:

me

speak

MARGARET.
The sun

is

just about to set,

The arching

And

faint,

Moving

in

limes are

all

tall

and shady,

rainy lights are seen,

the leavy beech.

Rise from the

Where

223

feast of sorrow, lady.

day long you

sit

between

Joy and woe, and whisper each.

Or only look

across the lawn,

Look out below your bower-eaves,

Look down, and

Upon me

let

your blue eyes dawn

thro' the jasmine-leaves.

ROSALIND.

224

ROSALIND.
I.

My
My

Rosalind,

my

frolic falcon,

Whose

Rosalind,

with bright eyes,

free delight,

from any height of rapid

flight,

Stoops at

My
My

game

all

Rosalind,

my

that

wing the

skies,

Rosalind,

bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither,

Careless both of wind and weather.

Whither

Up

or

fly ye,

down

what game spy ye,

the streaming wind?

II.

The quick

lark's closest-caroll'd strains,

The shadow rushing up

the sea,

The

lightning flash atween the rains.

The

sunlight driving

The leaping
That

To

will

down

the lea.

stream, the very wind.

not stay, upon his way.

stoop the cowslip to the plains.

: ;

;
;

ROSALIXD.

225

not so clear and bold and free

Is

As

you,

You

my

falcon Rosalind.

care not for another's pains,

Because you are the soul of joy,

Bright metal

all

without alloy.

Life shoots and glances thro' your veins.

And

flashes off a

Thro'

lips

thousand ways.

and eyes

Your hawk-eyes

in subtle rays.

keen and bright,

are

Keen with triumph, watching

To

pierce

me

still

thro' with pointed light

But oftentimes they

flash

and

Like sunshine on a dancing

And your words

glitter

rill,

are seeming-bitter,

Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter

From

excess of swift delight.

III.

Come down, come home, my

My

gay young hawk,

Too long you keep

my

Rosalind,

Rosalind

the upper skies

Too long you roam and wheel

at will

But we must hood your random eyes,

That care not

VOL.

I.

15

whom

they

kill,

ROSALIND.

26

And your
Is so

cheek, whose brilHant hue

sparkhng-fresh to view,

Some

red heath-flower in the dew,

Touch'd with

sunrise.

And keep you

Fast, fast,

my

fast,

my

We

must bind

Rosalind,

wild-eyed Rosalind,

And clip your wings, and make you love

When we have lured you from above.
And that delight of frolic flight, by day or
From North

We

'II

to South,

bind you

And kiss away

From off your

fast in silken cords,

the bitter words

rosy mouth.

night,

ELEANORE.

227

ELEANORE.
I.

Thy
Nor

dark eyes open'd not,

first

reveal'd themselves to English

For there

is

air,

nothing here

Which, from the outward

to the

inward brought,

Moulded thy baby thought.

Far

off

from human neighbourhood.

Thou wert

born, on a

summer morn,

mile beneath the cedar-wood.

Thy bounteous

forehead was not fann'd

With breezes from our oaken

But thou wert nursed

Of

lavish lights

in

some

flattering

The

oriental fairy brought,

the

delicious land

and floating shades

And
At

glades.

thy childish thought

moment

of thy birth.

From old well-heads of haunted

And the hearts of purple hills,

rills,

ELEANORS.

!8

And

shadow'd coves on a sunny shore.

The

choicest wealth of

Jewel or

shell,

To deck thy

all

the earth,

or starry ore,

cradle, Eleanore.

II.

Or

the yellow-banded bees,

Thro' half-open

Coming
Fed

in

lattices

the scented breeze.

thee, a child, lying alone,

With whitest honey

in fairy

gardens

cull'd, -

glorious child, dreaming alone.

In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down,

With the hum of swarming bees

Into dreamful slumber luU'd.

III.

Who may
Summer

minister to thee?

herself should minister

To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded

On golden salvers, or it may be,
Youngest Autumn,

in a

bower

Grape-thicken'd from the

With many

light,

and blinded

a deep-hued bell-like flower

ELEANORE.

Of fragrant

trailers,

Sleepeth over

And

all

229

when

the air

the heaven,

the crag that fronts the Even,

All along the shadowing shore,

Crimsons over an inland mere,

Eleanore

IV.

How may
How may
The

full-sail'd

measured words adore

full-flowing

Of thy

verse express,

harmony

swan-like stateliness,

Eleanore?

The

luxuriant

Of thy

symmetry

floating gracefulness,

Eleanore?

Every turn and glance of

Every lineament

thine,

divine,

Eleanore,

And

the steady sunset glow,

That stays upon thee?

Is

For

in

thee

nothing sudden, nothing single;

Like two streams of incense free

From one

censer

in

one shrine,

Thought and motion mingle,

ELEANORE.

230

Motions flow

Mingle

ever.

To one

another, even as tho'

They were modulated

so

To an unheard melody,
Which
Of

lives

about thee, and a sweep

evermore

richest pauses,

Drawn from each

Who may

other mellow-deep

express thee, Eleanore?

V.
I

stand before thee, Eleanore;

see thy beauty gradually unfold,

Daily and hourly, more and more.

I

muse, as

in a trance,

the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold.

Comes
I

out thy deep ambrosial smile^

muse, as

The

in a trance,

languors of thy love-deep eyes

Float on to me.

So tranced, so rapt

To

whene'er

would

were

in ecstasies.

stand apart, and to adore.

Gazing on thee

for evermore,

Serene, imperial Eleanore

ELEANORE.

231

VI.

Sometimes, with most

Gazing,

seem

Thought

intensity-

to see

folded over thought, smiling asleep,

Slowly awaken'd, grow so

and deep

full

In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite,

I

cannot

But

As

am

or droop

veil,

as nothing in

Should slowly round

a

Fix'd

full face,

heaven

set,

it.

his orb,

and slowly grow

there like a sun remain

then as slowly fade again,

And draw
So

sight,

light:

its

tho' a star, in inmost

Even while we gaze on

To

my

full,

itself to

what

it

was before

so deep, so slow,

Thought seems

to

come and go

In thy large eyes, imperial Eleanore.

VII.

As

thunder-clouds that, hung on high,

Roof 'd

the world with doubt and fear,

Floating thro' an evening atmosphere.

Grow golden

all

about the sky

ELEANORE.

232

In thee

all

passion becomes passionless,

Touch'd by thy
Losing

his fire

spirit's

mellowness,

and active might

In a silent meditation,
Falling into a

still

delight,

And luxury of contemplation

As waves that up a quiet cove
and lying

Rolling

slide,

Shadow

forth the

still

banks

Or sometimes they

swell

at will

and move.

Pressing up against the land,

With motions of the outer

And

the selfsame influence

Controlleth

Of

sea:

all

the soul and sense

Passion gazing upon thee.

His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love,

Leaning

his

cheek upon

Droops both

And

his hand.

his wings, regarding thee,

so would languish evermore.

Serene, imperial Eleanore.

VIII.

But when

see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,

While the amorous, odorous wind

ELBA NO RE.

233

Breathes low between the sunset and the

moon

Or, in a shadowy saloon,

On
I

silken cushions half reclined;

watch thy grace

My

and

in its place

heart a charmed slumber keeps,

While

And

muse upon thy

a languid

Thro'

my

fire

veins to

face

creeps
all

my

Dissolvingly and slowly

frame,

soon

From thy

rose-red lips

MY name

Floweth

and then, as

in a

With dinning sound

My tremulous
I lose
I

my

ears are

rife,

faltereth,

lose

my

breath,

drink the cup of a costly death,

I die

with

my

hear what

Yet
I

tongue

colour,

Brimm'd with

my

swoon.

tell

delirious draughts of
delight, before

would hear from thee

my name

again to me,

would be dying evermore,

So dying

ever, Eleanore.

warmest

life.

MV

234

WEARY

LIFE IS FULL OF

DAYS.

I.

My

of weary days,

life is full

But good things have not kept

Nor wander'd
I

aloof,

ways

into other

have not lack'd thy mild reproof,

Nor golden

And now

largess of thy praise.

shake hands across the brink

Of that deep grave

Shake hands once more

So

far

Thy

far

voice,

which

to
:

down, but

go

cannot sink

I
I

shall

know

and answer from below.

II.

When

in the darkness

over

The four-handed mole

me

shall scrape,

Plant thou no dusky cypress-tree,

Nor wreathe thy cap with

But pledge

me

in the

doleful crape,

flowing grape.

MY

LIFE IS FULL OF

And when

the sappy field and

Grow green beneath

Ring sudden

let

DAYS.

235

wood

the showery gray,

And rugged barks begin

And thro' damp holts

Then

WEARY

to bud,

new-flush'd with

scritches of the jay,

wise Nature work her

will,

And on my clay her darnel grow;

Come only when the days are still,
And at my headstone whisper low,
And tell me if the woodbines blow.

may

EARLY SONNETS.

236

EARLY SONNETS.

TO
As when

downcast

with

eyes

we muse and

brood,

And ebb

seem

into a former Hfe, or

To

lapse far back in

To

states of mystical similitude,

If

some confused dream

one but speaks or hems or

stirs his chair,

Ever the wonder waxeth more and more.

So

that

we

say,

All this hath been before,

All this hath been,

So, friend,

when

Our thought

know

first I

not

look'd

gave answer

when

or where

upon your

face.

each to each, so

true

Opposed mirrors each

That

tho'

Methought

And

knew not
that

reflecting each

in

'
;

what time or place,

had often met with you.

either lived in cither's heart

and speech.

EARLY SONNETS.

237

II.

TO

My

A
To

hope and heart

latter

M. K.

with thee

thou wilt be

Luther, and a soldier-priest

scare church-harpies from the master's feast

Our dusted

Thou

art

Distill'd

velvets have

much need

of thee

no sabbath-drawler of old saws,

from some worm-canker'd homily;

But spurr'd

To

is

J.

at heart with fieriest

energy

embattail and to wall about thy cause

With iron-worded

The humming of

proof, hating to hark

the drowsy pulpit-drone

Half God's good sabbath, while the worn-out

clerk

Brow-beats his desk below.

Mounted

in

Arrows of

heaven

wilt

lightnings.

Thou from

a throne

shoot into the dark

I will

stand and mark.

EARLY SONNETS.

238

III.

Mine be

the strength of

spirit, full

and

free,

Like some broad river rushing down alone,

With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was

thrown

From

his loud fount

Which with

upon the echoing

lea;

increasing might doth forward flee

By town, and tower, and hill, and cape, and isle.

And in the middle of the green salt sea
Keeps his blue waters fresh for many a mile.
Mine be the power which ever

to

its

sway

Will win the wise at once, and by degrees

May

into uncongenial spirits flow

Even

as the

Floats far

The

warm

away

gulf-stream of Florida

into the

Northern seas

lavish growths of southern Mexico.

EARLY SONNE TS.

239

IV.

ALEXANDER.
Warrior

of

God, whose

strong right

arm

debased

The throne of Persia, when her Satrap bled

At

Issus

by the Syrian

gates, or fled

Beyond the Memmian naphtha-pits, disgraced

For ever

thee (thy pathway sand-erased)

ending with equal crowns two serpents

led

Joyful to that palm-planted fountain-fed

Ammonian
There

Oasis in the waste.

in a silent

shade of laurel brown

Apart the Chamian Oracle divine

Shelter'd his

High

unapproached mysteries

things were spoken there,

Only they saw thee from the

unhanded down

secret shrine

Returning with hot cheek and kindled eyes.

EARL V SONNE TS.

2 40

V.

BUONAPARTE.

He

thought to quell the stubborn hearts of oak,

Madman

to chain with chains, and bind with

bands

That island queen who sways the floods and

lands

From Ind

When

to Ind, but in fair daylight woke,

from her wooden

hands,

walls,

With thunders, and with

by

lit

lightnings,

sure

and with

smoke,
Peal after peal, the British battle broke.

Lulling the brine against the Coptic sands.

We

taught him lowlier moods, when Elsinore

Heard the war moan along the

Rocking with

Flamed over

We

shatter'd spars, with

taught him

at Trafalgar yet
:

late

Perforce, like those

briers.

distant sea,

sudden

fires

once more

he learned humility

whom

Gideon school'd with

EARLY SONNETS.

24

VI.

POLAND.

How long, O
And

shall

men be

trampled under by the

Of men?
To

God,

The

last

ridden down,

and

least

heart of Poland hath not ceased

quiver, tho' her sacred blood doth

The

fields,

and out of every smouldering town

Cries to Thee, lest brute

Power be

increased.

o'ergrown Barbarian in the East

Till that

Transgress

to

ample bound

his

crown,
Cries

drown

to

Thee,

'

Lord,

how

some new

long shall

these

things be?

How

long this icy-hearted Muscovite

Oppress the region?

who

stand

right,

Us,

who smiled when

Forgive,

Us,

'

Just and Good,

she was torn

in three

now, when we should aid the

matter to be wept with tears of blood

VOL.

I.

16

EARLY SONNETS.

242

VII.

Caress'd or chidden by the slender hand,

And

singing airy

Light

Hope

at

trifles this

Beauty's

or that,

call

avouM perch and

stand,

And run thro' every change of sharp and flat

And Fancy came and at her pillow sat,
When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band,
And chased away the still-recurring gnat,
And woke her with a lay from fairy-land.
But now they

For Hope

Nor

is

live

with Beauty less and

other

Hope and wanders

far.

cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds

And Fancy

watches

in the wilderness,

Poor Fancy sadder than a single

That

less,

star.

sets at twilight in a land of reeds.

EA RL Y SONNE TS.

2 43

VIII.

The

form, the form alone

eloquent

is

A nobler yearning never broke

Than but

And

win

all

Yet

in

My

fancy

To

to

dance and
eyes with

made me

my

find

for a

The phantom of

And
She

if

moment

blest

to rob

it

of content.

a wish that once could

that

move,

no smiles restore

the slight coquette, she cannot love.

you

still

went,

the tenderness of tears,

A ghost of passion
!

we

heart so near the beauteous breast

moment came

For ah

drest,

accomplishment

the whirling dances as

That once had power

be gaily

sing,

all

her rest

kiss'd her feet a

would take the

thousand years,

praise,

and care no more.

EARLY SONNETS.

244

IX.

Wan

Sculptor, vveepest thou to take the cast

Of those dead

lineaments that near thee lie?

sorrowest thou, pale Painter, for the past,

some dead

In painting

Weep

His object

My tears,
No
1

lives

no

from memory?

more cause

to

tears of love, but tears that

Nor

care to
pity

sit

weep have

it

in

Love can

it

die.

any cheerful cup,

beside her where she

hint

But breathe

With

last:

tears of love, are flowing fast,

pledge her not

Ah

friend

on: beyond his object Love can

not in

into earth

human

sits

tones,

and close

it

up

secret death for ever, in the pits

Which some green Christmas crams

bones.

with weary

EARLY SONNETS.

245

X.

If

were loved,

What

And
That

is

there in the great sphere of the earth,

range of
I

as I desire to be,

should

All the inner,

evil

between death and

fear,
all

birth,

were loved by thee ?

if I

the outer world of pain

Clear Love would pierce and cleave,

if

thou wert

mine,

As

have heard

that,

Fresh-water springs

somewhere

in the

main.

come up through

bitter

brine.

'Twere joy, not

fear,

claspt hand-in-hand with

thee,

To

wait for death

mute careless of

Apart upon a mountain,

tho' the surge

Of some new deluge from

a thousand

Flung leagues of roaring foam

Below

us, as far

on

as

all ills.

hills

into the gorge

eye could

see.

'

'!

EARLY SONNETS.

246

XI.

THE BRIDESMAID.
BRIDESMAID, ere the happy knot was

tied,

Thine eyes so wept that they could hardly see

Thy

sister

smiled and said,

A happy bridesmaid
And

No

makes a happy

then, the couple standing side

Love lighted down between them

And
*

over his

left

bride.'

by

full

side,

of glee,

shoulder laugh'd at thee,

happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride

And

all at

once a pleasant truth

For while the tender

1

me

tears for

service

I learn'd,

made

thee weep,

loved thee for the tear thou couldst not hide.

And prest thy hand, and knew the press return'd.

And thought, My life is sick of single sleep
*

happy bridesmaid, make a happy bride

THE LADY OF SHALOTT,

AND OTHER POEMS.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART

On

I.

either side the river

Long

fields

lie

of barley and of rye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky

And

thro' the field the road runs

by

To many-tower'd Camelot;

And up and down

Gazing where the

Round an

the people go,

lilies

blow

island there below.

The

island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,

Little breezes

dusk and shiver

Thro' the wave that runs for ever

By

the island in the river

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

248

Flowing down

Four gray

walls

Camelot

to

and four gray towers

Overlook a space of flowers,

And

the silent

isle

The Lady

By

of Shalott.

the margin, willow-veil'd.

heavy barges

Slide the

By

imbowers

slow horses

The

trail'd

and unhail'd

shallop flitteth silken-sail'd

Skimming down

to

Camelot

But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or

at the

Or

is

she

casement seen her stand?

known

in all the land,

The Lady of Shalott?

Only
In

reapers, reaping early

among

the bearded barley,

Hear a song

From

that echoes cheerly

the river winding clearly

Down
And by

the

to tower'd

moon

Camelot

the reaper weary.

Piling sheaves in uplands airy.

Listening, whispers,

Lady of

'

'T

Shalott.'

is

the fairy

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART

There

II.

she weaves by night and day

A magic web with

colours gay.

She has heard a whisper

A curse

is

To

on her
look

if

say,

she stay

down

to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may

And
And

so she weaveth steadily,

little

other care hath she,

The Lady

And moving

of Shalott.

thro' a mirror clear

That hangs before her

all

the year.

Shadows of the world appear.

There she sees the highway near

Winding down
There the

And
And

river

eddy

to

Camelot:

whirls,

there the surly village-churls.

the red cloaks of market

girls,

Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels

An

249

abbot on an ambling pad,

glad,

be.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

250

Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,

Or

long-hair'd page in crimson clad,

Goes by

And

to tower'd

sometimes

Camelot

thro' the mirror blue

The knights come

riding two and two

She hath no loyal knight and

The Lady
But

in

her

true,

of Shalott.

web she

still

delights

To weave

the mirror's magic sights,

For often

thro' the silent nights

funeral, with

And
Or when

plumes and

lights

music, went to Camelot:

the

moon was

overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed;

I am half sick of shadows,' said

The Lady of
PART

Shalott.

III.

A BOW-SHOT from her bower-eaves.

He

rode between the barley-sheaves,

The sun came

And

dazzling thro' the leaves,

flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold

Sir Lancelot.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd

To

a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on the yellow

field,

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy

bridle glitter'd free,

Like to some branch of stars we see

Hung
The

in the

bridle bells rang merrily

As he

And

rode down to Camelot

from his blazon'd baldric slung

mighty

And

golden Galaxy.

as

silver

bugle hung,

he rode his armour rung,

Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather

Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,

The helmet and

the helmet-feather

Burn'd like one burning flame together.

As he
As

rode down to Camelot;

often thro' the purple night,

Below the

starry clusters bright,

Some bearded

meteor, trailing light,

Moves over

still

Shalott.

251

252

LADY OF SHALOTT.

T/fJS

His broad clear brow

On

in sunlight

glow'd

burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath

helmet flow'd

his

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down

From

He
*

to Camelot.

the bank and from the river

flash'd into the crystal mirror,

Tirra

She

lirra,'

by the

Sang

Sir Lancelot.

left

river

the web, she

left

the loom,

She made three paces

thro' the

She saw the

bloom,

water-lily

room,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down

Out

flew the

The mirror
'

The

curse

web and

to Camelot.

floated wide

crack'd from side to side

is

come upon

me,' cried

The Lady of Shalott.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

PART

253

IV.

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The

woods were waning,

pale yellow

The broad stream

in his

banks complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over tower'd Camelot

Down

she

came and found

Beneath a willow

And

a boat

left afloat.

round about the prow she wrote

The Lady of Shalott.

And down

the river's

Like some bold seer

Seeing

With

all his

in a trance,

own mischance,

a glassy countenance

Did she look

And

dim expanse,

to Camelot.

at the closing of the

She loosed the

chain, and

day

down she

The broad stream bore her

far

away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed

in

snowy white

That loosely flew

to left

and right

lay;

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

254

The

leaves

upon her

falling light

Thro' the noises of the night

She

And

floated

down

as the boat-head

The willowy

They heard

hills

and

to

Camelot;

wound along
fields

her singing her

The Lady of Shalott,

Heard

among,
last

song,

a carol, mournful, holy,

Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,

her blood was frozen slowly,

Till

And

her eyes were darken'd wholly,

Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

For ere she reach'd upon the

The

first

tide

house by the water-side.

Singing in her song she died.

The Lady

of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,

By

garden-wall and gallery,

A gleaming shape she

floated by,

Dead-pale between the houses high,

Silent into Camelot.

;:

THE LADY OF SHALOTT.

Out upon

255

the wharfs they came,

Knight and burgher, lord and dame,

And

round the prow they read her name,

The Lady of Shalott.

Who
And

is

this?

in the

and what

is

here?

Hghted palace near

Died the sound of royal cheer

And

they cross'd themselves for

fear,

All the knights at Camelot

But Lancelot mused a

He

said,

God

in

'

little

She has a lovely

space
face

His mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott.'

'

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

256

MARIANA
With

IN

THE SOUTH.

one black shadow

The house

at its feet,

thro' all the level shines,

Close-latticed to the brooding heat,

And

silent in its

dusty vines

A faint-blue ridge upon the

An empty
And

right,

river-bed before,

shallows on a distant shore,

In glaring sand and inlets bright.

But Ave Mary,' made she moan,

'

And Ave Mary,' night and morn.

And Ah,' she sang, to be all alone,
'

'

To

'

live forgotten,

and love forlorn

She, as her carol sadder grew.

From brow and bosom

slowly

down

Thro' rosy taper fingers drew

Her streaming

curls of deepest

brown

'

'

'

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

To

and

left

257

and made appear,

right,

Still-lighted in a secret shrine,

Her melancholy eyes

divine,

The home of woe without

And Ave
'

Mary,' was her moan,

Madonna, sad

And

To

Till all the

a tear.

night and morn,'

is

Ah,' she sang,

live forgotten,

be

to

'

all

alone.

and love forlorn

crimson changed, and past

Into deep orange o'er the sea.

Low on

her knees herself she

Before Our

Complaining,

To

help

And on
The

'

Mother, give
of

my

cast,

she.

me

grace

weary load

the liquid mirror glow'd

clear perfection of her face.

*

Is this the form,'

*

That won

And
I

Nor

me

Lady murmur'd

'

she

made her moan,

his praises night

Ah,' she said,

sleep forgotten,

but

wake

and morn?

wake

alone,

forlorn

bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,

Nor any cloud would

VOL.

I.

17

cross the vault,

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

2S8

But day increased from heat

On
Till

to heat,

stony drought and steaming salt;

now

at

noon she

slept again,

And seem'd knee-deep in mountain

And heard her native breezes pass.
And runlets babbling down the glen.
She breathed

in sleep a

And murmuring,
She thought,

Walks

'

My

Dreaming, she knew

She

as at night

forlorn.'

the babble of the stream

Shrank one

And

is

steady glare

sick willow sere

and small.

river-bed was dusty-white

all

and morn,

here alone.

was a dream

Fell, and, without, the

The

is

he was and was not there.

felt

She woke

it

lower moan,

spirit

forgotten, and

grass,

the furnace of the light

Struck up against the blinding wall.

She whisper'd, with

a stifled

More inward than

'

Sweet Mother,

let

moan

at night or

me

morn,

not here alone

Live forgotten and die

forlorn.'

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

And,

rising,

Old
For

breathing of her worth,

Love,' they said,

loveliest

is

image seem'd

To
*

from her bosom drew

letters,

To what

An

must needs be

upon

true,

earth.'

and say,

slight,

But now thy beauty flows away.

'

O
'

for evermore.'

And

To

cruel love,

whose end

end to be

live forgotten,

But sometimes

An

changed her tone,

cruel heart,' she

Is this the

'

'

to pass the door.

look at her with

So be alone

To

259

in

left

scorn,

is

alone,

and die forlorn?

'

the falling day

image seem'd

to pass the door,

look into her eyes and say,

But thou shalt be alone no more.'

And flaming downward over all

From heat to heat the day decreased.
And slowly rounded to the east
The one black shadow from
'The day

to night,' she

'The day

And day
To

the wall.

made her moan,

to night, the night to

and night

live forgotten,

am

left

and love

morn,

alone
forlorn.'

MARIANA IN THE SOUTH.

26o

At

eve a dry cicala sung,

There came a sound

Backward the

And
There

lean'd
all in

lattice-blind she flung,

upon the balcony.

spaces rosy-bright

Large Hesper

And

glitter'd

deepening

And weeping
The

When
To

on her

rose the night.

then she

made her moan,

night comes on that

I shall

tears,

thro' the silent spheres

Heaven over Heaven

as of the sea;

cease to be

live forgotten,

knows not morn,

all

alone.

and love

forlorn.'

THE TWO

26

VOICES.

THE TWO VOICES.

STILL small voice spake unto me,

Thou

art so full of misery,

Were

it

Then

to the

'

not better not to be?

small voice

still

I said,

me not cast in endless shade

What is so wonderfully made.'
'

Let

To which
'

To-day

the voice did urge reply,

saw the dragon-fly

Come from
'

An

the wells where he did

lie.

inner impulse rent the veil

from head to

Of his

old husk

Came

out clear plates of sapphire mail.

He dried

his

wings

like

tail

gauze they grew

Thro' crofts and pastures wet with

A living flash of light he

flew.'

dew

THE TWO

262
I said,

'

When

Young Nature

And

first

VOICES.

the world began,

thro' five cycles ran,

in the sixth

she moulded man,

She gave him mind, the

lordliest

Proportion, and, above the

Dominion

in the

Thereto the
*

'

you by your pride

thro' night:

the world

is

wide.

This truth within thy mind rehearse.

That
Is

'

rest.

breast.'

silent voice replied,

Self-blinded are

Look up

head and

in a

boundless universe

boundless better, boundless worse.

Think you

Could

find

this

no

mould of hopes and

statelier

fears

than his peers

In yonder hundred million spheres?'

It
*

spake, moreover, in

my

mind,

Tho' thou wert scatter'd to the wind,

Yet

is

there plenty of the kind.'

THE TWO
Then
'

did

my

VOICES.

response clearer

No compound

'

Good

Who
'

Or

soul

When

suppose

would have

But

grant

it

thee,

less intense,

thy peculiar difference

Is cancell'd in the

for thy deficiency?

one beam be

will

all.'

answer'd scoffingly,

weep

'11

fall,

of this earthly ball

Is like another, all in

To which he

263

my

said,

full heart,

Rain'd thro'

my

world of sense?'

'

Thou

canst not know,'

that work'd below,

sight

its

overflow.

Again the voice spake unto me,

'

Thou

Surely

'

art so steep'd in misery,

't

were better not to be.

Thine anguish

Nor any

Thou

will

not

train of reason

let

thee sleep,

keep

canst not think, but thou wilt weep.

THE TWO

264
I said,

If I

The years with change advance

'

make dark my countenance,

shut

Some

Even

my

life

But he

yet.'

wept,

That

from happier chance.

turn this sickness yet might take,

A wither'd
I

VOICES.

all

What drug

can make

palsy cease to shake?'

Tho'

should

die, I

know

about the thorn will blow

In tufts of rosy-tinted snow;

'

And men,

Still

thro' novel spheres of

moving

after truth

long sought.

Will learn new things when

thought

Yet,' said the secret voice,

'

am

not'

some

time,

Sooner or

later, will

Make thy

grass hoar with early rime.

Not

Rapt

gray prime

less swift souls that

yearn for

light,

after heaven's starry flight,

Would sweep

the tracts of day and night.

THE TWO
*

Not

The

less the

The foxglove

I said

that

'

is

the

fire

cluster

all

Each month

VOICES.

bee would range her

furzy prickle

'

265
cells,

dells,

dappled

bells.'

the years invent

various to present

The world with some development.

'

Were

this

not well, to bide mine hour,

Tho' watching from a ruin'd tower

How

grows the day of human power

The highest-mounted

'

Still

The

sees the sacred

mind,' he said,

morning spread

summit overhead.

silent

Will thirty seasons render plain

Those lonely

lights that

still

remain,

Just breaking over land and main?

Or make

And

that morn, from his cold crov/n

crystal silence creeping

Flood with

full

down,

daylight glebe and town ?

THE TWO

266

VOICES.

Forerun thy peers, thy time, and

'

Thy

let

millenniums hence, be set

feet,

In midst of knowledge, dream'd not yet.

Thou

Nor

hast not gain'd a real height.

thou nearer to the

art

Because the scale

'

light,

is infinite.

'Twere better not to breathe or speak

Than cry

for strength,

And seem

'

to find, but

still

to seek.

Moreover, but to seem to find

Asks what thou

lackest,

A healthy frame,
I said,

"

remaining weak,

He

'

When

thought resigned,

a quiet mind.'

am gone away,
men will

dared not tarry,"

Doing dishonour

'

This

'

To

is

more

to

vile,'

my

say.

clay.'

he made reply,

breathe and loathe, to

live

Than once from dread of pain

and

sigh,

to die.

THE TWO
'

Sick art thou

VOICES.

a divided

will

Still

heaping on the fear of

The

fear of

'Do men

To men,

men, a coward

love thee?
that

how

267

ill

still.

Art thou so bound

thy name

may sound

Will vex thee lying underground?

'

The memory

of the wither'd leaf

In endless time

Than

Go, vexed

The

is

scarce

more

brief

of the garner'd Autumn-sheaf.

Spirit, sleep in trust;

right ear, that

Hears

little

is fill'd

of the false or

with dust,
just.'

'

Hard

task, to

'

From

emptiness and the waste wide

Of that

'Nay

pluck resolve,'

abyss, or scornful pride

rather yet that

One hope
While

I cried,

that

still I

could raise

warm'd me

yearn' d for

in the

human

days

praise.

THE TWO

268

When, wide

'

Among
The

the tents

and bold of tongue,

paused and sung,

sung the joyful Paean

The

and rung.

distant battle flash'd

And,

'

in soul

VOICES.

sitting,

clear,

burnish'd without fear

brand, the buckler, and the spear

Waiting to

strive a

happy

strife.

To war with falsehood to the knife,

And not to lose the good of life

Some hidden

To put

together, part and prove.

And mete

'

As

principle to move.

far as

the bounds of hate and love

might be, to carve out

Free space for every human doubt.

That the whole mind might orb about

To

The

And

search thro'
springs of

all I felt

life,

or saw,

the depths of awe,

reach the law within the law

THE TWO
'

At

least,

VOICES.

not rotting like a weed,

But, having sown

some generous

Fruitful of further thought

'

To

pass,

when

In

To

in a

perish,

And

'

merely

some good
wept

When,

for,

And
Yea

overthrown

with noble dust, he hears

thrill his

'

the war

is

roll'd in

said the voice,

While thou abodest

It

was the

'

ears

stroke.

time the foeman's line

mine own.

eyes are dim with glorious tears.

soil'd

all

honour'd, known.

Then dying of a mortal

What

cause

cause, not in

His country's war-song

and deed,

self-applause,

selfish

like a warrior

Whose

seed,

Life her light withdraws.

Not void of righteous

Nor

269

is

broke,

smoke.*

thy dream was good.

in the

bud.

stirring of the blood.

THE TWO

27
'

If

Nature put not forth her power

About

Who
'

the opening of the flower,

is it

that could Hve an hour?

Then comes

Pain

the check, the change, the

rises up, old

There

'

VOICES.

is

pleasures pall.

one remedy

Yet hadst thou,

fall,

for

thro'

all.

enduring pain,

Link'd month to month with such a chain

Of knitted

purport,

Thou hadst

all

were vain.

not between death and birth

Dissolved the riddle of the earth.

So were thy labour

'

little

worth.

That men with knowledge merely

told thee

play'd,

hardly nigher made,

Tho* scaling slow from grade to grade

Much less this dreamer, deaf and blind,

Named man, may hope some truth to find
*

That bears

relation to the mind.

THE TWO
*

different threads,

Cry, faint not

Beyond

Or

in

Wrapt

is

born

the summits slope

in

dense cloud from base to cope.

little

corner shines,

over rainy mist inclines

gleaming crag with belts of pines.

I will

I shall

Look

either Truth

the furthest flights of hope.

Sometimes a

and soon

the polar gleam forlorn,

Cry, faint not, climb

As

late

the gateways of the morn.

Beyond

and

own cocoon.

Spins, toiling out his

'

271

For every worm beneath the moon

Draws

VOICES.

go forward, sayest thou,

not

to find her

up, the fold

If straight

Thou

fail

is

on her brow.

thy track, or

know'st

not.

Embracing cloud,

now.

if

oblique,

Shadows thou dost

Ixion-like;

strike,

THE TWO

2 72

And owning

'

Than

but a

Than

Why

little

angels.

more

lame and poor,

beasts, abidest

Calling thyself a

'

VOICES.

lower

little

Cease to wail and brawl

inch by inch to darkness crawl?

There

is

one remedy

for

all.'

'

Wilt thou make everything a

To

dull,

one-sided voice,' said

flatter

know

me

that

may

I,
lie,

die?

that age to age succeeds,

Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds,

A dust of systems
'

and of creeds.

cannot hide that some have striven,

Achieving calm, to

whom

The joy

man

'

that mixes

Who, rowing hard

Saw

distant gates of

And

did not

dream

was given

with Heaven;

against the stream,

Eden gleam.
it

was a dream.

THE TWO
*

VOICES.

273

But heard, by secret transport

Even

led,

the charnels of the dead,

in

The murmur of the fountain-head

'

Which

did accomplish their desire,

Bore and forbore, and did not

tire,

Like Stephen, an unquenched

fire.

'

He heeded

Nor

not reviling tones,

sold his heart to idle moans,

Tho' cursed and scorn'd, and bruised with

stones

'

But looking upward,

He

pray

'd,

full

of grace,

and from a happy place

God's glory smote him on the

The
'

sullen answer slid betwixt

Not

that the grounds of

The elements were

I said,

But,

'

I toil

I.

hope were

kindlier mix'd.'

beneath the curse.

knowing not the universe,

I fear to slide

VOL.

face.'

18

from bad to worse.

fix'd,

THE TWO

74
'

And

One
I

'

that, in

riddle,

knit a

Or

'

VOICES.

seeking to undo

and to

find the true,

hundred others new;

that this anguish fleeting hence,

Unmanacled from bonds of sense,

Be

'

fix'd

For

Naked

What

and frozen to permanence:

go,
I

weak from

go, and void of cheer

is it

'

Consider

'

His

that

well,'

face, that

Wilt thou

may

not fear?

the voice replied,

two hours since hath died

find passion, pain, or pride?

'Will he obey

when one commands?

Or answer should one

He

suffering here

press his hands?

answers not, nor understands.

'His palms are folded on his breast:

There

is

no other thing express'd

But long disquiet merged

in rest.

THE TIFO
*

His

lips are

VOICES.

275

very mild and meek:

Tho' one should smite him on the cheek,

And on

'

His

He

the mouth, he will not speak.

little

daughter, whose sweet face

kiss'd, taking his last

Becomes dishonour

'

to her race;

His sons grow up that bear his name.

Some grow
But he

'

embrace.

He

to honour,

is chill

will

some

to

shame

to praise or blame.

not hear the north-wind rave.

Nor, moaning, household shelter crave

From

winter rains that beat his grave.

High up the vapours

fold

and swim

About him broods

the twilight dim;

The

forgetteth him.'

place he

knew

be dark, vague

If all

These things are wrapt

Nor

canst thou

show

voice,' I said,
in

doubt and dread,

the dead are dead.

THE TWO

276

The sap

'

dries

up

VOICES.
the plant declines.

A deeper tale my heart divines.

Know

'

not Death? the outward signs?

found him when

darkness

From

In her

still

Omega

"We
*

find

Why,

in

the village yew.

if

senses crown'd his head

thou art Lord," they

no motion

man

Not make him

Who

knew,

his feet the daisy slept.

in the

said,

dead."

rot in dreamless ease.

Should that plain

place the morning wept;

The simple

*'

years were few

grave to grave the shadow crept

Touch'd by

'

my

shadow on the graves

And

fact, as

taught by these,

sure that he shall cease?

forged that other influence,

That heat of inward evidence,

By which he

doubts against the sense ?

THE TWO
'

He owns

That read

the fatal

Here

gift

277

of eyes,

his spirit blindly wise,

Not simple

'

VOICES.

sits

as a thing that dies.

he shaping wings to

fly;

His heart forebodes a mystery;

He names

'

the

name

Eternity.

That type of Perfect

in his

mind

In Nature can he nowhere find.

He

sows himself on every wind.

He seems to hear a Heavenly Friend,

And thro' thick veils to apprehend
*

A labour working to

an end.

'The end and the beginning vex

His reason;

many

things perplex,

With motions, checks, and counterchecks.

He knows

a baseness in his blood

At such

strange war with something good,

He may

not do the thing he would.

THE TWO

278
'

VOICES.

Heaven opens inward, chasms yawn,

Vast images

in

glimmering dawn,

Half shown, are broken and withdrawn.

'

Ah

sure within

Could

him and

dark wisdom find

his

There must be answer

'

thine

Or thou

out,

to his doubt,

own weapon
answer but

wilt

The doubt would

In the

same

circle

As when

art

we

little

Where

dare not solve.

resolve.*

a billow, blown against.

ceased, but

wert thou

In his free

slain,

revolve.

Falls back, the voice with

thou

in vain.

rest, I

Assurance only breeds

'

it

But thou canst answer not again.

With

without,

field,

merry boy

in

which

fenced

recommenced

when thy

father play'd

and pastime made,

sun and shade?

THE TWO

merry boy they

He

sat

'

Before the

To

little

call'd

Who took

till

him then,

men

come again

ducts began

thou wert also man:

a wife,

who

rear'd his race,

Whose

wrinkles gather'd on his face,

Whose

troubles

'

life

From

To

'

days

his

of nothings, nothing worth,

that

first

nothing ere his birth

that last nothing under earth

These words,'

No

I said,

'

'
!

are like the rest

certain clearness, but at best

A vague
*

number with

But

The
That

if I

suspicion of the breast:

grant, thou mightst defend

thesis

which thy words intend,

to begin implies to end;

279

feed thy bones with lime, and ran

Their course,

'

VOICES.

upon the knees of

In days that never

THE TWO

28o
'

Yet how should

my memory

Because

That

'

A
'

It

I first

was

cannot make

But

I for

in

VOICES.
certain hold,

is

so cold,

human mould?

this

matter plain,

would shoot, howe'er

random arrow from

may be

that no

in vain,

the brain.

life is

found,

Which only to one engine bound

Falls

'

As

off,

but cycles always round.

old mythologies relate,

Some draught
The

'

As

of Lethe might await

slipping thro' from state to state

here

we

find in trances,

men

Forget the dream that happens then,

Until they

'

fall in

So might we,

As one

before,

For those two

if

trance again

our state were such

remember much.
likes

might meet and touch.

THE TWO
*

But,

Some

if I

lapsed from nobler place,

legend of a fallen race

Alone might hint of

VOICES.

my

Some vague emotion

disgrace

of delight

In gazing up an Alpine height,

Some yearning toward

'

Or

if

Tho'

the lamps of night

thro' lower lives I

all

came

experience past became

Consolidate in mind and frame

might forget

For

is

not our

my

first

weaker

lot

year forgot?

The haunts of memory echo

'

And men, whose

From
Oft

cells of

'tose

not.

reason long was blind,

madness unconfined,

whole years of darker mind.

Much more, if first I floated

As naked essence, must I be
'

Incompetent of memory;

free,

281

THE TWO

282
'

VOICES.

For memory dealing but with time,

And

he with matter, could she climb

Beyond her own

material prime?

Moreover, something

That touches

me

is

or seems,

with mystic gleams,

Like glimpses of forgotten dreams

Of something

like

felt,

Of something done,
Such

The
'

as

still

But

Who

may

voice laugh'd.

is

I,

I talk,'

Suffice

said he,

it

thee

hast miss'd thy mark,

sought'st to wreck

Why

'

declare.'

a reality.'

thou,' said

By making

'

no language

pain

something here

know not where

Not with thy dreams.

Thy

all

my

mortal ark,

the horizon dark.

not set forth,

if I

should do

This rashness, that which might ensue

With

this old soul in

organs new?

THE TWO
*

VOICES.

Whatever crazy sorrow

No

saith,

that breathes with

life

283

human

Has ever

truly long'd for death.

''Tis

whereof our nerves are

Oh,

life

life,

More

life,

and

fuller, that I

scant,

we pant;

want'

ceased, and sat as one forlorn.

Then
'

not death, for which

breath

said the voice, in quiet scorn,

Behold,

And

it is

arose,

the Sabbath morn.'

and

The casement, and

With freshness

Like soften'd

When

to

the light increased

in the

dawning

airs that

east.

blowing

steal,

meres begin to uncongeal,

The sweet church

On

released

bells

began

to peal.

God's house the people prest:

Passing the place where each must

Each

enter'd like a

welcome

guest.

rest,

THE TWO

284

One

VOICES.

walk'd between his wife and child,

With measured

And now and

footfall firm

and mild,

then he gravely smiled.

The prudent partner of his blood

Lean'd on him,

faithful, gentle,

good.

Wearing the rose of womanhood.

And

in their

The

little

double love secure.

maiden walk'd demure,

Pacing with downward eyelids pure.

These three made unity so sweet,

My

frozen heart began to beat,

Remembering

I blest
I

its

ancient heat.

them, and they wander'd on

spoke, but answer

The

dull

and

came

bitter voice

there none;

was gone.

A second voice was at mine ear,

whisper silver-clear,
A
A murmur, Be of better cheer.'
little

THE TWO

As from some

blissful

VOICES.

285

neighbourhood,

A notice faintly understood,

*

see the end, and

know

the good.'

A little hint to solace woe,

A hint, a whisper breathing low,
'

may

not speak of what

know.'

Like an /Eolian harp that wakes

No

certain

air,

but overtakes

Far thought with music that

Such seem'd the whisper

'

What is

'A

it

at

it

makes

my

side.

thou knowest, sweet voice

?
'

I cried.

hidden hope,' the voice replied;

So heavenly-toned

From

out

my

that in that

sullen heart a

hour

power

Broke, like the rainbow from the shower,

To

feel, altho'

no tongue can prove,

That every cloud, that spreads above

And

veileth love, itself

is

love.

THE TWO

86

VOICES.

And
And

Nature's Hving motion lent

The

pulse of hope to discontent.

forth into the fields

wonder'd

The slow

You

result of winter

showers

scarce could see the grass for flowers.

wonder'd, while

paced along:

fill'd

so

There seem'd no room

went,

bounteous hours,

at the

The woods were

And

all

full

with song,

for sense of

wrong;

so variously wrought,

marvell'd

how

the

mind was brought

To anchor by one gloomy thought;

And wherefore rather I made choice

To commune with that barren voice
Than him

that said,

'

Rejoice

Rejoice

'
!

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

287

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

I

SEE the wealthy miller yet,

His double chin, his portly size;

And who

that

The busy

The slow

knew him could

forget

wrinkles round his eyes?

wise smile that, round about

His dusty forehead drily

curl'd,

Seem'd half-within and half-without,

And

full

of dealings with the world

In yonder chair

see

him

sit,

Three fingers round the old

I

cup

silver

see his gray eyes twinkle yet

At

his

own

With summer
So

So

full

of

jest,

gray eyes

lit

up

lightnings of a soul

summer warmth,

so glad,

healthy, sound, and clear and whole.

His

Yet

memory

fill

my

My own

scarce can

glass

give

make me

me one

sad.

kiss

sweet Alice, we must

die.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

288

There

's

somewhat

by and

Shall be unriddled

There

somewhat

's

But more

is

That we may

flows to us in

my

darling wife.

happy earth?

should breathe a thought of pain.

Would God renew me from my

almost

I 'd

So sweet

And
It

life,

die the selfsame day.

not found a

I least

by.

taken quite away.

Pray, Alice, pray,

Have

world amiss

in this

it

live

my

life

birth

again.

seems with thee

to walk,

once again to woo thee mine

seems

in after-dinner talk

Across the walnuts and the wine

To be

the long and listless

this old

Have

here,

lived

Each morn

By some

boy

mansion mounted high

Looks down upon the

For even

orphan of the squire,

Late-left an

Where

where

village spire;

and you

and loved alone so long,

my

sleep was broken thro'

wild skylark's matin song.

So sweet

And

it

seems

-with thee to

once again to

woo

walk,

thee mine."

The Miller's Daughter.

Photogravure from drawing by

H.

Winthrop

Peirce.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER,

And

heard the tender dove

oft I

In firry woodlands making

But ere
I

my

saw your eyes,

had no motion of

For scarce
Before

my

life

my

moan;
love,

own.

with fancy play'd

dream'd that pleasant dream

Still hither, thither, idly

Or from the bridge

in

the stream.

lean'd to hear

The milldam rushing down with

see the

sway'd

Like those long mosses

And

289

noise,

minnows everywhere

In crystal eddies glance and poise.

The

tall

flag-flowers

when they sprung

Below the range of stepping-stones,

Or those

three chestnuts near, that

hung

In masses thick with milky cones.

But, Alice, what an hour was that.

When
('T

after roving in the

was April then),

woods

came and

Below the chestnuts, when

Were
I.

their

buds

glistening to the breezy blue

And on
VOL.

sat

19

the slope, an absent fool,

me down,

cast

But angled

love-song

An

in

nor thought of you,

the higher pool.

had somewhere

echo from a measured

Beat time to nothing in

From some odd

It

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

290
I

my

read,

strain,

head

corner of the brain.

haunted me, the morning long,

With weary sameness

The phantom of a

in the

rhymes.

silent song,

That went and came a thousand times.

Then
I

leapt a trout.

watch'd the

They

mood

circles die

past into the level flood,

And
The

little

In lazy

there a vision caught

my

eye

reflex of a beauteous form,

glowing arm, a gleaming neck,

As when

sunbeam wavers warm

Within the dark and dimpled beck.

For you remember, you had

set,

That morning, on the casement-edge

A long green box of mignonette,

And you were

leaning from the ledge

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

And when

my

raised

They met with two

Such eyes

eyes, above

so

full

swear to you,

That these have never

I

291

and bright

my

love,

lost their light.

loved, and love dispell'd the fear

That

should die an early death

For love possess'd the atmosphere,

And

fill'd

the breast with purer breath.

My mother thought. What

For

was

alter'd,

To move about

And
I

ails

boy?

the

and began

the house with joy,

with the certain step of man.

loved the brimming wave that

swam

Thro' quiet meadows round the

The sleepy pool above

The pool beneath

it

the dam,

never

still.

The meal-sacks on the whiten'd

The dark round
The very

Made

air

mill,

floor,

of the dripping wheel,

about the door

misty with the floating meal.

And oft in ramblings on the

When April nights began

wold.
to blow,

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

292

And
I
I

April's crescent glimmer'd cold,

saw the

knew your

And

below

village lights

taper far away,

heart of trembling hope,

full at

From off the wold I came, and lay

Upon the freshly-flower'd slope.
The deep brook groan'd beneath

And by
'

that lamp,'

the mill

thought,

The white chalk-quarry from

the

'

O
O

now

that I were beside her

will

she answer

if I

Sometimes

And,

for

sit

last

And

vow.

and spin

pauses of the wind.

heard you sing within

Sometimes your shadow

At

fits.

told her all?'

saw you

in the

Sometimes

if I

cross'd the blind.

you rose and moved the

the long

light,

shadow of the chair

Flitted across into the night,

And

all

call?

would she give me vow

Sweet Alice,

'

sits

hill

Gleam'd to the flying moon by

'

she

the casement darken'd there.

: :

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

But when

The
Your

at last I

lanes,

dared to speak,

you know, were white with may,

ripe lips

moved

not, but

your cheek

Flush'd like the coming of the day;

And so it was half-sly,

You would, and would
Although

To

half-shy,
not,

little

one

pleaded tenderly.

And you and

And

slowly was

were

my

all

alone.

mother brought

yield consent to

my

desire

She wish'd me happy, but she thought

I

might have look'd a

And
*

Go

was young

Yet must
fetch

Her

little

higher;

too young to wed

love her for your sake

your Alice

here,' she said

eyelid quiver'd as she spake.

And down

went

to fetch

But, Alice, you were

ill

my

bride

at ease

This dress and that by turns you tried,

Too
I

fearful that

you should not

please.

loved you better for your fears,

I

293

knew you could not look but

well;

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

294

And

dews, that would have fallen in tears,

I kiss'd

away before they

watch'd the

fell.

little flutterings,

The doubt my mother would

She spoke

at large of

many

not see;

things,

And at the last she spoke of me

And turning look'd upon your face,
As near this door you sat apart,
And rose, and, with a silent grace
Approaching, press'd you heart

Ah, well
I

to heart.

but sing the foolish song

gave you, Alice, on the day

When, arm

arm, we went along,

in

A pensive pair,
With

As

and you were gay

bridal flowers
in the nights

that

of old, to

Beside the mill-wheel

While those

full

That

she

is

seem,

lie

the stream.

daughter,

grown so dear, so dear,

would be the jewel

That trembles
For hid
I 'd

in

may

chestnuts whisper by.

It is the miller's

And

in her ear

in ringlets

day and night,

touch her neck so

warm and

white.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

And

would be the girdle

About her dainty, dainty

And

295

waist,

her heart would beat against me,

In sorrow and in rest

And

should

I 'd clasp it

And

beat right,

if it

round so close and

all

day long to

fall

and

would

I scarce

trifle,

lie

so light, so light,

sweet! which true love spells

His light upon the

So,

all

if I

sighs

should be unclasp'd at night.

True love interprets

For

rise

her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her

And

tight.

would be the necklace,

And

Upon

know

the spirit

right alone.

letter dwells.
is

his

waste words now,

own.
in truth

You must blame Love.

His early rage

Had force to make me rhyme in

And makes me talk too much

And now

youth.
in age.

those vivid hours are gone,

Like mine own

life

to

me

thou

art,

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

296

Where

Past and Present,

Do make

Half-anger'd with

day,

in one,

a garland for the heart:

So sing that other song

The

wound

when

made,

my happy

lot.

the chestnut shade

in

found the blue forget-me-not.

Love

that hath us in the net,

Can he

Many
Many

and we forget?

pass,

suns arise and

set.

a chance the years beget.

Love the

gift is

Love the debt.

Even

so.

Love

is

hurt with jar

Love

is

made

Eyes with

and

fret.

a vague regret.

idle tears are wet.

Idle habit links us yet.

What

is

love

for

Ah, no

Look

thro'

no

forget
!

thro'

thine.

true heart thine

other dearer

Look

we

mine eyes with

Round my

My

my

True

wife,

arms entwine

life in life.

very soul with thine

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

297

Untouch'd with any shade of years,

May

those kind eyes for ever dwell

They have
Dear
Yet

not shed a

eyes, since

first I

tears they shed

Of sorrow
The

still

tears,

knew them

ripe,

affection of the heart

Became an outward breathing

That

well.

they had their part

when time was

for

many

type,

into stillness past again.

And

left

a want

Although the
That

With

loss

unknown

had brought us pain,

made

loss but

before.

us love the more.

farther lockings on.

The

The woven arms, seem but

Weak

symbols of the

The

comfort,

to

kiss.

be

settled bliss.

have found

in

thee:

who wrought
one equal mind

But that God bless thee, dear

Two
With

spirits to

blessings

With

beyond hope or thought,

blessings which no words can find

Arise, and let us

To yon

wander

forth,

old mill across the wolds

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

298

For look, the

Winds

And

fires

all

sunset, south

the vale in rosy folds.

your narrow casement

Touching the

On

and north.

sullen pool

glass,

below

the chalk-hill the bearded grass

Is

dry and dewless.

Let us go.

FA TIMA.

299

FATIMA.

Love, Love, Love

withering might

sun, that from thy noonday height

Shudderest when

Throbbing

thro' all

Lo, falling from

strain

my

sight,

thy heat and

my

light,

constant mind,

Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind,

I

whirl like leaves in roaring wind.

wasted hateful hours

Last night

Below the

city's eastern

towers

thirsted for the brooks, the showers;

roll'd

among

the tender flowers;

them on

my

my mouth

crush'd

look'd athwart the burning drouth

Of

breast,

that long desert to the south.

Last night, when some one spoke his name,

From my

swift

blood that went and came

FA TIMA.

300

thousand

Were

shafts of flame

little

my

shiver'd in

Love,

fire

With one long

My

lips,

narrow frame.

once he drew

kiss

Sweet

hill,

gales, as

my

thro'

know

quickly; from below

from deep gardens, blow

Before him, striking on

In

whole soul

as sunlight drinketh dew.

Before he mounts the

He Cometh

my

dry brain

my

my

brow.

spirit soon,

Down-deepening from swoon

to swoon,

Faints like a dazzled morning moon.

The wind sounds

And
Is

like a silver wire.

from beyond the noon a

pour'd upon the

The

skies stoop

And,

My

isled in

hills,

down

fire

and nigher

in their desire;

sudden seas of

light,

heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight,

Bursts into blossom in his sight.

My

whole soul waiting

silently,

All naked in a sultry sky,

FAT/MA.

Droops blinded with

I

301

his shining

eye

will possess him or will die.

I

will

Grow,

grow round him

live,

die looking

in

on

his place,
his face,

Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace.

(ENON'E.

302

GENONE.
There
Than

a vale in Ida, lovelier

lies

all

the valleys of Ionian

The swimming vapour

hills.

slopes athwart the glen,

Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine.

And

loiters,

On

slowly drawn.

either

hand

The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down

Hang

rich in flowers,

The long brook

and

below them roars

far

falling thro' the cloven ravine

In cataract after cataract to the sea.

Behind the valley topmost Gargarus

Stands up and takes the morning

The

but

in front

gorges, opening wide apart, reveal

Troas and

Ilion's

The crown

column'd

citadel.

of Troas.

Hither came

at

noon

Mournful CEnone, wandering forlorn

Of

Paris,

once her playmate on the

Her cheek had

lost the rose,

hills.

and round her neck

Floated her hair or seem'd to

float in rest.

She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,

(EiVONE.

Sang

to the stillness,

till

ZOl

the mountain-shade

Sloped downward to her seat from the upper

cliff.

'

mother

Dear mother

Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Ida,

harken ere

I die.

For now the noonday quiet holds the

The grasshopper
The

lizard,

is

hill;

silent in the grass

with his shadow on the stone,

Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead.

The purple

flower droops

Is lily-cradled

My
My

the golden bee

alone awake.

my heart
heart is breaking, and my eyes
And I am all aweary of my life.
*

eyes are

full

mother

Dear mother

Hear me,

of love,

of tears,

are dim.

Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Ida,

harken ere

Earth, hear me,

I die.

O Caves
O mountain

Hills,

That house the cold crown'd snake

brooks,
I

am

the daughter of a River-God,

Hear me,

My

for I will speak,

sorrow with

my

and build up

all

song, as yonder walls

Rose slowly

to a

music slowly breathed,

A cloud that gather'd shape

That, while

My

heart

speak of

it,

mother

for

little

may wander from

Dear mother
I

CENONE.

304

'

:;

it

may be

while

deeper woe.

its

Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Ida, harken ere I die,

waited underneath the dawning

hills

Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark,

And

dewy-dark

aloft the

mountain pine

Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris,

Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, whitehooved.

Came up from

Far

reedy Simois

mother Ida, harken ere

off the torrent call'd

Far up the

The

all

solitary

alone.

I die.

me from

the cleft

morning smote

With down-dropt

streaks of virgin snow.

eyes
I sat

alone

white-breasted like a star

Fronting the dawn he moved

Droop'd from

a leopard skin

his shoulder, but his

sunny hair

Cluster'd about his temples like a God's

CENONE.

And

his

cheek brighten'd

305
the

as

foam-bow

brightens

When
Went

'

He

the wind blows the foam, and

forth to

all

my

heart

embrace him coming ere he came.

Dear mother

Ida, harken ere

die.

smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm

Disclosed a

of pure Hesperian gold,

fruit

That smelt ambrosially, and while

And
Came down upon my

look'd

listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech

heart:
"

Beautiful-brow'd CEnone,

Behold
'

this fruit,

For the most

My

my own

whose gleaming

fair,'

own Q^none,
soul,

rind ingraven

would seem

to

award

it

thine.

As

lovelier than

The

whatever Oread haunt

knolls of Ida, loveHest in

Of movement, and

Dear mother

the

Ida,

all

grace

charm of married brows."

harken ere

die.

He prest the blossom of his lips to mine,

And added, "This was cast upon the board,
When all the full-faced presence of the Gods
VOL.

I.

20

(ENONE.

306

Ranged
Rose
But

of Feleus

in the halls

feud, with question unto

light-foot Iris

brought

Delivering, that to me,

it

whereupon

whom

't

were due

yester-eve,

by common voice

Elected umpire, Her^ comes to-day,

Pallas

and Aphrodite, claiming each

This meed of

Thou, within the cave

fairest.

Behind yon whispering

tuft of oldest pine,

Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard

Hear

'

It

all,

and see thy Paris judge of Gods,"

Dear mother

Ida,

harken ere

was the deep midnoon

Had
Of

lost his

this

way between

the piney sides

Then

long glen.

I die.

one silvery cloud

to

the bovver they

came,

Naked they came to

And

that smooth-swarded bower,

at their feet the crocus

brake

like fire,

Violet, amaracus, and asphodel,

Lotos and

And

lilies

and a wind arose.

overhead the wandering ivy and vine,

This way and that,

Ran

riot,

in

many

a wild festoon

garlanding the gnarled boughs

With bunch and berry and flower

thro'

and

thro'.

CENONE.
'

mother

Ida,

307

harken ere

I die.

On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit,

And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd
Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew.
Then first I heard the voice of her to whom
Coming

Heaven,

thro'

like a light that

grows

Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods

Rise up for reverence.

She

Proffer of royal power,

ample

to Paris

made

rule

Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue

Wherewith

embellish state, " from

to

many

vale

And

champaign

river-sunder'd

clothed with

corn,

Or

labour'd mine undrainable of ore.

said, "

Honour," she

From many an

and homage, tax and

toll.

inland town and haven large,

Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing citadel

In glassy bays

'

Still

"

mother

among

Power

tallest towers."

Ida, harken ere

she spake on and

Which

her

still

in all action is

fitted to

die.

she spake of power,

the end of

all

the season; wisdom-bred

3o8

CENONE.

And

from

throned of wisdom

neighbour

all

crowns
Alliance and allegiance,
Fail from

the

till

thy hand

Such boon from

sceptre-staff.

me,

From me, Heaven's Queen,

Paris, to thee king-

born,

shepherd

all

thy

life,

but yet king-born,

Should come most welcome, seeing men,

in

power
Only, are likest Gods,

Rest

in a

Above

happy place and

Dear mother

She ceased, and

Out

attain'd

quiet seats

the thunder, with undying bliss

In knowledge of their

who have

own supremacy."

Ida, harken ere I die.

Paris held the costly fruit

at arm's-length, so

much

the

thought of

power
Flatter'd his spirit

Somewhat

but Pallas where she stood

apart, her clear

and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear

Upon
The

her pearly shoulder leaning cold,

while, above, her full

and earnest eye

(ENONE.

309

Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting

'

decision,

reply:

" Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control.

These three alone lead

Yet not

uncall'd for) but to live

Acting the law we

live

And, because

right

Were wisdom

in the

Dear mother

Again she

to sovereign power.

life

power (power of herself

for

Would come

'

made

said

is

by without

by

law,

fear;

right, to follow right

scorn of consequence."

Ida, harken ere I die.

"

woo thee not with

Sequel of guerdon could not alter

me

Judge thou me by what

To

fairer.

So

shalt thou find

me

gifts.

am.

fairest.

Yet, indeed,
If gazing

Thy

on divinity disrobed

mortal eyes are

frail

to judge of

fair,

Unbias'd by

self-profit,

That

love thee well and cleave to thee,

So

I shall

that

my

vigour,

oh

wedded

rest thee sure

to thy blood,

Shall strike within thy pulses, like a God's,

To push

thee forward thro' a

life

of shocks,

3IO

(ENONE.

Dangers, and deeds,

until

endurance grow

Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown

will,

experiences, pure law,

Circled thro'

all

Commeasure

perfect freedom."

Here she

And

Paris ponder'd,

Give

it

"

to Pallas

and

I cried,

but he heard

"

me

Or hearing would not hear me, woe

'

mother

Dear mother

ceas'd.

Paris,

not,
is

me

Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,

Ida,

harken ere

I die.

Idalian Aphrodite beautiful.

Fresh

as the foam,

With rosy slender

From

her

new-bathed

in

Paphian

wells,

backward drew

fingers

warm brows and bosom

her deep hair

Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat

And

shoulder

from the

Shone rosy-white, and

violets her light foot

o'er her

rounded form

Between the shadows of the vine-bunches

Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

'Dear mother

Ida, harken ere I die.

She with a subtle smile

The

in

her mild eyes,

herald of her triumph, drawing nigh

CENONE.
Half-whisper'd in his ear, "

The

fairest

311

promise thee

and most loving wife

She spoke and laugh'd

my

shut

Greece."

in

sight for

fear;

But when

look'd, Paris

had raised

his arm,

And I beheld great Here's angry eyes,

As she withdrew into the golden cloud,
And I was left alone within the bower;
And from that time to this I am alone,
And I shall be alone until I die.
'Yet, mother Ida, harken ere
Fairest

My

why

fairest

love hath told

Methinks

When
Eyed

wife?

me

must be

am

I
I

die.

not fair?

so a thousand times.

fair,

for yesterday.

past by, a wild and wanton pard.

like the

evening

Crouch'd fawning

star,

in the

with playful

weed.

tail

Most loving

she?

Ah

me,

my

mountain shepherd, that

Were wound about

thee,

and

my

my

hot lips prest

Close, close to thine in that quick-falling

Of

fruitful kisses, thick as

Flash

in the

arms

Autumn

rains

pools of whirling Simois

dew

is

(EXONE.

312
'

me

mother, hear

They came, they

My tall

yet before

away

cut

my

I die.

tallest pines,

dark pines, that plumed the craggy ledge

High over the blue gorge, and

between

all

The snowy peak and snow-white

cataract

Foster'd the callow eaglet from beneath

Whose

thick

mysterious boughs

in

dark

the

morn

The

panther's roar

Low

in

CEnone see

thro'

them

muffled, while I sat

Never, never more

the valley.

Shall lone

Sweep

came

the

morning mist

never see them overlaid

With narrow moon-lit

slips of silver cloud,

Between the loud stream and the trembling

'

mother, hear

wish that

Among
Or

me

yet before

somewhere

in

stars.

I die.

the ruin'd folds.

the fragments tumbled from the glens,

the dry thickets,

The Abominable,

could meet with her

that uninvited

came

Into the fair Pele'ian banquet-hall,

And
And

cast the golden fruit

bred this change

mind,

upon the board,

that

might speak

my

CENONE.

And
Her

tell

how much

me

mother, hear

Hath he not sworn

hate

Gods and men.

presence, hated both of

'

her to her face

313

yet before

his love a

die.

thousand times,

In this green valley, under this green

Even on

this

Seal'd

with kisses? water'd

O
O
O

it

happy

tears,

earth,

with tears?

it

and how unlike to these

happy Heaven, how

happy

hill,

hand, and sitting on this stone?

how

my face?
my weight?

canst thou see

canst thou bear

death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,

There are enough unhappy on

Pass by the
1

happy

pray thee, pass before

And shadow

all

my

Weigh heavy on my

I will

Do

mother, hear

my

light of

life,

may

die.

soul, that I

Thou weighest heavy on

'

this earth,

souls, that love to live

the heart within,

eyelids

me

let

yet before

me

die.

I die.

not die alone, for fiery thoughts

shape themselves within me, more and more.

Whereof

catch the issue, as

Dead sounds

at night

hear

come from

the inmost

hills.

CENONE.

314

Like footsteps upon wool.

My

dimly see

doubtful purpose, as a mother

far-off

Conjectures of the features of her child

Ere

it is

born

her child

a shudder comes

Across me: never child be born of me,

Unblest, to vex

'

me

me

mother, hear

Hear me,

Lest their

shrill

with his father's eyes

earth.

yet before

not die alone,

I will

happy laughter come

Walking the cold and

starless

Uncomforted, leaving

my

With the Greek woman.

Down

into Troy,

fire

ancient love
I will rise

and ere the

stars

and go

come

forth

for she says

dances before her, and a sound

Rings ever

What

me

to

road of death

Talk with the wild Cassandra,

I die.

in

her ears of armed men.

may

be

know

That, wheresoe'er

am by

this

not, but

know

night and day,

All earth and air seem only burning

fire.'

;;

THE

THE

We were

SISTERS.

two daughters of one race;

She was the

The wind
They were

fairest in the face.

is

blowing

in turret

together, and she

Therefore revenge became

the Earl was

She died

3^5

SISTERS.

fair to

tree.

fell

me

see

and

well.

she went to burning flame

She mix'd her ancient blood with shame.

The wind

is

howling

in turret

Whole weeks and months, and

To win

made

won

a feast

his love,

The wind

And after
Upon my

tree.

early and late,

his love I lay in wait.

the Earl was

and

is

fair to

see

bad him come

brought him home.

roaring in turret and tree.

supper, on a bed.
lap he laid his head.

the Earl was

fair to

see

!!

THE

3l6

SISTERS.

eyelids into rest;

I kiss'd his

His ruddy cheek upon

The wind
I

is

my

breast.

raging in turret and tree.

hated him with the hate of

But

loved his beauty passing well.

the Earl was fair to see

up

in the silent night:

rose

made my dagger sharp and

The wind

As

stabb'd

and comb'd

look'd so grand

The wind
I

bright.

raving in turret and tree.

wrapt

And

him

thro'

the Earl was fair to see

curl'd

He

is

half-asleep his breath he drew,

Three times

hell,

his

laid

is

him

the Earl was

comely head,

his

in turret

and

in the sheet,

at his

thro*.

when he was dead.

blowing

body

and

mother's

fair to

see

feet.

tree.

NOTES.

NOTES.
THE LIFE AND WORKS OF LORD TENNYSON.
Page

i.

Born on the 6tk of August, 1809. The date has

been often given as August 5th but Lord Tennyson wrote to

Dr. Van Dyke that he was probably born in the early morning of the 6th, just after midnight,' and that his mother used
to keep his birthday on August 6th.
A careful examination
of the Somersby Baptismal Register shows that the 6 in the
date has been mistaken for a 5 on account of the fading of
the ink on the left side of the loop.' See also the fac-simile of
the entry in Napier's Homes and Haunts of Tennyson,' p. 29.
The eldest son, George.
Page 3.
According to the Parish
Register of Tealby (a town about twenty miles to the north of
Somersby), he was baptised on the 25th of May, 1806. Dr.
Tennyson resided at Tealby previous to his settlement at
Somersby in 1808.
;

'

'

'

The
afterwards took the Jiame of Tur7ter.
accordance with whose will this was done was his
great-uncle, the Rev. Samuel Turner, vicar and patron of
Grasby, to whose estate and living Charles succeeded in 1S35.
Charles,

'

relative

who

in

'

Most, if not

Napier

whom

(p.

Page

all,

of the other brothers have written poetry.

and Horatio to the four brothers

41) adds Septimus

have mentioned.
10.

In the spring of 1827. Dr. Van

p. 324) gives the

Dyke

(3d ed.

date as 1826, on the authority of Lord Tenny-

son but the poet evidently had in mind the time when the
manuscript was given to the printer. The preface would not
have been dated March, 1827,' if the book had he^n published
;

'

in 1826.

NOTES.

320
Engaged to pay
Church

twenty.

pounds for

made

it

the copyright,

so states

(p. 53)

sum was

that the larger

generally

ten

it;

and actually paid

and there

is

no doubt

paid, though the biographers have

the smaller one.

A poem on

The Battle of Armageddon^ Napier

poem which he had
written some years before on the Battle of Armageddon, and
having altered it a little, sent it in for the theme of Timbuctoo.'
One would infer, from internal evidence, that the alterations
must have been somewhat extensive.
In all quotations of the passage that I have seen,
Page 38.
Since this foot-note was in type, I have observed that
etc.

Page

33.

124) says:

(p.

'He

Jennings (2d ed.

poet,
etc.

'

resuscitated an old

p. 25)

emends the passage thus

"he too

is

be the right one.

likely to

Page

The faniily continued

According to Church

47.

several years.

autumn

to reside at

Somersby for

(p. 41), it

was 'in the

of 1835' that the family left Somersby.

in the early

'

it

Napier

(p.

months of 1837
and this date
letter of Alfred's to Monckton Milnes, dated
which he writes: 'As I and all my people

was
confirmed by a

137) says
is

and many years hence may read his juvenile description,"

The correction that I have suggested seems to me more

'

Jan. 10, 1837, in

are going to leave this place very shortly never to return,

have much upon

Page

51.

my

hands.'

poi-trait

of

Tennyson.

From

crayon

drawing by Samuel Lawrence, a lithograph of which, printed

at Cambridge, was the earliest published portrait of the poet.

For further particulars concerning the Tennyson portraits,

Tennysoniana (2d ed. pp. 157-169)
and the illustrated articles by Mr. Theodore Watts in the
Magazine of Art (Cassell's) for January and February, 1893.
The date
/ 1861, he revisited the Pyrenees.
Page 80.
has been sometimes given as 1862, but Clough's diary makes
it 1 861.
It will be seen that he refers to Tennyson's former
busts, etc., see Shepherd's

'

'

'

visit

'

as

'

thirty-one years ago,' while the poet, in the verses

it
two and thirty.' The former is the correct
number, and as Clough doubtless got it at the time from the
poet, it is probable that the latter changed it in the verses for

quoted,

makes

'

'

NOTES.

321

The line, I walk'd with one I loved

two and thirty years ago,' would be seriously marred if one
were substituted for two.'
Mr. Waugh (pp. 43, 1S6) gives the dates of the two visits
correctly as 1830 and 1861, but (p. 186) refers to the former as
the sake of euphony.

'

'

'

'

'

thirty-two years before

Mrs. Ritchie
1830 tour

Once

in their early

Hallam, travelling

the latter.

'

23) has the following paragraph on the

(p.

youth we hear of the two friends, Tennyson and

This was at the time of the war

in the Pyrenees.

Spanish independence, when many generous young

of

men went

with funds and good energies to help the cause of liberty.

were taking money, and

over

These two

letters written in invisible ink, to certain

con-

who were then revolting against the intolerable tyranny of

Ferdinand, and who were chiefly hiding in the Pyrenees. The young
men met, among others, a Senor Ojeda, who confided to Tennyson his
spirators

intentions,

which were to confer la gorge

Ojeda could not talk English or

'

Mais

voiis

black one

man

connaissez

it is,

tons les cures.

all

Sefior

his aspirations.

said he, effusively

ccettr^'

thought the poet.

h.

fully explain

and a pretty

have heard Tennyson described in

those days as 'straight and with a broad breast,' and

when he had

crossed over from the Continent and was coming back, walking through
little wayside inn, where an old man sat
Are you from
who looked up, and asked many questions.
Then where do you come from
the army ? Not from the army ?
said the old man.
I am just come from the Pyrenees,' said Alfred.
said the wise old man.
Ah, T knew there was a something

Wales, he went one day into a

by the

'

fire,

.-'

'

'

'

Epitaph on the
Page
inscribed on Mr. Theed's statue of
and reads thus

late

82.

Duchess of Kent.

It

was

the Duchess, at Frogmore,

'

Her

children rise

Long as the
Thy child

Here, as elsewhere,

Ruskin, and Browning'

magazine

VOL.

thy

21

her blessed."

guardian mother mild,

memory wiU be

blest

of the children of thy child.

quote from the book,

(New York,

'

Records of Tennyson,

1892), which gives the original

articles in a slightly revised

I.

call

within the breast

life

will bless thee,

And far away

By children
1

up and

heart beats

form.

NOTES.

32 2

Page

The

105.

Becket

'Academy'

has been brought out by Mr. Irving.

for Feb. 18, 1893, says of the perform-

There were few who expected that Lord Tennyson's

would be, upon the Lyceum or any other stage, the
success that it has proved to be. Not only the first-night
audience, but the audiences that have followed it, and especially, as we are able to testify, the large and very representative audience of last Saturday night, have shown the keenest
" Becket " is
satisfaction in the piece and the performance.
one of the most distinct of the Lyceum successes.'
ance

'

" Becket "

// could but have been the unequalled Elysian

Or the most beautiful of the many tributes
verse called forth by the death of the poet on either side of
the Atlantic, the Elysian lines 'prefixed by Rev. Dr. Henry
Page

lines

24.

of Virgil.

in

'

van Dyke

to the third edition of

The Poetry

'

of

Tennyson

'

TENNYSON
In

Lucem Transitus
October

From

6,

the silent shores of midnight,

1892.

touched with splendours of the

moon,

To

the singing tides of heaven and the light

Passed a soul that grew to music,

Brother of the greatest poets,

Lover of Immortal Love,

Who

till it

Silence here, for love

Silence here,

is silent,
is

clear than noon,

in tune.

true to nature, true to art,

uplifter of

shall help us with high music,

Silence here, for grief

more

was with God

the

who

human

shall sing

heart,
if

thou depart ?

gazing on the lessening

voiceless

but far above us,

sail

when the mighty poets fail

many voices crying, Hail
1

NOTES.

323

POEMS.
To THE Queen.
These
'

Poems

'

verses

in 1851.

above.

Page

132.

appeared in the seventh edition of the

For a stanza afterwards omitted, see p. 63

first

And statesmen at her coimcil met. This stanza

was once quoted by Mr. Gladstone in the House of Commons

with remarkable effect. Lord John Manners, in an argument
against political change, had quoted the poet's description of
England as

land of old and wide renown

Where Freedom broadens

The

slowly down.

was none the less effective because the passage

was taken from a different poem.
retort

Claribel.
First published in 1830.

Page

133.

reading was

Some

'

At noo7i the wild bee himuneth.

At noon the bee low hummeth.'

critic

The

has suggested that the reference to

placed before that to noon

'

'

original

eve

'

in order that the imperfect

'

is

rhyme

boometh may not come between hummeth and cometh.'

The earlier reading
Page 134. The callow throstle lispeth.
was The fledgling throstle lispeth.'
Compare the Song,' p. 152
The babbling runnel crispeth.
in

'

'

'

'

'

'

'

Down-carolling to the crisped sea

brooks

'

('

Paradise Lost,'

iv.

'

and Milton's

'

crisped

237).

Nothing will

die.

This poem and the next, first published in 1S30, were

omitted in 1842, but subsequently restored. No change has

been made

in either.

Leonine Elegiacs.
Published in 1830 with the

title

'

Elegiacs,' omitted in 1S42,

but afterwards restored without change.

NOTES.

324
Page

141.

The ancient poetess.

Compare Locksley
Hesper, whom the poet call'd the

Hall Sixty Years After

'

The

Bringer home of all good things.'

fragment of Sappho
:

'

"EcTTrepe, travTO. (p^pus

allusion

is

to the

^4piis olvov, <pfpfis aJya,

4>epeij ixoLTipi iroiSa.

Byron's paraphrase in

Hesperus

Don

'

Juan'

(iii.

107)

is

good things
the weary, to the hungry cheer,
!

thou bringest

all

familiar:

Home to
To the young bird the parent's brooding wings,
The welcome stall to the o'er-labour'd steer
;

Whate'er of peace about our hearth-stone clings,

Whate'er our household gods protect of dear.

Are gather'd round us by thy look of

Thou

rest

bring'st the child, too, to the mother's breast.

Supposed Confessions of a Second-rate Sensitive

Mind.
This poem, published in 1830, was suppressed for more
In 1879 the Christian Signal,' an English
fifty years.

than

'

announced that

September 6th would

an early unpublished poem of over two hundred lines
by Alfred Tennyson (P. L.), entitled "Confessions of a Sensitive Mind "' but the publication was prevented by a legal injunction.
In 1884 the poem was included in the complete
edition of the Laureate's works.
journal,

contain

its

issue for

'

The

was

Supposed Confessions of a SecondUnity with Itself.' In the poem as

restored the following lines, after With hopeful grief, were
passing sweet (p. 143), were omitted
original title

rate Sensitive

Mind not

'

in

'

'

grief not uninformed,

and

dull,

Hearted with hope, of hope as

As

is

the blood with

life,

full

or night

And a dark cloud with rich moonlight.

To stand beside a grave, and see
The

red small atoms wherewith

we

NOTES.

325

Are built, and smile in calm, and say

These little motes and grains shall be
'

Clothed on with immortality

More

glorious than the noon of day.

All that

is

pass'd into the flowers,

And into beasts and other men,

And all the Norland whirlwind showers
From open vaults, and all the sea
O'erwashes with sharp

salts,

Shall fleet together

and be

all,

again

Indued with immortality.'

The

only other change

the third line on

is

'

rosy fingers

'

for

'

waxen

fingers

'

in

p. 144.

The Westminster Review' (see p. 37 above) recognised in

poem an extraordinary combination of deep reflection,
'

this

'

metaphysical analysis, picturesque description, dramatic tran-

and strong emotion.' Arthur Hallam, in the EnglishThe " Confessions

man's Magazine (p. 39 above), said of it
of a Second-rate Sensitive Mind " are full of deep insight into
human nature, and into those particular trials which are sure
to beset men who think and feel for themselves at this epoch
not
of social development. The title is perhaps ill chosen
only has it an appearance of quaintness, which has no sufiicient
reason, but it seems to us incorrect. The mood pourtrayed in
this poem, unless the admirable skill of delineation has deceived us, is rather the clouded season of a strong mind than
the habitual condition of one feeble and second-rate.'

sition,

'

'

'

Page
Compare

150.
'

The

busy fret

Dirge

(p. 200)

'

Of

that sharp-headed

Nothing but the small cold worm

Fretteth thine enshrouded form
;

and

'

The Palace

of Art

And, with dim

On

'

(vol.

ii.

p. 15)

fretted foreheads

all,

corpses three-months-old at noon she came,

That stood against the

wall.

worm.

'

NOTES.

326

The Kraken.
Published

omitted in 1842, but afterwards restored

in 1830,

without change.

Page
is

151.

Then once by man and angels

the reading of

wall's

all

the English editions

copy of the 1830 volume (now

Henry van Dyke) 'man'

to be seen.

This

but in Barry Corn-

in the possession of Dr,

altered to

is

'men'

margin.

in the

Song.
was

We

are Free,' and the two stanzas

were printed as one. The poem was omitted in 1S42, but
subsequently restored with no further change.

In 1S30 the

Page

52.

title

The

runnel crispeth,'

'

crisped sea.

See note on

'

The babbling

323 above.

p.

Lilian.

and reprinted in 1842 with no

change except gather'd wimple for purfled wimple.' For the
original reading, compare Milton, Comus,' 992
Than her
purfled scarf can shew.'
First

published in

1830,

'

'

'

'

'

Isabel.

'

Mrs. Annie Fields, in

Harper's Magazine

for January, 1893 (? 31)' remarks

blanched

in

The

only change in 1842 was

was probably a misprint.
an interesting article on Tennyson

First published

'

that this

'

for

poem

'

'

in

1830.

blenched,' which

'

'

possesses a peculiar interest, because

it is

un-

derstood to be the poet's tribute to his wife, and indeed even

his imaginative eye could hardly elsewhere have found another
to

whom

this description

would so properly

twenty years

later,

completely she

'

perfect wife

became

paid her in his verse amply

1855, but written

'

his wife

fulfilled that ideal

'

and she goes

Whether the poet in this

had in mind the lady who,

on to quote the second stanza.

ideal portrait of a

fit

may be doubted

but

how

the tributes he subsequently

testify.

some three years

'

The

Daisy,' published in

earlier (as the reference

to the baby Hallam, born in August,

1852, indicates),

was

NOTES.
addressed to her.

volume

in 1864,

In

'A

327

Dedication'

in

he apostrophised her thus

the 'Enoch Arden'

:

Dear, near, and true

no truer Time himself

Can prove

lie

you, tho'

make you evermore

Dearer and nearer.

And

his last volume, the

inscribed to her at

With a

And
As

posthumous

seventy-seven,'

summer-new
amid

the green of the bracken

272

156.

'

Death

of Qinone,'

was

faith as clear as the heights of the June-blue heaven,

a fancy as

Page
V. 3.

An

bloom of the heather.

the

accent very low.

Compare 'King

Her voice was ever

Gentle, and low

an

Lear,'

soft,

excellent thing in

woman.

Mariana.
First printed

in

and subsequently.
Review' for July,
'

and very slightly altered in 1S42

was commended in the Westminster
1835, as illustrating the poet's power in
1830,

It

'

scene-painting, in the highest sense of the term,

power of creating scenery

human
bol of

feeling
it,

and

in

or so fitted to

to

summon up

it

as to be the

('

International Review,' vol.

iv. p.

itself,

404) calls

58.

That

reading was

held the pear

The peach

the

with a

it

'a pic-

more than

a dozen years before Pi-e-Raphaelitism was heard of

i

Bayard

reality.'

ture in the absolute Pre-Raphaelite manner, written

Page

embodied sym-

the state of feeling

force not to be surpassed by anything but

Taylor

keeping with some state of

in art.'

to the gable-wall.

The

Bayard
Taylor, writing in 1877 (in the review of Tennyson cited
above), quotes the poet as saying: There is my " Mariana,"
A line in it is wrong, and I cannot possibly
for example.
change it, because it has been so long published yet it always
annoys me. I wrote " That held the peach to the gardenNow this is not a characteristic of the scenery I had
wall."
The line should be " That held the pear to the
in mind.
first

'

to the garden-wall.'

'

gable-wall."

'

Whether

this

conversation occurred

during

'

NOTES.

328

Taylor's visit to Tennyson in 1857 (see p. 74 above), I cannot

but the line was changed in the printed poem at least as

say

two years before the review was written.

early as 1875, or

Page

She

There has
heard the night-frnvl crow.
been some discussion in the English Notes and Queries' and
elsewhere as to the birds meant by 'night-fowl.' It can hardly
be the cock mentioned in the next line, though 'crow' (probably used for the sake of the rhyme) would suggest that bird.
It appears to be used in a general way for the various birds
that are more or less heard at night in Lincolnshire, where
159.

'

the scene

laid.

is

For the old

The duster''d marish-mosses.
form 'marish' (now used only in poetry), compare 'The
And far thro' the marish green and still
Dying Swan
With
and the silvery marish-flowers and On a Mourner
moss and braided marish-pipe.'

Page

160.

'

'

'

'

'

Originally

IVo other tree did mark.

changed as early as 1856.

The shrill winds were up and away.
was 'up an' away;' changed in 1842.
in 1842, but

the original
all

sung

1'

nally

'

161.

Was

Downsloped

'

did dark

'

'

retained

The

1830 reading
In the next stanza

the pane' was retained in 1842 and in

the editions I have seen

Page
in

'

'

slopi7ig

down

to 1875.

toward

his western bower.

was westering

in

his

bower

;
'

Origichanged

1842.

To

and retained in 1842 with no change

the third and fourth lines, which originally read

First printed in 1830,

except in

The knotted lies of human creeds,

The wounding cords which bind and strain.

Page

162.

With shrilling shafts of

'The Talking Oak': 'And

1

In the volumes of 1S30 and 1833,

printed

rare exceptions,

'gardenbowers,'

'

subtle wit.

Compare

shrill'd his tinsel shaft.'

without the

mountainstreams,

'

etc.

compound words
hyphen

as

'

are,

with

silverchiming,'

NOTES.
Page

163.

Like

329

that strange angel.

Compare

Genesis,

xxxii. 22-32.

Madeline.
First printed in

which was made

1830, without the division into stanzas,

The

only other change (except the

is

'amorously' for 'three times

in 1842.

spelling 'airy' for 'aery')

three

in the last stanza.

'

Song
in

The

Owl.

Second Song to the Same,' was reprinted

1842 from the 1830 volume without alteration.

This, with the

'

Recollections of the Arabian Nights.

This poem, one of the best in the volume of 1830, was
reprinted in 1842 with a few trivial changes. As Tainsh says,
interesting as foreshadowing the power of detailed
it was
'

description, vivid
in "

The Palace

sively

announced the

Page
*

Page
103

rise of

Died round

172.

Not

the

Princess,'

The 1830 reading was

interspaces, coiinterchanged
'

Of

this flat

'

inlaid

'

level lake
:

floor

lawn with dusk and bright.

Distinct with vivid stars inlaid.

for

The

In Memoriam,' Ixxxix.

Witch-elms that counterchange the

drawn.'

For

veil.'

Their
Compare

with diamond-plots.

'

The

'

'

173.

'

for thee,' she said,

Black the garden-bowers and grots.

Blackgreen for Black.'

unrayed

deci-

Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan

Shall burst her

'

'

it

1830 volume has

the bulbul as he sung.

'

Page

itself fully

a great poet.'

the nightingale, compare

of

'

'

which shows

pictorial,

Peter Bayne remarks that

blosms.'

name

Persian

'

Of braided blooms. The

170.

Of breaded

iv.

and very

of Art."

and below

The
'

1830 volume has

was borne

'

for

'

was

NOTES

330
Page

Thick

174.

The

rosaries of scented thorn.

obso-

lete rosaries (Latin rosaria), for rose-gardens or rose-beds, is

rare in poetry.
it

and

unique.

Page

175.

'

below

for silver candlesticks

DiaJ'er'd.

Entirely covered, as

Compare

technically so called.

Be

met with no other modern example

I liave

silvers

Spenser,

strewed with fragrant flowers

And

'

of

perhaps also

is

in diaper-work,

Epithalamion,' 51

all

along,

diapred lyke the discolored mead.

Ode to Memory.
The
'

1830 volume, instead of 'Addressed

Written very Early in

and

slight.

Page
Compare
I

The changes

Life.'

Sure she was nigher

179.

poem

the prize

of

'

to

in 1842

,'

has

were few

to heave/t's spheres, etc.

Timbuctoo,' 1829

have raised thee nigher to the spheres of heaven,

Man's

first, last

home

and thou with ravish'd sense

Listenest the lordly music flowing from

Th'

illimitable years.

Co7ne

from

Page

iSi.

meaning

the

woods that

The

belt,

See

etc.

p.

6 above.

high field on the bushless Pike.

vincial Dictionary,' is 'the top of a

steep, pointed

hill,'

like the Pikes of the

hill,

not

One

and Pro-

of 'pike,' according to Halliwell's 'Archaic

necessarily a

English Lake Dis-

though the dictionaries generally recognise only this

meaning of the word as applied to a hill. Of course
there are no such pikes, or peaks, in Lincolnshire, and there
could not be a 'field' on the top of them anywhere.
Originally Emblems or glimpses
Like emblems of infinity.
trict,

latter

of infinity.'

Page

182.

With plaited

nally 'pleached
'

alleys,'

Much Ado About

mine orchard

;
'

'

alleys

of the trailing

rose.

which means the same.

Nothing,'

i.

and the same

2.

10

play,

'

iii.

a thick-pleached alley in

1.7:

the pleached bower,

Where

honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,

Forbid the sun to enter.

Origi-

Compare

'

NOTES.
And

whom

those

passion hath not blinded.

volume has 'The few whom,'

My

331

etc.;

1S30

friend, with thee to live alone,

Methinlcs were better than to

The

and just below:

own

crown, a sceptre, and a throne

Song.
In the 1830 volume, and reprinted without change.

Character.

Also from the 1830 volume without change.

The

Poet.

For this poem, see pages 37 and 38 above. The only

change made in it since 1S30 (except 'secretest for secret'st
'

'

in the third stanza)

read thus

And

is

in the twelfth stanza,

bordure of her robe was writ

in the

Wisdom,
Hoar

name

to shake

anarchies, as with a thunderfit,

And when

she spake,

etc.

Dozoer'd with the hate of

That with hatred of hate,

Page
scorn,

187.

etc.

which originally

is,

hate,

the scorn of

etc.

Rev. F.

W.

Robertson explains it thus

That is, the Prophet of Truth
receives for his dower the scorn of men in whom scorn dwells,
hatred from men who hate, while his reward is the gratitude
and affection of men who seek the truth which they love,
more eagerly than the faults which their acuteness can blame.'
A very intelligent lady once told me that she had always understood hate of hate to mean the utmost intensity of hate,
etc., the poet's passions and sensibilities being to those of
ordinary men 'as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto
:

'

'

'

wine.'

From

Calpe

icnto

Caucasus.

Calpe,

one of the

Pillars of

Hercules, was a western limit of the ancient world, as Caucasus

was an eastern.

332

NOTES.
The

Poet's Mind.

Reprinted from the volume of 1830, with the omission of

the following passage after the seventh line
:

summer mountainstreams,

Clear as

Bright as the inwoven beams,

Which beneath

their crisping sapphire

In the midday, floating o'er

The golden sands, make evermore

To

a blossomstarred shore.

Hence away, unhallowed laugher

second line of the second stanza

The

mind

poet's

The

'

'

The

Sea-Fairies.

first

Poems.'

Page
was

'

printed in 1830, was suppressed until 1853,

appeared, with many changes, in the eighth edition

it

of the

originally

holy ground.'

is

This poem,

when

was

192.

Betwixt the green

battk.

The

first

reading

Between the green bank.'

Whither away, whither away, whither away

In the 1830 volume the remainder of the

? fly

poem

is

no more.

as follows

Whither away wi' the singing sail ? whither away wi' the oar ?
Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming shore ?

Weary

mariners, hither away,

One and

Weary

We

all,

mariners,

will sing to

Furl the

From

you
sail

the

Furl the

one and

all,

come and play

all

prow

sail

the day;

and the foam

will fall

One and

drop the oar

Leap ashore

all
!

Know

danger and trouble and toil no moret

Whither away wi' the sail and the oar ?

Drop
Leap

the oar,
ashore,

Fly no more
Whither away wi' the sail
I

whither away wi' the oar ?

;;

NOTES.
Day and

night to the billow the fountain calls

Down

shower the gambolling waterfalls

They

freshen the silvery-crimson shells,

From wandering

And

333

over the lea

thick with white bells the cloverhill swells

High over the

fulltoned sea.

Merrily carol the revelling gales

Over the islands

From

To
Come

free

the green seabanks the rose

the

happy brimmed

down trails

sea.

come hither, and be our lords,

For merry brides are we
will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words.
hither,

We
Oh

your eyes

listen, listen,

With

shall glisten

pleasure and love and revelry

Oh listen, listen, 3'our eyes shall glisten.

When the clear sharp twang of the golden
Runs up

Ye

will

chords

the ridged sea.

not find so happy a shore,

Weary mariners

Oh

fly

all

the world o'er

no more

Harken ye, barken ye, sorrow shall darken

Danger and trouble and toil no more
Whither away?
Drop the oar;

ye,

Hither away,

Oh

fly

Leap ashore
no more.

no more

Whither away, whither away, whither away with the

sail

and the oar ?

The Deserted House.

First printed in 1830, omitted in 1842, but subsequently

restored without alteration.

The Dying Swan.

Reprinted in 1842 from the volume of 1S30 with two slight
verbal changes
And loudly did lament for Which loudly,'
and Above in the wind was the swallow for sung the
etc.
:

swallow.'

'

'

'

'

'

'

NOTES.

334

Dirge.

Reprinted in 1S42 from the volume of 1S30 wittiout

tion.

Page 200. The silver

and Scotch form for birch.

birk.

Birk

a Northern English

See note on

Fretteth thine enshrouded for7n.

etc., p.

is

325 above.

Page

The

201.

Dictionary

'

woodbine and

calls eglatere

'

eglatere.

a spurious

altera-

The

The

modern

biisy fret,

'Century

archaism,' the

correct form being eglentere or eglentier.

And

The early purple orchis

long purples of the dale.
In the 1830 volume 'long purples' is

{Orchis mascula).

printed as a quotation.

'

'

The poet doubtless decided

after-

wards that the allusion to poor Ophelia's flowers (' Hamlet,'

iv. 7. 171) was too familiar to call for acknowledgment.

Love and Death.

Reprinted

Page

203.

in 1842

from the 1830 volume without alteration.

is, standing above other

Life eminent. That

things; the etymological sense of the word.

The Ballad of Oriana.

Reprinted

in 1842

with no change from the original version

of 1830.

Circumstance.
Reprinted in 1842 from the volume of 1830, with no change
except in the last line, which originally began, Fill up the
'

round,' etc.

The Merman.
This

poem and

the next one

change from the 1830

reprinted in 1842 with

no

text.

Page 210.
The white sea-flower.
Perhaps the seaanemone, which, though an animal, gets its name from the
resemblance of

Page

211.

its

outspread tentacles to the petals of a flower.

Tnrkis

and

agate

and

alniondine.

Turkis

represents the pronunciation properly belonging to the

word

NOTES.
now commonly

335

Alviondine or almandine is a
brought from Alabanda, a city in Asia

spelled turquoise.

precious stone

first

Minor.
The name is a corruption of the Latin adjective
Alabandina [gemtiia being understood).

Adeline.
Reprinted

changes
'

the

in

side

the

in

1S42 from the 1S30 volume, with two

the

o'

stanza

fifth

'

morn,' and

'

locks a-drooping

slight

morn

the

the side of

for

'

'

for

'

locks

a-dropping.'

Margaret.
First printed in the

volume of

1833,

and

slightly

changed

in 1842.

Page

221.

lion-souled

The

Originally

lion-heart, Plantagenet.

The

Plantagenet.'

allusion

the

to

'

The

story

of

Chatelet,
Richard I. and Blondel needs no explanation.
mentioned just below, was proscribed in the Reign of Terror
and executed in December, 1793.

Page

222.

Attd

was And more

'

the next

less aerially blue.

aerially blue,' with

'

The

And

'

original reading

instead of

But

'

'

in

line.

Rosalind.
Printed in 1833, but suppressed until 1884,
restored without any change in the poem itself.
following was appended to

it

when

it

was

In 1833 the

NOTE TO ROSALIND.
Perhaps the following
originally

they

lines

made

may be allowed

part

of the

text,

to stand as a separate

they were

where

improper.

My

Rosalind,

my

Rosalind,

Bold, subtle, careless Rosalind,

Is one of those

who know no

Of inward woe

or outward fear

strife

To whom the slope and stream

The life before, the life behind,
In the ear, from far and near.

of Life,

poem

manifestly

NOTES.

336

Chimeth musically

My

clear.

falconhearted Rosalind,

FuUsailed before a vigorous wind,

Is one of those

For

who cannot weep

others' woes, but overleap

All the petty shocks and fears

That trouble

With

life in

early years,

a flash of frolic scorn

And keen delight, that never falls

Away from freshness, self-upborne
With such gladness

The

To

as,

whenever

freshflushing springtime calls

the flooding waters cool,

Young

Up

fishes, on an April morn,

and down a rapid river.

Leap the little waterfalls

That sing into the pebbled pool.
My happy falcon, Rosalind,
Hath daring fancies of her own.
Fresh as the davm before the day.
Fresh as the early seasmell blown
Through vineyards from an inland bay.

My

my

Rosalind,

Rosalind,

Because no shadow on you

falls.

Think you hearts are tennisballs.

To play vrith, wanton Rosalind ?

Eleanore.
from the 1833 volume, with
the seventh and eighth stanzas.

Reprinted

changes

Page
a

in

229.

in

How may full-saiPd verse

reminiscence

proud

of

Shakespeare,

'

231.

Roofd

the

Did roof noonday,'

Page

232.

As

'

Evidently

Was

world with doubt and fear.

that

quiet

from the outer deep

Roll into a quiet cove,

There

it

the

fall

Origi-

etc.

waves that up a

was
As waves

original reading

express.

Sonnet 86

some

great verse,' etc.

full sail of his

Page
nally

1842

away, and lying

still.

cave,

etc.

The

NOTES.

337

Having glorious dreams

in sleep,

Shadow forth the banks at will

Or sometimes they swell and move,
While the amorous, odorous wind.
amorous,' etc.

Page

233.

watch thy grace,

had the following

edition of 1833

then

and

I faint,

My

etc.

For

'

When

the

line

the

this

gaze on thee the cloudless noon

Of mortal beauty

Floweth

etc.

Originally

in its place, etc.

Originally

then, as in a swoon.

'

Floweth

swoon.*

Life

is

full of

Weary

Days.

First printed in 1833, with the heading

'

To

.*

The

two stanzas were not reprinted until 1865, when they

appeared in the volume of 'Selections' in their present form.
The original reading was as follows
first

I.

All good things have not kept aloof,

Nor wander'd
I

into other

ways

have not lacked thy mild reproof.

Nor golden
But

largess of thy praise,

life is full of

weary days.

II.

Shake hands, my friend, across the brink

Of that deep grave to which I go.
Shake hands once more I cannot sink
far down, but I shall know
So far
:

Thy

The next

voice,

and answer from below.

three stanzas were added later, with no change

except 'scritches of the jay' for 'laughters of the

'

darnel

for

'

'

jay,'

and

darnels.'

The following stanzas, with which the poem originally

ended (connected closely with the preceding, there being
only a comma after the woodbines blow '), have not been
'

restored

VOL.

I.

22

'

NOTES.

$$$

VI.

thou art

If

blest,

my

mother's smile

Undimmed, if bees are on the wing

Then cease, my friend, a little while,
That

may

hear the throstle sing

His bridal song, the boast of spring.

VII.

Sweet as the noise

Of bubbling
(If

any sense

Thy words

in

to

The Quarterly Review

'

'

line,
is

'

If

'

any sense

in

me

will

As welcome

me

parched plains

in

wells that fret the stones

remains),

be

my

thy cheerful tones

crumbling bones.

had

for July, 1833,

remains.'

its fling at

This doubt,'

'

it

the

says,

inconsistent with the opening stanza of the piece, and, in

we take upon ourselves to reassure Mr.

even after he shall be dead and buried, as
will still remain as he has now the good

too modest

fact,

Tennyson

that,

" sejtse "

much

fortune to possess.'

That is, with the

Page 235.
New-flush'' d with may.
blossoms of the hawthorn. Compare The Miller's Daughter
The lanes, you know, were white with may.' Here, as there,
some of the American reprints put May for may.'
:

'

'

'

'

'

Early Sonnets.

To

The
line

In

the 1833 volume, but suppressed in 1842.

original version has ' a confused dream ' in the third

I.

'

reads,

knew not in the twelfth and the last line

each had lived in the other's mind and speech.'

Altho' I
'

And

'

In the eighth line

hath

'

'

is

italicised.

Reprinted

II.

To

III.

In the 1833 volume, but suppressed

in 1842 from the 1830 volume. It is addressed to John Mitchell Kemble (1807-1857),
who was a fellow-student of the poet at Cambridge. He gave
up his purpose of entering the Church (to which this sonnet
refers), and devoted himself to Anglo-Saxon studies.

first
'

line

J.

'

full

warm was
'

M. K.

'

'

was

great.'

originally

'

fierce

;
'

and

in 1842.
in

In the

the twelfth

'

A'OTES.

Alexander.

IV.
Edition

The

'

of the

First

339

published

story of the visit of Alexander to the oracle of Jupiter

Ammon

Libyan Desert

in the

well-known.

is

Buonaparte.
In the 1S33 volume, but suppressed in
The only variation from the original version is in the

V.
1842.

third line,

which had

'

that

'

for

'

VL
On

Poland.

VII.

This

printed in the

The

16.

'

Muscovite

'

had

'

entitled

Poland
How long
;

in the tenth line.

Selections

'

of 1865, with the heading,

The only

'

first

Three

alterations are in the

first

which originally had dainty for slender,'

line of VIII., which had
waltzing-circle for

of VII.,

and the

original version

is

sonnet and the two that follow were

Sonnets to a Coquette.'

'

fifth

'

'

'

'

whirling dances.'

At the end
'

7,

the 1833 volume, where it

the Result of the late Russian Invasion of

shall the icy-hearted

'

viii.

In

suppressed in 1842.

line

For the Scriptural

who.'

allusion in the last line, see Judges,

'

'Library

the

in

Poems,' 1S72-73.

'

of IX. there

is

an allusion to the old proverb,

green Christmas makes a fat churchyard.'

X.

Printed

in 1833,

nal reading of the

XI.

The

but suppressed in 1842.

first line

Brides.maid.

was But were

'

Like

The

origi-

I loved,' etc.

IV., first printed in 1872.

The Lady of Shalott.

First printed in 1833,

The
follows

and much altered in 1842.

stanza were originally as

last four lines of the first

:

The
The

yellowleaved waterlily,

greensheathed daffodilly,

Tremble

in the water chilly.

Round about

The next stanza began

thus

Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens shiver.

The sunbeam-showers

break and quiver

In the stream that runneth ever, eic.

NOTES.

340
The

first

reading of the third and fourth stanzas was

Underneath the bearded

barley,

The

and

reaper, reaping late

early,

Hears her ever chanting cheerly,

Like an angel, singing clearly,
O'er the stream of Camelot.
Piling the sheaves in furrows airy.

Beneath the moon, the reaper weary

"t

Listening whispers,

Lady

the fairy

is

of Shalott.'

The little isle is all inrailed

With a rose-fence, and overtraded
With roses by the marge unhailed
:

The

shallop flitteth silkensailed.

Skimming down

to Camelot.

pearlgarland winds her head

She leaneth on a

velvet bed,

Full royally apparellfed,

The Lady
Part n. goes on thus

of Shalott.

No

A
A

time hath she to sport and play

charmfed web she weaves alway.
curse

is

on her,

Her weaving,

To

if

she stay

either night or day.

look

down

to

Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be

Therefore she weaveth steadily.
Therefore no other care hath she,

The Lady

of Shalott.

She lives with little joy or fear.

Over the water, running near,

The

sheepbell tinkles in her ear.

Before her hangs a mirror

clear,

Reflecting towered Camelot,

And
She

as the

mazy web she

whirls.

sees the surly village-churls, etc.

The next stanza (' Sometimes a troop,' etc.) is unchanged

and the only alteration in the next is went to Camelot for
came from Camelot.'
;

'

'

In Part

had

'

NOTES.

341

III. the fifth line of the

second and third stanzas

down from Camelot

'

over

green Shalott

'

Tirra

lirra,

'

water-flower.'

'

the last line of the third had

the eighth line of the fourth was

'

tirra lirra

'

and the

third line of the fifth

In Part IV. the latter part of the

follows

Outside the

isle

first

stanza was as

a shallow boat

Beneath a willow lay

afloat,

Below the carven stem she wrote,

The Lady of Shalott,

Then followed

this stanza

cloudwhite crown of pearl she dight.

All raimented in

That

snowy white

loosely flew (her zone in sight,

Clasped with one blinding diamond bright)

Her wide eyes

Though

fixed

on Camelot,

the squally eastwind keenly

Blew, with folded arms serenely

By

the water stood the queenly

Lady

of Shalott.

The next stanza opened

thus

With a steady stony glance

Like some bold seer in a trance.
Beholding all his own mischance,

Mute, with a glassy countenance

She looked down, to Camelot.
It

was the

The remaining

closing, etc.

stanzas were as follows

As when to sailors while they roam,

By creeks and outfalls far from home.
Rising and dropping with the foam,

From

dying swans wild warblings come.

Blown shoreward
Still

as the boathead

The

willowy

hills

so to Camelot

wound along

and

fields

had

among.

They heard her chanting her deathsong,

The Lady of Shalott.

NOTES.

342

A longdrawn carol, mournful, holy,

She chanted loudly, chanted lowly.
Till her eyes

And

were darkened wholly,

her smooth face sharpened slowly,

Turned
For

to

towered Camelot

ere she reached, etc.

Under tower and balcony,

By

gardenwall and gallery,

pale, pale corpse she floated by,

Deadcold, between the houses high,

Dead

into towered Camelot.

Knight and burgher, lord and dame.

To the planked wharfage came
Below the stern they read her name,
:

'

They

The Lady

of Shalott.'

crossed themselves, their stars they blest,

Knight, minstrel, abbot, squire, and guest.

There lay a parchment on her breast,

That puzzled more than all the rest,

The wellfed wits at Camelot.

The web was woven curiously,
The charm is broken utterly,

'

Draw

near and fear not

this
The Lady of Shalott.^

is I,

The ending of the poem is much improved by the revision.

The 'wellfed wits' (the epithet seems out of keeping here)
might well

be

pointless as

it

'

is

puzzled

by the parchment, which

'

enigmatical; but the

new

is

ending, with

as
its

is most pathetic and suggestive.

According to Palgrave ('Lyrical Poems by Tennyson'),
the poem was suggested by an Italian romance upon the
Domta di Scalotta, in which Camelot, unlike the Celtic tradiIt is in a very different form
tion, was placed near the sea.'
that the legend reappears in the Idylls of the King.'

introduction of Lancelot,

'

'

Page

254.

Dead-pale

reading of 1842 (and

down

between

the

to 1S73) ^^^^

'

houses

A corse

high.

The

between,'

etc.

NOTES.
Mariana

the South.

in

changed so much

First printed in 1833, but

give the original form in full

Behind the barren

hill

With pointed rocks

The

343

in 1842 that

upsprung
against the light,

crag sharpshadowed overhung

Each
Far,

glaring creek

far,

and

inlet bright.

one lightblue ridge was seen,

Looming

like baseless fairyland

Eastward a slip of burning sand,

Dark-rimmed with sea, and bare of green.

Down

in the dry salt-marshes stood

That house darklatticed. Not a breath

Swayed the sick vineyard underneath,
Or moved the dusty southernwood.
Madonna,' with melodious moan
Sang Mariana, night and morn,
'

Madonna

'

lo

am

all

alone,

Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.'

She, as her carol sadder grew,

From her warm brow and bosom down

Through rosy taper fingers drew
Her streaming curls of deepest brown
On either side, and made appear,
Still-lighted in a secret shrine.

Her melancholy eyes divine,

The home of woe without a tear.
Madonna,' with melodious moan

Sang Mariana, night and mom,

Madonna lo I am all alone,
Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.'
'

When

the dawncrimson changed, and past

Into deep orange o'er the sea,

Low

on her knees herself she

cast,

Unto our lady prayed she.

She moved her lips, she prayed alone,
She praying disarrayed and warm

NOTES.

344
From

slumber, deep her wavy form

In the darkhistrous mirror shone.

Madonna,' in a low clear tone
'

Said Mariana, night and morn,

Low

she mourned,

'

am

all

alone,

Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.'

At noon she slumbered. All along

The silvery field, the large leaves talked
With one another, as among
The spiked maize in dreams she walked.
The lizard leapt the sunlight played
:

She heard the callow

And

nestling lisp.

brimful meadow-runnels crisp.

In the full-leaved platan-shade.

In sleep she breathed in a lower tone,

Murmuring
Madonna
'

as at night and morn,

lo

am

all

alone.

Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.'

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream

Most false he was and was not there.
:

She woke the babble of the stream

Fell, and without the steady glare
Shrank the sick olive sere and small.
The riverbed was dusty-white;
:

From

the bald rock the blinding light

Beat ever on the sunwhite wall.

She whispered, with a stifled moan

More inward than at night or mom,
Madonna, leave me not all alone,
To die forgotten and live forlorn.'
'

One dry cicala's summer song

At night filled all the gallery,
Backward the

And

latticeblind she flung.

leaned upon the balcony.

Ever the low wave seemed

Up

to the coast

to roll

far on, alone

In the East, large Hesper overshone

The mourning

gulf,

and on her soul

NOTES.
Poured divine

345

solace, or the rise

Of moonlight from

the margin gleamed,

and streamed
On her white arm, and heavenward eyes.

Volcano-like, afar,

Not

all

'

made

alone she

Yet ever sang

Madonna

lo

her moan,

and morn,

she, night

am

all

alone.

Love-forgotten and love-forlorn.'

The

only change since 1S42

in the fifth line of the fifth

is

stanza, which in that edition retains the original

Shrank the

'

sick olive,' etc.

Page
Italian
prol.

At

260.

for

'Nor

eve a dry cicala

Compare

cicada.

The Two

originally

it

the

is

Passes,'

was dated iS33),and

'So variously seem'd

The poem, according

'

Pippa

Voices.

(when

tered except in the last stanza but one, the

writes

'

yet cicala dared carouse.'

First published in 1842

was

Cicala

sung.

Browning,

with authority

to

all

'

unal-

of which

things wrought.'

(who unquestionably

Palgrave

describes

'),

first line

the conflict in a soul

between Scepticism and Faith.'

To-day I saw the dragon-fly, etc.

Page 261.
This utterance of the Voice has been variously interpreted.
Peter
Bayne (who is followed by Professor Corson) understands it
to

mean

to

him new spheres of energy and happiness

that the shuffling off of this mortal coil

'

reply of the poet

the

is

man

that

is

likely to develop.'

But

human

(as

may open

and that

'

the

nature's highest product,

obvious suggestion being that there

dragon-fly into which the

'

is

no splendid

grub, released by death,

remarked

in

my

'

Select

is

Poems

of Tennyson,' in 1884) this 'suggestion,' so far from being

'

obvious,'

make

seems

to

me

merely a

desperate

the reference to the higher nature of

what the
myself, I

man

attempt
a

'

reply

to
'

to

assumes that the Voice means to say. For

had no hesitation in adopting Tainsh's interpretacritic

tion of the passage:

'A

dragon-fly

is

more wonderful than

'

NOTES.

346
you

and Lord Tennyson afterwards explained

;
'

almost the same words

'

The

dragon-fly

to

it

me

in

as wonderful as

is

you.'

Page
Page

264.
265.

The thorn will blow. That the hawthorn.

The furzy prickle. The prickly furze, or
is,

gorse.

Page

When, wide in soul and bold of tongue, etc.

268.
doubt Professor Corson is right in seeing in this and the
following stanzas an allusion to the poet's university life.

No

Compare

Page

above.

p. 27

270.

Palace of Art

'

The

of the earth.

riddle

Compare

'The

Full oft the riddle of the painful earth

Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone.

Page
p. 17

Sometimes a

271.

corner shines,

little

etc.

See

above.

Page

273.

Like

Stephen,

See

an iinqnenched fire.

above.

p. 21

The elements were kitidlier mix^d.

An allusion to the old
man was composed of the four elements, earth,
air, fire, and water, and that the well-balanced mixture of
these produced the perfection of humanity.
Compare
notion that

Shakespeare,

'

Julius Caesar,' v.

5.

73

His life was gentle, and the elements

So mix'd in him that Nature might stand up
And say to all the world, ' This was a man
!

Page

280.

'.(^neid,' vi.

Page

Some draught of Lethe,

748

286.

You

Compare George
And

etc.

Compare

Virgil,

fol.

scarce could see the grass

Peele,

'

Araynment

of Paris

for flowers.
'

rounde about the valley as ye passe,

Ye may ne

see, for

peeping

floures, the grasse.

NOTES.
The

Miller's Daughter.

much changed

First printed in 1833, but

nally

began with
I

this stanza

an ivy-tod.

fishing in the mill-dam water,

stanza,

not of the miller's daughter.

now

the

the only change in the next

is

'

first,

remains unaltered, and

make

can

for

'

makes

'

'

in the

In the next (third) stanza, the original reading in

the second line was

'

in

laugh'd to see him as he stood,

And dreamt

wife

rod,

look'd so jolly and so good,

While

last line.

It origi-

wealthy miller's mealy face,

Like the moon

He

The second

in 1842.

met in all the close green ways,

While walking with my line and

The

347

'

My

darling Alice,' and

'

my own

sweet

in the sixth line.

The

fourth stanza ('Have

not found,'

in 1842.

The

fifth

stanza originally stood thus

etc.)

My
I

father's mansion, mounted high.

Looked down upon the village spire.
was a long and listless boy,

And

son and heir unto the squire.

In these dear walls, where

and you

Have lived and loved alone so

Each morn my sleep, etc.

The

sixth stanza
I

began

long,

often heard the cooing dove

In

But

firry

woodlands mourn alone

ere I saw, etc.

The last line had the long for those

The seventh stanza was as follows
'

'

'

long.'

Sometimes I whistled in the wind,

Sometimes I angled, thought and deed
Torpid, as swallows

left

behind

That vdnter 'neath the

floating

weed

was added

NOTES.

348
At

will to

wander everyway

From brook to brook my sole delight,

As lithe eels over meadows gray
Oft shift their glimmering pool by night.

The
and the

eighth stanza was the one

quatrain read thus

first

now made

the thirteenth,

How dear to me in youth, my love,

Was everything about the mill
The black and silent pool above.
The pool beneath that ne'er stood

The

ninth and tenth were as follows

from

I loved

off

etc.

the bridge to hear

The rushing sound

And

still,

the water made,

see the fish that everywhere

In the backcurrent glanced and played

Low down

the

fiagfiower that

tall

sprung

Beside the noisy steppingstones.

And

the massed chestnutboughs that hung

Thickstudded over with white cones.

Remember you that pleasant day

When, after roving in the woods,
('T was April then)

That glistened

Upon
I

came and

gummy

Beneath those

lay

chestnutbuds

in the April blue

the slope so smooth and cool,

and never thought of you,

But angled in the deep millpool.

lay

The stanza beginning

original version,

'

love-song,' etc.,

which continued thus:

was not

water-rat from off the bank

Plunged

in the

stream.

With

idle care,

Downlooking through the sedges rank,

I saw your troubled image there.
Upon the dark and dimpled beck
It wandered like a floating light,

full fair

And

form, a

warm white neck.

how rosy white

two white arms

in the

NOTES.

349

you remember, you had set

If

Upon

the narrow casement-edge

long green box of mignonette,

And you were

I raised

my

leaning from the ledge.

eyes at once

They met two eyes

above

so blue and bright,

Such eyes I swear to you, my love,

That they have never lost their light.
!

The next
follows

(thirteenth)

stanza,

now

suppressed, was

That slope beneath the chestnut tall.

Is wooed with choicest breaths of air
Methinks that

The
Each

you

all

down the grassy

bent,

leaves hold the gathered shower,

quaintly-folded cuckoo-pint,

And

The

tell

cowslips and the kingcups there

coltsfoot

Whose round
Each

could

silver-paly

fourteenth was

cuckoo flower.

In rambling on the eastern wold,

When

thro' the

showery April nights

Their hueless crescent glimmered cold,

From
I

all

knew your

My

heart

the other village lights

taper far away.

was

full of

trembling hope,

Down from the wold I came and lay

Upon the dewy swarded slope.

The

fifteenth

was as follows

The white chalkquarry from

Upon
I

the hill

the broken ripple gleamed,

murmured

lowly, sitting

still.

While round my feet the eddy streamed

Oh that I were the wreath she wears.
!

The mirror where her sight she feeds.

The song she sings, the air she breathes.
The letters of the book she reads.'

as

'

NOTES.

35
The
*

was identical with the present

saw you sit and spin,' etc.
The seventeenth was
sixteenth

Sometimes

but

I loved,

My
Your

dared to speak

May

lawns were white with

moved

ripe lips

Flushed

when

love, the

sixteenth,

like the

not, but your cheek

coming

day

of the

Rosecheekt, roselipt, half-sly, half-shy,

You

etc.

May,' which

'

may

may have been

'

'

would,

a misprint, was changed to

in 1842.

The eighteenth and nineteenth (afterwards omitted to

make room for the three new ones, in which Alice is brought
to visit his mother,

the present eighteenth, nineteenth, and

twentieth) were as follows

Remember you

the clear moonlight

That whitened

When
I

all

the eastern ridge,

o'er the water, dancing white,

upon the old mill-bridge ?

stept

heard you whisper from above

murmured,

lute-toned whisper,
'

The stream

The low

all

am here
my love,
;

is

loud

cannot hear.'

have seemed to hear.

I heard, as I

When

'

Speak again,

the under air was

voice of the glad

Call to the freshly-flowered

I

heard, as

The
Call to

To

The

left

hill.

have often heard,

nightingale in leafy
its

still.

new year

woods

mate, when nothing stirred

or right but falling floods.

twentieth stanza was as follows

Come, Alice, sing to me the song

I made you on our marriageday,
When, arm in arm, we went along
Half-tearfully, and you were gay

NOTES.
With brooch and

ring

351

for

seem,

-shall

The while you sing that song, to hear

The millwheel turning in the stream.

And

The

'

Song
I

the green chestnut whisper near.

was

'

wish

originally this
I

were her earring

Ambushed
(So might

in

auburn ringlets

my shadow

sleek,

tremble

Over her downy cheek)

Hid

in her hair, all day and night,

Touching her neck so warm and white.

wish

I were the girdle

Buckled about her dainty waist,
That her heart might beat against

me

In sorrow and in rest.

I

should

I 'd

know

clasp

wish

it

well

if it

beat right,

round so close and

tight.

were her necklace,

So might I ever fall and rise

her balmy bosom
With her laughter or her sighs.
would lie round so warm and light
would not be unclasped at night.

Upon
I
I

The next

stanzas (twenty-first and twenty-second) were:

trifle,

sweet, which true love spells

True love interprets right alone

For o'er each letter broods and dwells
(Like light from running waters thrown

On

flowery swaths) the blissful flame

Of

his sweet eyes, that,

With pulses

Do

How

day and night.

thrilling thro' his

frame

inly tremble, starrybright.

waste language

yet

in truth

You must blame love, whose early

Made me a rhymester in my youth,

And

over-garrulous in age.

rage

NOTES.

352
me

Sing

that other song

Half-angered with

When
1

in the

made,

my happy

lot,

breezy limewood-shade

found the blue forget-me-not.

This was the second

Song

'

'

All yesternight you

met me

My

me

ladylove, forget

When

am

not.

not.

me not,
me not.

gone, regret

But, here or there, forget

With your arched eyebrow

And

That seem

to say,

'

me

In idle sorrow set

Regret

me

leave

Wear

me

not

not,

me

me

not

away

quite

not.'

not.

not

me

not

oh, let

me

forget

me

forget

pray you, love, forget

Oh

threat

tremulous eyes, like April skies,

not

forget me not.

With roguish laughter fret me not

From dewy eyes, like April skies.
That ever look, forget me not,'
'

Blue as the blue forget-me-not.

The twenty-third stanza is unaltered from the one beginLook thro' mine eyes with thine,' etc. and the twentyfourth and last is the same that now ends the poem, except
ning

'

that the first quatrain reads thus

I 've

half a

To

mind

to walk,

my

love.

the old mill across the wolds.

For look

Winds

the sunset from above

all

the vale in rosy folds, etc.

(' Yet
added in 1842. In the seventh line
of the twenty-fifth all the American editions that I have seen
(from 1842 down) have the loss that brought instead of
had brought.'

The

present twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth stanzas

tears they shed,' etc.) were

'

'

'

NOTES.

353

Fatima.
Reprinted in 1842 from the volume of 1833, where, instead of
the present title, it has for heading the following quotation
4>a(j'6Tof fioi Krjvos fffos 0eo7cnv

Sappho.

EfifiiV avT]p.

The second stanza was added in 1842. The only other

change from the original version is the substitution of from
for at in the second line of the poem.

'

'

'

'

CEnone.
First printed in 1833, but materially altered in 1842
slightly since.

The poem

originally

There

is

began thus

a dale in Ida, lovelier

Than any in old Ionia, beautiful

With emerald slopes of sunny sward,
Above the loud

glenriver,

that lean

which hath worn

path thro' steepdown granite walls below

Mantled with flowering tendriltwine. In front

The cedarshadowy valleys open wide.
Far-seen, high over

And many

all

the Godbuilt wall

a snowycolumned range divine,

men and Gods,

Mounted with awful sculptures
bright on the darkblue sky
The work of Gods
The windy citadel of Ilion

Shone, like the crown of Troas.

Hither came

Mournful CEnone, wandering forlorn

Of Paris, once her playmate. Round her neck,

Her neck all marblewhite and marblecold,
Floated her hair or seemed to

float in rest.

She, leaning on a vine-entwined stone,

Sang

to the stillness,

Sloped downward

till

the mountain-shadow

to her seat

from the upper

' O mother Ida. manyfountained

Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I

VOL.

I.

23

Ida,
die.

chff.

and

NOTES.

354
The
The

grasshopper

the grass,

is silent in

Hzard with his shadow on the stone

Sleeps like a shadow, and the scarletwinged

Cicala in the noonday leapeth not.

Along the water-rounded granite-rock

The

The

the golden bee, etc.

on without change (except the insertion

hills,' which is
version) to the line, Came up from reedy

text then goes

of the line,

not in the

Simois

purple flower droops

'

waited underneath the dawning

first

'

all alone.'
'

mother

I sate alone

then proceeds as follows

It

Ida, hearken ere I die.

:

morn

the goldensandalled

Rosehued the scornful hills I sate alone

With downdropt eyes whitebreasted like a star
Fronting the dawn he came a leopard skin
From his white shoulder drooped his sunny hair
Clustered about his temples like a God's
:

And his cheek brightened, as the foambow brightens

When the wind blows the foam and I called out,
;

" Welcome, Apollo, welcome home, Apollo,

Apollo,

my

Apollo, loved Apollo."

' Dear mother Ida, hearken

ere I die.
He, mildly smiling, in his milkwhite palm

Close-held a golden apple, lightningbright

With changeful

flashes,

Ambrosially smelling.

dropt with dew of Heaven

From

his lip.

Curved crimson, the fullflowing

Came down upon my heart.

river of speech

My own

"

Beautifulbrowed CEnone, mine

Behold
'

this fruit,

For the most

Deep

own

whose gleaming rind ingrav'n

fair

'

in aftertime

evilwilledness of heaven

may breed

and sere

Heartburning toward hallowed Ilion

CEnone,

soul.

In the Pyrenees, where part of this

poem was

written, I

saw a

very beautiful species of Cicala, which had scarlet wings spotted with
black.

Probably nothing of the kind exists in Mount Ida.

NOTES.
And

all

my

the colour of

355

afterlife

Will be the shadow of today.

Today
Here and Pallas and the floating grace
Of laugh terloving Aphrodite meet
In manyfolded Ida to receive
This meed of beauty, she to whom my hand
Award the palm. Within the green hillside,
Under yon whispering tuft of oldest pine,
Is

an ingoing grotto, strown with spar

the mouth, wherein

And ivymatted at
Thou unbeholden
Hear
'

all,

may'st behold, unheard

and see thy Paris judge of Gods."

Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die.

was the deep midnoon one silvery cloud

It

Had

lost his

way between

the piney hills.

They came
all three
the Olympian goddesses
Naked they came to the smoothswarded bower,
Lustrous with

lilyflower, violeteyed

Both white and

blue,

with lotetree-fruit thickset,

Shadowed with singing pine

and all the while,

Above, the overwandering ivy and vine
This way and that in many a wild festoon
;

Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs

With bunch and berry and flower thro' and

On

thro'.

the treetops a golden glorious cloud

Leaned, slowly dropping down ambrosial dew.

How
To

beautiful they were, too beautiful

look upon

More
'

lovelier

but Paris was to

than

me

the world beside.

all

mother Ida, hearken ere

I die.

First spake the imperial Olympian

With arched eyebrow smiling

sovranly,

Fulleyed Here.

made

She

to Paris

Proffer of royal power,

ample rule

Unquestioned, overflowing revenue

Wherewith

And

to embellish state " from many a vale

riversundered champaign clothed with com,

Or upland glebe wealthy in oil and wine

Honour and homage, tribute, tax and toll

NOTES.

356
From many

an inland town and haven

large,

Mast-thronged below her shadowing citadel

In glassy bays among her
'

mother

Ida,

hearken ere

she spake on and

Still

tallest

still

towers."

1 die.

she spake of power

" Which in all action is the end of all.

Power fitted to the season, measured by
The height of the general feeling, wisdomborn
And throned of wisdom from all neighbour crowns

Alliance and allegiance evermore.

Such boon from me Heaven's Queen

The next
of

Juno ends with these two

The
The

There
his spirit

is
'

lines,

and the speech

afterwards suppressed

highest height and topmost strength of power.

no change

for

'

in the

next ten

lines,

except

Flatter'd his heart.'

of Pallas originally stood thus

Self reverence, self knowledge, self control

Are the three hinges of the gates of Life,

That open into power, everyway
Without horizon, bound or shadow or cloud.
Yet not for power (power of herself
Will come uncalled-for) but to live by law,
Acting the law we

live

by without

fear,

And because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom, in the scorn of consequence.
(Dear mother Ida, hearken ere

Not

as

men

value gold because

And blazons outward

it

die.)

tricks

Life with ornament.

But rather as the miser,

for itself.

Good for self good doth half destroy

The means and end, like two coiled

selfgood.

snakes, infect

Each other, bound in one with hateful love.

So both into the fountain and the stream

A
So

falls.
Come hearken to me.
me and consider me.
find me fairest, so endurance,

drop of poison

And

changeless calm of undisputed right.

The speech
'

to thee kingborn," etc.

six lines follov^r without change,

look upon

shalt thou

'

Flattered

NOTES.
Like

to an athlete's arm, shall

Sinew'd with motion,

357
become

still

thine active will

till

(As the dark body of the Sun robed round

With his own ever-emanating lights)

Be flooded o'er with her own effluences,

And

thereby grow to freedom.'

Here she

The next
on thus

unchanged, and the

five lines are

ceased, etc.

poem

then goes

Idalian Aphrodite oceanbom,

Fresh as the foam, newbathed

With rosy

in

Paphian

wells,

upward drew
From her wai^m brow and bosom her dark hair
Fragrant and thick, and on her head upbound
In a purple band below her lucid neck
Shone ivorylike, and from the ground her foot
Gleamed rosywhite, and o'er her rounded form
Between the shadows of the vinebunches
Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.
slender fingers

There

no change

is

that, instead of

next twenty-four lines except

in the

the three lines beginning

laugh'd,' the first version has these two

my

only saw

only saw great Here's angry eyes, etc.

Paris raise his

In the

etc.) the earlier

die
p.

'

reading

and so also

314.

The

hearken ere

on

first line

'

My

My

'

dark

dark

the changes are few and

('

mother, hear

Dear mother

me

yet,'

Ida, hearken ere I

paragraph on

Oh mother Ida,
313 was
and the next paragraph began with Yet,
line

on

'

p.

'

mother Ida, hear me ere

beginning

'

312

at the beginning of the last

third

I die

is

poem
p.

She spoke and

arm

In the remainder of the

slight.

'

On

I die.'

tall pines,'

tall pines,

that

p. 312,

for the four lines

the original reading was

plumed the craggy ledge

High over the blue gorge,

or lower

Filling greengulphed Ida,

all

The snowy peak and snowwhite

Fostered the callow eaglet

down

between
cataract

from beneath,

etc.

NOTES.

358

the same page, ending with the

was inserted in 1842. For the three
lines on p. 314, beginning Ere it is born,' the first version has
only the line, Ere it is born. I will not die alone.'

The second paragraph on

second

on

line

p. 313,

'

'

And the winds are dead. All the editions I

Page 303.
have seen down to 1884 have 'and the cicala sleeps;' and in
The purple flowers droop.' It probably
the next line
'

occurred to the poet that the introduction of the cicala, or

cicada (the Greek cicada, not our insect so called), was too
nearly a repetition of that of the grasshopper.

As
'

slowly to a music,

yotider walls Rose

Tithonus

'
:

Like that strange song

etc.

Compare

heard Apollo sing

Ilion like a mist rose into towers.

While

For the myth, see Ovid,

'

Heroides,' xv. 179; and for a

similar legend concerning the origin of Camelot, see

'

Gareth

and Lynette.'

Page
Compare

308.
'

Rest

a happy place

in

The Lotos-Eaters

'
:

and

quiet seats.

For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly

Round

curl'd

their golden houses, etc.

The

Sisters.

Reprinted in 1842 from the 1833 volume, with no change

except

'

and

'

for

'

an'

'

in

'

turret

END OF

and

tree.'

VOL. L

c_>

c^o

THE LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
Santa Barbara

THIS BOOK

IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE

STAMPED BELOW.

t^^-H'-J

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