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TENNYSON'S ''IN MEMORIAM": 
 
 ITS PURPOSE AND ITS STRUCTURE. 
 
 A DISSERTATION 
 
 PRESENTED 
 
 TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL FACULTY OF THE 
 ■UNIVERSITY OF LEIPZIG. ;, 
 
 BY 
 JOHN FRANKLIN GENUNG" 
 
 LEIPZIG. 
 
 PRINTED BY ACKERMANN & GLASEli. 
 1881. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013559574 
 
TENMSON'S "IN MEMORIAM": 
 ITvS PURPOSE AND ITS STRUCTURK 
 
TENNYSON'S "IN MEMORIAM": 
 
 ITS PURPOSE AND ITS STRUCTURE. 
 
 A DISSERTATION 
 
 PRESENTED 
 
 TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL FACULTY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF LEIPZIG. 
 
 BY 
 JOHN FRANKLIN GENUNG. 
 
 LEIPZIG. 
 
 PRINTED BY ACKEEMANN & GLASBR. 
 1881. 
 
^. ^^fi4^su 
 
TENNYSON'S "IN MEMORIAM". 
 
 The long period of seventeen years (1833—1850), from the 
 event vsrhich Tennyson's "In Memoriam" commemorates until 
 the time of its publication, may be divided into two nearly 
 equal periods. 
 
 To the first period — the nine years succeeding the death of'S/J "mb^ 
 of Arthur Henry Hallam — the limit is set by the poet him- fjJJ^i^gg 
 self (See "In Memoriam", Epilogue, stanzas 3—6). This period *° ^8^^- 
 he characterises as a time at the beginning of which he had 
 expressed, with such broken utterance as he could command, 
 a sudden and overwhelming grief in song; and so by degrees 
 these "wild and wandering cries" spent themselves, until at 
 the end of the period the succeeding calm has become 
 so settled and permanent that the songs of that first time 
 seem already far-away and strange. During that time were 
 made those parts of "In Memoriam" which give utterance to the 
 aimless moods of sorrow as they rise, which seem to be borne 
 arbitrarily hither and thither, without definite object, without 
 systematic arrangement, as if they had no point on which to 
 steady themselves. How far their real character answers to 
 this seeming we shall have occasion to see; such a character 
 at least is all that the poet attributes to them; and those 
 persons who take up "In Memoriam" for a leisure hour or for 
 a cursory reading very frequently obtain this general im- 
 pression of it. 
 
 Of this same period we have however other witness, such "^^^^^^^i^ 
 witness as makes the poet's own characterisation of it doubly**"'' p"'°*- 
 
6 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMOBIAM". 
 
 interesting. As is well known, those nine years were years 
 of almost unbroken silence on the poet's part, he having 
 published in all that time only two short lyrics. In 1842 the 
 silence was first broken by the appearance of a new edition 
 of Tennyson's works, that edition in which the world first 
 read such poems as "Two Voices", "Locksley Hall", "Love and 
 Duty", "Morte d' Arthur", "Ulysses". These poems show every- 
 where how well the silent period had been employed, in the 
 greater maturity of their art, and especially in the greater 
 depth of thought, as compared with former productions. The 
 following appreciative words, written of Tennyson in August 
 1842, will indicate with what satisfaction the new volumes 
 ofMli-giret'"^^''^ received: "Much has he thought, much suffered, since the 
 s^ii"TLonlfi^^t ecstasy of so fine an organisation clothed all the world 
 '^11 25f i^ I'osy 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 con- 
 clusions are calmly noble." With these words it is interesting 
 to compare the poet's own words concerning himself, dating 
 from the same time. In the stanzas already referred to, as 
 he looks back over the summers that are gone, with their 
 valuable though sad experience, the poet says: — 
 "In Memo- "For I myself with these have grown 
 
 nam", Bpi- , . „ „ 
 
 logue, St. 5. To something greater than hefore . 
 
 If "In Memoriam" has, as really appears in its pages, preser- 
 of '?'in°Ml'^ ved in some sense the spiritual record of those years, we cannot 
 teTm'ig'I^ 1^* it ^top with the mere aimless moods of grief; we look for 
 to I860. II ^0 ]^a,ve advanced beyond these, even in this first period, 
 to some such firm standing ground as the other poetry of this 
 period evinces, and as the poet recognises in himself. Further 
 we have yet the second period to consider. In spite of the 
 fact that these songs of sorrow seem but "echoes out of weaker 
 times", the poet still cherishes them and accounts them worthy 
 of eight more years of patient work, before they are given to 
 the world. In this second period we look for some fruit of 
 that calmer greater mind in which the poet is fitted by the 
 stern discipline of the past to work. And whatever the ad- 
 ditions of this period are, we look at all events for such 
 rounding, such arranging, such linking of parts together, as 
 
INTEOBUCTOEY. 7 
 
 shall fit the poem to challenge the world's attention as a uni- 
 fied work of art. A true work of art should not fail in the 
 primary characteristic of "toil cooperant to an end" — such 
 at least is the poet's own ideal; — we naturally expect there- 
 fore to find in the completed poem a beginning, a correlation 
 of parts, a progress, a culmination. This expectation is streng- 
 thened when we consider the character of those poems which 
 have been added to "In Memoriam" since the first edition, ^ameiy 
 
 poems 
 
 The fact that these were added indicates a striving in the ^i^sfe 
 poet's mind after a more complete articulation of his thought; pp-27-2e. 
 and the character of the poems themselves — depending, as 
 they do, largely on the context for their meaning — indicates 
 some larger plan, to which these are related, which we may 
 hope to find. 
 
 "In Memoriam" does not yield its whole secret at once. 
 Nor does it reveal itself willingly to an uncongenial or im- 
 patient reader. Its artistic structure is to be sought only 
 through its spirit ; and such is its character that inquiry after 
 its spirit, which must precede the investigation of its structure 
 is best prosecuted in an inquiry after its purpose. 
 
TENNYSON'S "IN MEMORIAM" — ITS PURPOSE. 
 
 "STEANGB ralEND, PAST, PEESBNT, AND TO BE; 
 
 LOVE DBBPLIBE, DAEKLIBE tTNDBESTOOD; 
 
 BEHOLD, I DEBAM A DEBAM OF GOOD, 
 AND MINGLE ALL THE WOELD WITH THEE". 
 
 The word purpose, as I wish to apply it to "In Me- 
 moriam", is both a differential and a descriptive term. As a 
 differential term, it is perhaps the word which best indicates 
 that deeper and distinctive character of "In Memoriam" which 
 remains after we have exhausted whatever parallelism it has 
 with other literary works belonging superficially to a similar 
 class. As a descriptive term, it is the word which best in- 
 dicates on the one hand the poem's relation to the thought of 
 its time and the personal views of its author, and on the other 
 hand that characteristic which is the poem's chief reason for 
 existing, — to which thereiore other characteristics, artistic 
 and speculative, are related, and in which they culminate. 
 The word character, if more comprehensive, is also less 
 definitive ; and it may be regarded as the most concrete element 
 in "In Memoriam's" distinctive character, that it is in the 
 most justifiable sense a poem with a purpose. 
 
 The fulfilment of this use of the word purpose calls first 
 for some brief consideration of the poem's character as com- 
 pared with other works, and of its place in the thought of its 
 time and among the author's contemporary poems. These 
 
ITS PtJEPOSB. 9 
 
 comparisons will be supplemented by a consideration of the 
 poem's own indications of its purpose. 
 
 1. The title and occasion of "In Memoriam" claim for it?" ^f™°; 
 the character of an elegiac tribute to the dead: — ''^''^^■ 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 A. H. H. 
 
 OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII. 
 
 This title gives in outline its occasion: Arthur Henry 
 Hallam, for five years the intimate friend of Alfred Tennyson, 
 died at Vienna, September 15 th, 1833; and .with his sudden 
 death ceased a companionship whose congenial influence had 
 been of untold sweetness and value in the early years of the 
 poet's career. Such is the simple external fact; for the spiri- 
 tual significance of that companionship, both present and as 
 a memory, to the poet, reference is made to the whole course 
 of the poem. 
 
 As an elegy, "In Memoriam" provokes comparison with BLycials" 
 two other celebrated elegies in the English language, Milton's shtuty's 
 "Lycidas" and Shelley's "Adonais". "Adonais". 
 
 Milton's "Lycidas" is a pastoral, in which a dead shepherd 
 is represented as lamented by his surviving companion; and 
 under this artificial imagery the real facts of the death of 
 Milton's feUow-student Edward King are portrayed, so far as the 
 disguise of its classical form permits recognisable description. 
 Shelley's "Adonais ", written on occasion of the death of John 
 Keats, is a wonderful poetic picture of a poet's death, into 
 which picture are introduced the airy forms and scenery of 
 that supersensual world in which Shelley's genius habitually 
 dwelt. In both of these poems the purely artistic element 
 is designedly predominant. Both of the poems introduce, as 
 is natural to their subject, their author's ideas of death, if 
 not as formulated, at least as taken for granted; and it is 
 especially in comparing the treatment of this element, as we 
 shall see, that we become aware how essentially "In Memo- 
 riam" transcends the character of a mere elegy. 
 
 Such elements of parallelism as exist between these poems ^°^i^^°^ 
 and "In Memoriam" are furnished mainly by the very similar ji^^^'Jj^j^J^,, 
 occasion of all three 'productions. In each case the subject 
 of the elegy is a young man, with a life full of generous 
 
10 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMORIAM" 
 
 promise, whose untimely death cuts him off from a career 
 which his powers would have made famous. Within the sug- 
 gestiveness of these similar facts lie all or nearly all the 
 points that permit comparison. In each case the subject leads 
 us quite naturally to expect • — conditioned of course by the 
 poet's own individuality — some poet's view of blighted fame, 
 of the cheerlessness with which bereavement invests the world, 
 of the influence that shall survive death in loving hearts. 
 Such points as these are, as matter of fact, the points in 
 which alone the poems may be said to approach one another. 
 The selection of passages to illustrate so obvious a parallelism, 
 which must often be less in verbal expression than in the 
 general bearing of a passage, is rather unsatisfactory, yet 
 compare, as to fame, "Lycidas" 78 — 84 with "In Memoriam" 
 LXXIII. LXXV; as to the darkened world, "Lycidas" 37 f 
 and "Adonais" LIII. with "In Memoriam" VIII., XXXVIII , — com- 
 pare further "Adonais" XVIII. XXI. with "In Memoriam" cxv. 
 LXXVIII. 5, VI. 2 ; as to the surviving influence, compare "Lyci- 
 das" 183 i. and "Adonais" LV. with "In Memoriam", passim. 
 Smiia- ^^^ ^'^^^ striking point of 'difference between these poems 
 jj*y^^^_'^^,pand "In Memoriam", and that which may be taken as the 
 starting-point from which to measure their essential difference, 
 is the fact that while "Lycidas" and "Adonais" act a part, 
 "In Memoriam" speaks in its own character and calls things 
 by real instead of poetical names. The artistic model chosen 
 for both these others erects a conventional standard to which 
 their thought must conform itself: to find their authors' per- 
 sonality we must penetrate a disguise, and their ideas we 
 must translate (except where other than artistic issues cause 
 the poem to speak out of character, as in "Lycidas" 113 — 131) 
 from imagery into tangible form. "In Memoriam" on the other 
 hand discusses real issues, seeks a solution to universally 
 acknowledged mysteries; and we see both seeker and object 
 in the light of unfigurative expression. 
 
 This fact suggests indeed the essential difference. Before 
 all three poems, as elegies, stands of course the predominating 
 fact of death. But it is as an inquiry after the real nature 
 of death and the mystery beyond death, as a progress to re- 
 sults which it verifies step by step, that "In Memoriam" de- 
 
ITS PUBPOSE. 11 
 
 monstrates its character as more than a mere elegy. This cha- 
 racteristic difference may be well illustrated by a comparison 
 of those passages in each where death, as extinction of being 
 is denied. Both Milton and Shelley view the state after death 
 with settled mind, but settled in very different ways. In 
 "Lycidas", in the passage (165 — 181) beginning: — 
 
 "Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, "Lycidas" 
 
 For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead" — 
 
 it is settled as a Puritan mind becomes settled, in such full 
 consciousness of Scriptural teaching that even the poet's chosen 
 classical imagery disappears flom the description. In "Ado- 
 nais", in the passage beginning: — 
 
 "Peace, peace! he is not dead, he doth not sleep — "Adonais" 
 
 He hath awakened from the dream of life" — xii. 
 
 we have also the utterance of a long settled idea, if that 
 may be called an idea which consists rather in the passionate 
 negation of any definite idea regarding the beyond, further 
 than this, that the real clearness is yonder, the mystery here. 
 Quite distinct from these, it is the main characteristic of "In 
 Memoriam" that nothing is settled at first, all is settled at 
 last. The conviction: — 
 
 — "They do not die "in Memo- 
 
 Nor lose their mortal sympathy. 
 Nor change to us, although they change'' — 
 
 is not a conventionalism but the result of an earnest inquiry 
 into life and experience, — the first in a series of results 
 which add themselves until the whole world, temporal and 
 eternal, is included in the answer. 
 
 The same difference becomes strikingly evident also by a 
 comparison of what for the sake of distinction I may call the 
 pantheistic passages in the three poems. In "Lycidas" any 
 such element is rather poetic than pantheistic, being merely 
 such a fancy as does not compromise the poet's personal views, 
 and as deference to his antique model requires and permits: ■ — 
 
 "Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore, "Lycidas" 
 
 In thy large recompense, and shalt be good isa— 185. 
 
 To all that wander in that perilous flood." 
 

 12 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMOBIAM". 
 
 In "Adonais" this element appears pronounced and well- 
 defined, as entirely consistent with Shelley's unconventional 
 belief, which his whole poetical career has asserted: — 
 LiT— " "■^^ ^^ made one with Nature: there is heard 
 
 XLiii. His voice in all her music", etc. 
 
 When however Tennyson comes to say: — 
 "In Memo- "Thy voice is on the rolling air; 
 
 nam", 
 
 cxxx. I hear thee where the waters run; 
 
 Thou standest in the rising sun, 
 And in the setting thou art fair", etc. — 
 we find this asserted as an acquired conviction, suggested by 
 the preceding course of thought, and once asserted the idea is 
 pursued, in the answer to the question, "What art thou then?" 
 until an answer is found in which the poet's rational faith 
 may rest. 
 
 craparison "^^^ *^®^ ^^ *^® result of our comparison with "Lycidas" 
 and "Adonais" : "In Memoriam" fulfils, as they do , the charac- 
 teristics of an elegy, but this only as a subordinate feature. 
 If it were merely a formal tribute to the dead, and nothing 
 more, the dead friend would hardly have waited seventeen 
 years for his monument. But even those passages which show 
 perhaps the most striking parallelism in expression show also 
 in their connection most strikingly the fact that "In Memo- 
 riam's" distinguishing feature lies beyond the domain of the 
 elegy, in that character of inquiry, of progress to the solution 
 of the mystery beyond death and its bearing on dead and 
 living, whose meaning we shall hereafter have occasion nearer 
 to define. 
 
 "In Memo- 2. The death which "In Memoriam" commemorates, unlike 
 
 nam" as a / 
 
 ™^™°™lJj°*the preceding examples, was one which suddenly tore asunder 
 a fair companionship and invaded a love such as is rare be- 
 tween men. The power of that love death does not impair 
 but reveals; it lives and works, a hallowed infiuence, in the 
 survivor. The commemoration of that companionship and the 
 interpretation of that undiminished love is an element of "In 
 Memoriam" much more essential to it than its character as 
 an elegy. 
 Shake- j^g a memorial of friendship, "In Memoriam" has a noted 
 
 sonnetts. parallel in English Literature, which we cannot well leave, 
 uncompared, namely, Shakespeare's Sonnets. 
 
ITS PURPOSE. 13 
 
 The Sonnets of Shakespeare are among the most vexed 
 phenomena of the dramatist's career. This is not the place 
 to discuss the ever-open question who is their hero and how 
 far they are autobiographical: their ground of comparison with 
 "In Memoriam" lies in the fact that they portray a very re- 
 markable love of their author for some male friend, a love 
 which seems to take deep hold of the poet's life, and whose 
 expression in ever-varied forms of thought and imagery calls 
 forth all the resources of his art. 
 
 That Tennyson had himself during the experience which 
 "In Memoriam" records compared his love for Arthur Hallam 
 with Shakespeare's love for his unknown friend is, as seems 
 to me, evident from the remarkable allusion to Shakespeare, 
 "In Memoriam" LXI. 3 .- — 
 
 "I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can '.'^"^ ^™°: 
 
 riam"LXI.3. 
 
 The soul of Shakespeare love thee more." 
 A comparison of "In Memoriam" with the Sonnets indi- 
 cates also , by many striking turns of expression and still more 
 by the general similarity of spirit, Tennyson's thorough and 
 appreciative study of the latter. For a showing of these simi- 
 larities, illustrated by many examples, reference is made to 
 Tennysoniana (2 nd ed. London, 1879), pp. 55 — 72. See also 
 Furnivall's Introduction to Leopold Shakspere, p. LXIV. 
 
 Despite the fact however that Tennyson works with a fi^°*ri°y. 
 consciousness of his similar position to that of Shakespeare, 
 the parallelism between "In Memoriam" and the Sonnets is for 
 the most part superficial. In both the love of one man for 
 another is celebrated in song. In both the poet speaks in his 
 real character. In both there is a strong introspective ele- 
 ment — a disposition to analyse and define love, so far as 
 words and imagery can do it/ Beyond these outward resem- 
 blances the parallelism ends. With such similar circumstances 
 in mind, we look in both to see much said about song and 
 its sacred office, much about the value of the companionship, 
 much about the depth and lastingness of the love celebrated. 
 As a matter of fact, it is in the expression of such sentiments 
 as these that the most striking similarities are to be found. 
 Compare for instance, as to the song and its office. Sonnets 
 XVI. XVII. LXXXlll. XXXII. XXIX. xci. with "In Memoriam" 
 
14 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMORIAM". 
 
 LXXV. LXXVII; as to love, Sonnets XXV. CXVI. CII. with "In 
 Menioriam" LIX. LXXXV. 16. Epil. 4—6. That investiture of all 
 nature with cheer lessness , which in "In Memoriam" is caused 
 by bereavement, is portrayed in the Sonnets as the consequence 
 of absence, — compare "In Memoriam" viii. 2. XXXVIII. with 
 Sonnets, xcvil. So far the parallelism is superficial. Atten- 
 tion is called however to one remarkable point in which the 
 parallelism is deeper, namely to the passages in each which 
 portray the self-abnegation of the poet's love, compare Sonnets 
 XLIX. LXXI. Lxxxix. with "In Memoriam" lxi. LXII. This 
 sentiment imparts to Shakespeare's love a touch of that ideal 
 character which is the predominant feature of Tennyson's. 
 TbbI-" The points of divergence are essential, — that is to say, 
 
 miaiity. ^-^^ essButial purposB of "In Memoriam" depends on its main- 
 taining a sentiment other than that of Shakespeare's Sonnets. 
 As a minor point, the fact that fancy so rules in the Sonnets 
 as to obscure the personality of both lover and loved is a 
 difference that demands a radically different character, — as 
 is evident when we consider that "In Memoriam" is striving 
 fundamentally after the solution of a real mystery which allows 
 no disguises. The essential divergence lies, however, in the 
 different, we may almost say contrasted, character of the love 
 represented. Not that the one love is more genuine or self- 
 forgetful than the other, — that were precarious to assert; — 
 but they subsist in a different region and move to a different 
 end. In the Sonnets the love is earthly and touched with 
 earth's sin and shame; in "In Memoriam" it is idealised, fixed 
 beyond estrangment, hallowed, by death. In the Sonnets the 
 love recognise! only this world with its adulterous ways; in 
 "In Memoriam" the facts of the case transfer it to that unseen 
 world where it rises in purity and blessedness until it loses 
 itself in the love of God. Further, in the Sonnets love lan- 
 guishes in absence and sets no higher goal to its longing 
 than union again; in "In Memoriam", where absence is per- 
 manent bereavement, the continuance of love here and the 
 belief in its continuance as a personal characteristic beyond 
 death, constitutes the foundation of its most important argu- 
 ment. Finally, the Sonnets begin and end with the love of 
 one for one; "In Memoriam", which begins with the individual, 
 
ITS PURPOSE. 15 
 
 extends by degrees the sphere of its love to all the world. — 
 Of course the preceding comparison can recognise only the 
 first group of Shakespeare's Sonnets (i. to CXXVI.) as in any 
 way parallel with "In Memoriam" ; in the second group , which 
 portrays the love of Shakespeare for some unworthy mistress, 
 the utter contrast of sentiment may he sufficiently indicated 
 by a comparison of Sonnet CL. with "In Memoriam" CIX— CXII. 
 
 This then is the result of our comparison: — Like Shake- ^J^^'j'j.'ij"/,^ 
 speare's Sonnets, "In Memoriam" is the memorial of a friend- 
 ship "wonderful, passing the love of women". But this friend- 
 ship, as it was in this world, is in "In Memoriam" only the 
 starting-point. It is beyond this, in the portrayal of the love 
 which exists unimpaired by bereavement, the love which Death 
 has so idealised that its further steps must be traced in a 
 holy region accessible only to faith, — that "In Memoriam's" 
 distinctive character is to be found. The fact that it exists 
 for the purpose not merely of memorialising love but of inter- 
 preting its religious depths makes for "In Memoriam" a class 
 which it occupies alone. 
 
 3. To the characteristics of "In Memoriam" gathered from "i^ Memo- 
 
 , , riam" and. 
 
 the foregoing comparisons may be added another, drawn from ae nfe and 
 a glance at the life and thought of the time and the refiection "= time. 
 of these in the poet's contemporary works. 
 
 The composition of "In Memoriam" fell in a period which 
 for many reasons may be regarded as one of the most remark- 
 able of the century. Between the limits of those seventeen 
 years were witnessed the most marvellous of those practical 
 applications of steam and electricity which have revolutionised 
 modern civilisation. Science was awake on every hand, ga- 
 thering materials for those bold speculations on man and na- 
 ture which within a few years have antiquated all that science 
 had done before. Philosophical and theological speculation 
 had received a new impulse from Germany; and if that eager 
 impulse pushed itself into evils, it also made apparent to 
 earnest minds the need of a deeper life and more reasonable 
 thinking in religious things. Against the rationalistic tenden- 
 cies of this new thought on the one hand, and against a too 
 shallow Evangelicalism on the other, some of the leaders 
 of the church were stirred up to recognise the need of a 
 
16 TENNYSON'S „IN MBMOaiAM". 
 
 thorough reform; and the publication, from 1834 to 1841, of 
 "Tracts for the Times" was the outward indication of that 
 Oxford movement, characterised as "one of the most momen- 
 tous that had stirred the Church of England since the Re- 
 formation". (See Mc Carthy , History of Our Own Times, 
 Tauchhitz ed. Vol. I. pp. 67 f 157 f Maurice, Theological 
 Essays, pp. XVI. XVII.), This time of high thinking in 
 every department of life, with its marvellous practical results 
 was like the opening of new life to an old world, it seemed 
 to reveal an illimitable vista of progress in the future. Whether 
 he entered personally into any conflict of thought or remained 
 only a spectator, a young poet like Tennyson, with a spirit 
 vibrating like an Aeolian harp to every breath of the time 
 could not but be keenly alive to the greatness and promise of 
 the life around him. We see many indications of this fact in 
 "In Memoriam". Direct mention is not wanting to indicate 
 the poet's consciousness that it is a time 
 
 "^ ^^^l "When Science reaches forth her arms 
 
 To feel from world to world, and charms 
 Her secret from the latest moon", — 
 
 and the idealised love which it is the poem's business to 
 cherish and interpret is not forgetful of 
 "In Me- — "the lesser faith 
 
 cxxvm.i. That sees the course of human things". 
 
 He betrays the presence of such a consciousness of his time 
 and its demands also in a certain deprecatory tone which 
 occurs again and again, as if he were conscious that his song 
 of woe were out of tune with his age, as it comes also to be 
 half out of tune with his own calmer self See XXI. CXXV. 
 Epil. 5, 6, and the chorus-poems in general; concerning which 
 latter more hereafter. That he is conscious also of a danger 
 in the eager spirit of the time, that it may rush beyond 
 bounds, is apparent in his allusions to Knowledge and his 
 desire that it be restrained in its proper place. See Prologue, 
 st. 7, CXIV. CXX. For a like conservatism recognised as 
 necessary in moral character, see LIII. These references, 
 which might indeed be multiplied, will suffice to show that 
 "In Memoriam" has not failed to feel the influence of its time, 
 and to move in the consciousness of it. 
 
ITS FUEPOSE. 17 
 
 An examination of the poet's works, from 1833 to 1850, ^^To- 
 and of their leading ideas, will show with equal clearness how^""""""- 
 the times reflect themselves in his thought. I leave mostly 
 out of account his earlier poems (Editions of 1830 and 1832) 
 because they contribute comparatively little to such a result, 
 being of importance chiefly as foretelling other and riper 
 things. Exquisite indeed these early productions are, but like 
 the preludes of a musician who before he commits himself to 
 a strenuous effort will assure himself of touch and tone. They 
 are as it were carefully elaborated studies in the musical 
 capabilities of word and fancy, the perfecting of artistic models 
 while the thought to be shaped is yet to come. Nor is the 
 deeper thought long in coming: it begins to express itself 
 even before the death of Arthur Hallam. "The Two Voices", ^soJaTa^ 
 the most important forerunner of "In Memoriam", is dated *' **' 
 1833; — whether the friend had ever seen it is uncertain. HsSwMie 
 
 The poems published 1842 to 1848, while "In Memoriam" «rn Memo- 
 was also in process of growth, strike here and there many a Si^' ram- 
 chord which is more fully sounded in the latter. Thoughts about ^°^''*' 
 the deeper meaning of love ("Locksley Hall", "Love and Duty", 
 "The Princess", passim), about the mystery of the eternity after 
 us and before us ("The Two Voices") show the unity of the 
 underlying current of thought which was creating "In Memo- 
 riam" and these productions at the same time. The most fre- 
 quently recurring speculative idea o f this period, however, 
 whose spontaneous introduction is often quite striking, is the 
 i dea of a greater and nobler future on which the world is 
 mak ing ready to enter, it is perhaps superfluous to refer for 
 expressions of this idea to particular passages, as in "Morte 
 d' Arthur", "Two Voices", "The Golden Year", -'Locksley HaU", 
 "L'Envoi" to "The Day Dream", "The Princess"; — tB^'thoug ht " 
 moulds, the spirkt as mnc!ti\as the expression , and itsffequent 
 recurrence is bestsverified by^Tnethods more sympathetic than 
 the looking up of references. We may regard this as the 
 central idea of this peri od. It is the reflection of the age in 
 a, Tnind predisposed to fa.ith . The following stanza of "Locks- 
 ley HaU" is perhaps the most pregnant expression of the 
 idea: — 
 
 2 
 
J8 TENNYSON'S "IN MPJMOEIAM". 
 
 "Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs, 
 
 And the thoughts of men are widen'd with the process of the suns." 
 
 The greater happier future of the world — that idea 
 which the awakening time irresistibly suggests, and which 
 "In Memoriam's" clinging to a buried friendship as if all good 
 were dead seems only querulously to repel — what then has 
 "In Memoriam" to do with this thought? More than we may 
 be aware, — more indeed than all its contemporary works 
 put together. It is the idea toward which the whole poem 
 moves, and in which it culminates. While it has professed 
 /^ only to sing a song of woe, while it has seemed to be frozen 
 in the past companionship and the individual sorrow, it has 
 yet been progressing, step by step, from the past through the 
 present to the future, from the individual grief through the 
 calm of new friendship to oneness in spirit with all the race; 
 until it has drawn such a picture of the world's greater future 
 as only an unshaken faith in something higher than tliis world 
 can depict. The poem has thus given the ideal interpretation 
 to the spirit of its time, and all the nobler that the clear 
 height to which it reaches looks back down into that deep 
 valley of bereavement and doubt the necessity of entering 
 % which no prosperity or progress can avert. 
 
 ^won.^" I '^^y ^0"^ i^ ^ word recapitulate. Our comparisons thus 
 far have revealed the three chief ideas which form the ground- 
 work of "In Mem oriam"; — first, the earnest inquiry into the 
 mystery beyond and around us, which diiferentiates it from, 
 such poems__as "Lycidas" and "Adouais"; se condly , the idea - 
 lising of tlie love that has been and is, both her e and beyond, 
 which differentiates it from Shakespeare's Sonnetsj arid thirdly, 
 the clear view and prophecy of the world's greater future, 
 which it gathers from the life and character of its tim_e. 
 How these thoughts are woven together, — how they suggest 
 k/ and strengthen one another, — I shall soon have occasion to 
 show; it remains first briefly to indicate how the employment 
 of these and other ideas justifies the term purpose. 
 
 "ondlir 4- In the stir and thought of that time, when Rationa- 
 "Mfmo-" ^i^^ ^'^^ Evangelicalism and High-Churchism were pulling 
 
 """'^'^Z™' different ways, and to a spectator truth might well seem to be 
 in danger of being lost in words, there were certain earnest 
 
ITS PURPOSE. J9 
 
 young men, conspicuous among whom were Arthur Henry 
 Hallam and Alfred Tennyson, who sought to find that deeper 
 truth which no system could wholly disguise, and which no 
 theological class could make exclusively their own. It was 
 the conviction of these earnest souls that "a Theology which 
 does not correspond to the deepest thoughts and feelings of 
 human beings cannot be a true Theology". See Maurice, Theo- 
 logical Essays, Dedication (to Alfred Tennyson). It was equally 
 their conviction that whatever truth so answers to man's deep- 
 est nature, be it theological or otherwise, ought not to be 
 buried in the technicalities of a school. The poem "The Two 
 Voices", which, if it has never come under Arthur Hallam's 
 eye, at least embodies undoubtedly many thoughts which he 
 had shared in discussing, is a good representative of that 
 healthful reality- seeking sp irit, which on the one hand is 
 little edified by dialectic wars, — 
 
 "I know that age to age succeeds, 
 Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds, 
 A dust of systems and of creeds," — 
 
 and on the other hand cherishes the vout hful desirf , tn fnllew 
 mys teges un til they are solved in terms of some universally 
 benejicial good, — 
 
 "To search thro' all I felt or saw, 
 The springs of life, the depths of awe, 
 And reach the law within the law". 
 
 These characteristics of "The Two Voices" make the study of 
 it important, and the more so because, being the immediate 
 predecessor of "In Memoriam", it strikes the same key which 
 the latter poem, agitated by bereavement, carries through a 
 deeper and higher compass. 
 
 It is as the representative of this search for reality that 
 "In Memoriam" exhibits that quality which I denominate its 
 pur]j|se. From the first it sets itself avowedly to accomplish 
 an end, the attainment of which shall satisfy a personal need 
 of the author's miad; and so it proceeds, not aimlessly, nor 
 at any time so blinded by grief as to forget its desire, until 
 it reaches firm ground beyond the reach of adverse doubts 
 and fears. There are poems which so act a part that their 
 
20 TBNNYSdN'S "IN MBMOEIAM". 
 
 author's personal views must ever be subject to uncertainty. 
 "In Memoriam" does not act a part. There are others where 
 the poet's mind seems so acted upon as to be borne away 
 from all its moorings by its thought, its only object being to 
 give its mood expression. Such is the apparent fact in "In 
 Memoriam". Still others there are, wherein the mind, appa- 
 rently so resistlessly dominated by its idea, may yet really be 
 its master, steering it to a foreseen and desired point, wliich 
 at last it reaches, and so in the goal demonstrates its con- 
 scious intention. Such is really the case in "In Memoriam". 
 ofttTpur- What then is this object, tliis purpose? It is , while giving 
 poBc. grief its natural expression, to ch e rish with it that same love 
 which Death has iuyadedjrat not impaired; an4^o_as_iL w^re 
 following that love's history bj_feith_j^ into the unseen \yorld • 
 on the one hand, and into the world of the' great_ftiture on 
 the other, to gather all the fruits it may yield, for the 
 individual and for the race. This first for the poet's own 
 strengthening; but, the solution being found, the poem stands 
 also conscious of its adaptability to help others, especially 
 those who are bereaved, who have "known the sacred dust.* 
 This its immediate object, so far as determined by the 
 poem's occasion and subject-matter. But beyond this lies a 
 greater object, which makes "In Memoriam" far more Iruly 
 an exponent of its time than its subject would at once indi- 
 cate. Its time, I say, as if we were already in another time, 
 which is indeed the case. Even within the last dozen years 
 the keen interest in social and theological questions which 
 characterised the years of "In Memoriam's" growth has so 
 passed away, at least from the spirit of the poetic literature, 
 that that period stands out sharply bounded, as matter for 
 history. Of that theological period of nineteentlvcentury lite- 
 rature — so perhaps we may fitly name it — represented 
 by such names as Eobert and E. B. Browning, Matthew Arnold, 
 and Arthur Hugh Clough, "In Memoriam" is perhaps the most 
 distinguishing monument. It is as giving foi-m to the deeper 
 theological truths which every thinking rdan was studying 
 and connecting with the daily experience bf men, that "In 
 Memoriam" betrays its greater and ultimaW purpose. The 
 occasion fits itself to the task as being a universal experience; 
 
If S PURPOSfi. 21 
 
 bereavement. But bereavement, with the love it awakens, 
 with the immediate look into the mystery beyond death, is 
 the directest way to the ground-truths of God and immortality, 
 which make theology a practical science. These truths should 
 become, if possible, matters not of speculation but of working 
 consciousness, should become operative in every life, as they 
 are in the poet's life. That the accomplishment of this object 
 is the task of "In Memoriam" is well indicated in the culmi- 
 nating poems, where in turn the truth of immortality (See 
 poem cxxill.) and the truth of the existence of God (See 
 poem CXXIV.) are recorded as the possession of the poet's 
 consciousness, acquired from the thought which precedes. 
 
 Such an object gives natural opportunity to weave to- 
 gether those ideas which the poem's bitter occasion, combined 
 with the stirring life of the time, have crowded in upon the 
 poet's mind. "In Memoriam" is as it were the workshop 
 where the stern problems of life and its holiest aspirations 
 are joined together in one noble interpretation. In a remar- 
 kably artistic plan, as we shall see, is this design elaborated 
 and completed. But artistic as is the plan, above the poem's 
 art stands its true English endeavor to be of practical use. 
 
 Let us see how this purpose is indicated in the poem.^^^^!^f^; 
 The attentive reader of "In Memoriam" cannot well fail to be j^'^t^pu?- 
 struck by the poet's frequent allusions to his art, especially p°'^- 
 in the first half of the poem. These allusions refer to the 
 practical use which the poet finds in measured language, as 
 if the elaborate expression of his mood in words were the 
 most natural means of bringing the calmer mood. Tliis is 
 indeed his avowed purpose. Poem v. expresses it at the be- 
 ginning, when the song, having as yet found no ray of hope 
 in bereavement, can only be a mechanical assuagement of pain. 
 Poem CXXV. indicates in retrospect how the same practical 
 purpose has been always kept in view; — h ow love has used 
 
 th e song to express iff; m o nf^^'" garl nr >inpr>fiil — ^ lii l MH g -fl.t.hpr 
 
 strength: — 
 
 "And if the song were full of care, 
 
 He breathed the spirit of the song; 
 
 And if the words were sweet and strong, 
 He set his royal signet there.'" 
 
22 TBNUTSON'S "IN MEMOEIAM". 
 
 In examining and comparing with one another these poems 
 in which allusion is made to the poet's art, we iind them 
 representative of a class of poems, scattered through "In Me- 
 moriam", which bear much the same relation to the others, 
 in explaining or suggesting, as the chorus of a Greek drama 
 to the dialogue; for which reason I call them chorus -poems. 
 The chorus-poems are those which recognise and portraj' the 
 singer's mood, as distinguished from those which give more 
 formal expression to his thought; and by far the greater 
 number of them point to the song as answering a practical 
 purpose. As related to the others therefore these chorus- 
 poems show the joints or transitions of the thought, standing 
 alwaj's, as we shall see, at the beginning or end of groups. 
 As compared with one another, they show an interesting 
 ascending gradation. In them, as generally, the poet accomp- 
 lishes more than he professes to accomplish. Professiag only 
 to portray his mood, he cherishes in each case some liidden 
 suggestion which does not fail to work to greater strength 
 and hope; and so the avowed practical purpose of assuaging 
 pain by song is skilfuUy made to work toward the greater 
 purpose which the whole poem seeks. The following list of 
 the chorus-poems will show their character and gradation. 
 They may be divided into two groups, whose general character 
 is suggested by the stanza (CXXV. 3) just quoted. 
 
 A. WHILE THE SONG IS FULL OF CARE. 
 
 1. In poem v., where only despair reigns, the song is 
 useful in a negative way, as an assuager of the pain of 
 bereavement. 
 
 2. In poem vill., where the bereaved is awakened to look 
 about him, but finds the world darkened by the constant 
 shadow of loss, the song is cherished as a means of loyalty 
 to the memory of the dead. 
 
 3. In poem xxL, where after the dead is laid to rest 
 the heart forebodes a mystery in death, the continued promp- 
 ting to sing is cherished, in spite of blame, as if it were a 
 guide to undiscovered things. 
 
ITS lUEPOSi!. 23 
 
 B. WHILE THE SONG GATHERS SWEETNESS AND STRENGTH. 
 
 4. In poem XXXVII., where the hope suggested by Christ- 
 mas is born, the song is cherished as a means of expressing 
 the comfort that lies in revealed truth. 
 
 5. In poem XLVIII., where faith has conquered its way 
 to a clear conviction of immortality, the song is cherished as 
 the means by which doubts are made vassal to love. 
 
 6. In poem XLIX., where a less comforting course of 
 thought is to be entered upon, we are reminded that though 
 the song may show gleams of cheer the sorrow remains. 
 
 7. In poems LVII.— LIX., where the mind reaches the 
 climax of its agitation in its unsatisfactory attempt to solve 
 the mystery of human destiny, the three chorus-poems conduct 
 to renewed cheer in the transition of hope from Nature to 
 God. 
 
 8. Finally, in poems LXXV.— LXXVIL, where the last diffi- 
 culty regarding the loss is removed, the song, even though 
 earthly and passing soon into forgetfulness, is cherished as 
 sweeter than praise or fame. 
 
 From this point, as the heart and brain are no more 
 unquiet (compare v. 2.) the song is so much more than the 
 perfunctory subserver of a "use", that any mention of its 
 practical office is superfluous. It has come to justify itself. 
 
 Throughout these examples the growing purpose is evident, 
 working always more than it professes. These chorus -poems 
 have however avowed at best but a minor purpose, whose 
 accomplishment must be the foundation of the greater purpose. 
 As these cease this greater purpose appears, and begins to 
 be cherished and indicated by words which increase in defi- 
 niteness through the poem. See LXXX. 4, LXXXIII. 4, lxxxv. 
 15, 25, LXXXVI., CV. 7, CVI., CVIII. 4, CXVII. 
 
 So it is that the poet sets before himself his questionings, ^f*'/^^^g°^f 
 which it is the purpose of "In Memoriam" to answer. But as 
 he proceeds he becomes aware that the answer is nnt for— 
 himself alone. There are others who hear Es song, and who 
 are WaiTm^ to draw from it a comfort whir,]i pf;fha,T)s tlip.v 
 
24 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOBIAM". 
 
 ' are unable unaided to find. The consciousness that the peace 
 of others as well as of himself depends on the answer is the 
 turning-point of the poem. ^\Tien in his speculation on eternal 
 things the poet has been forced to leave his most agitated 
 questioning unanswered, and is about to desist iu despair from 
 his venturous purpose, the thought of his "brethren" turns him 
 I tremblingly to his task again: 
 
 LTili. 3.j "— Wherefore grieve 
 
 Thy brethren with a fruitless tear? 
 Abide a little longer here, 
 And thou shalt take a nobler leave". 
 
 "In Memoriam" thus sets itself to minister he lp in the 
 mosLifilpless ofJiours^ZEOe it strength" and-aujciuufort. inthe 
 facg_i2£_death. It is __nat-however to be .xegaEdetUas-a-^mere 
 didactic poem. Against such an interpretation of its intention 
 fEe^poenTis not slow to remonstrate. It appeals only to such 
 as have heart -sympathy with its sad theme; and for these it 
 accomplishes its purpose, in spite of reproach, by giving full 
 expression to a mood which, as the poet himself knows, is 
 neither popular (See xxi.) nor permanent (See Epil. 5. 6). 
 Equally remote is any intention to give logically conclusive 
 or categorical answers to the do ubts^t hat rise. It is no trea- 
 tise on Theology (See XLVIII.). JThe" doubts are answered — 
 to quote the words of FredericK W. Eobertson — "not as a 
 'i^T^^yfphilosopher would answer them, nor as a theologian, or a 
 Meroriam','™st^P^ysician, but as it is the duty of a poet to reply, by 
 preface, intuitivc faculty, in strains in which Imagination predominates 
 over Thought a nd Memory".| The poem adopts throughout n ot 
 didf).p.t,ip. niAthft^^ft h^ir lyrK'f^; and the a, nswers it f]ht.a.iTig i||]ya,y« 
 p resuppose the existence of that emotional frame of mind which 
 expresses itself m song. 
 
 "In Memoriam" reveals to us the poet, who from the 
 beginning of his career has taken a lofty view of his calling, 
 battling with adverse doubts and fears, and when he finds 
 the solution, seeking, in a feeling of oneness vsdth his kind, 
 to impart the good he has received. l^he_jpiriL_attdr-4vhole 
 coursfi.,-<i£-Ae~^o«m.Js_4eeplj_religious. But it is religion 
 building itself on that broad ground where all men are one, 
 where if any man shut away the facts that are, however 
 
 t 
 
ITS PUEPOSE. 25 
 
 they mount up to mysteries beyond this world, he does so 
 only to his own impoverishing. Some things cannot safely be 
 left altogether to theologians . — they touch universal ex- 
 perience too closely. What every one must at some time 
 dimly think and be troubled by, it is the poet's work, in the 
 production before us, to have followed out step by step, at 
 the risk of seeming morbidness, to a noble conclusion, by 
 which he will comfort himself and the world. 
 
II. 
 
 u 
 
 TENNYSON'S IN MEMORIAM" - ITS STRUCTURE, 
 
 "FEOM POINT TO POINT, WITH POWEK AND GRACE 
 AND MUSIC IN THE BOUNDS OF LAW". 
 
 To the eye "In Memoriam" presents merely a series of 
 poems, of various lengths, numbered from i. to CXXXI.; nor 
 is there obvious to a cursory reader any plan more systematic 
 than this simple succession of number. How these cxxxi. short 
 poems group themselves, or how groups and single poems are 
 related to each other so as to form together one united work 
 of art, is to be found only by careful study and analysis of 
 its idea. 
 
 The foregoing comparisons have revealed some leading 
 ideas characterising "In Memoriam" which differentiate it from 
 other works superficially similar, or which relate it to the 
 poet's contemporary productions. As to the arrangement of 
 these leading ideas, we may say, speaking roughly, that at 
 the beginning " In Memor iam" fnlfijfj pyp,(]pmiTiaTit,]y t.ViA_pVia.- 
 racter 2f_f'ti "^tfT'^^tl pnpmi ''^-<^'^" mi ddle part it ^appears pr e- 
 d'SS&arBtIy-as--flr-mei a.orial of friendshl^?r-afHd'4n- the^iatter- part 
 it portrays th at greater futur e, of m ankind and the wor ld, 
 which was^a^favorite idea with the author in this period. 
 These three ideas thus correspond roughly with the tb^pe 
 d ivisions into which, as we shall see, theEaSflL.(^fter its^ in- 
 troductory ..^stage) naturally falls. The bounds of the ideas 
 
ITS STBUOTUEB. 27 
 
 however meet and blend; and one is made so to work toward 
 and into the other that all become parts of a greater unity. 
 
 Leaving now any further discussion of the poem's general o/ttedl 
 ideas, I wiU endeavor to show how in a c arefully ordere d^ 
 strnctiirft part is rftlatpd tn part a,Tid-tQ_thfi-JKho.le: and this, 
 first, by gathering and interpreting any hints that the poem 
 may contain of its own structure; secondly, by describing in 
 outline the main divisions of the poem; and finally, by fol- 
 lowing out the plan in detail. 
 
 1. Some hint towards the Doet's nla n. at least so far as ™?d%he' 
 to show the orderly progression of the thought, is fumislifii,'*™'"""- 
 b^a consid era,t,ion of thp. popms which have been added since 
 the origin^ erlitinn. These are suggestive as showing where 
 and how the poet found the chain of thoug h t lacking , and 
 what must be the course of thought which finds such addition 
 necessary to complete it. The first of these intercalated poems, 
 added in the fourth edition, 1851, is the one now numbered 
 LIX., beginning, "0 Sorrow, wilt thou live with me". The 
 similarity of expression reminds us at once of poem iii.: 
 "0 Sorrow, cruel fellowship"; and on comparison of the two 
 in their connection we find indeed that the relation is more 
 than one of form, and that the later poem was evidently in- 
 tended to supplement the idea introduced by the earlier. While 
 the earlier portrays only the utter hopelessness derivable from 
 Nature, as a refuge in bereavement, the later shows the better 
 hope that rises when faith, though with trembling, learns to 
 look a bove Natu re to One who caii hp. apprghenHprl only-bv 
 being' believed! See^how the idea is led up to this conclusion 
 iir~poem^ "CW. — LVI. The second inserted poem, which first 
 appeared in the edition of 1872 — 73, is the one now num- 
 bered XXXIX., beginning, "Old warder of these buried bones". 
 Taken alone, without reference to preceding and following, 
 this poem is such a problem that some acute students have 
 failed to comprehend the poet's purpose in introducing it. 
 See Bayne, Lessons from my Masters: Carlyle, Tennyson and 
 Ruskin, p. 318. Considered in its connection, and referred 
 back to what it alludes to, it is simple, and supplies an im- 
 portant link in a thought. It refers, as does the other in- 
 serted poem, to poem ill.', together with ii., and adds another 
 
28 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOEIAM". 
 
 link in the same chain of allusions to Sorrow and Nature, by 
 showing how the heart, which Sorrow has made hopeless in 
 the face of Nature, is- yet touched and cheered by the awa- 
 king life of Springtide. If now we compare these two added 
 poems with those of like sentiment throughout "In Memoriam" 
 (II. III. XXXIX. XLIX. LIX. cxvi.), we see how an idea is con- 
 ceived as an orderly progression, to be developed by syste- 
 matic steps. The same kind of progression is also evident in 
 the chorus -poems, — see pp.22, 23. From the evidences of 
 arrangement thus brought to our notice we look for a similar 
 system throughout the poem. 
 
 The most stri king external i ndication of the poet' s pla,n 
 
 /is furnished by the recur ri ng Christmastides . T^ J^ree such oc- 
 
 ' casions are mentioned in the poem (XXVIII.— xxx., LXXVIII., 
 
 CIV.— cv.), which occasions, together with some other known 
 
 dates, cause theactiou of t|y, ^ poem- (if such it can be called) 
 
 to run ' through a period of something more than two and a half 
 
 years. These Christ mastide s are characterised in such' a manner 
 
 as to show i ntentional reference to efi , f,h o.thi'r . The following 
 
 couplets are sufficient indication of this. Of the first Christ- 
 
 ~ mas the description is: — 
 
 XXX. 1. "A rainy cloud possess'd the earth, 
 
 And sadly fell our Christmas-eve". 
 
 Of the second: — 
 
 LXXVIII. 1. "The silent snow possess'd the earth, 
 
 And calmly fell our Christinas -eve". 
 
 Of the third: — 
 
 cv. 1. "We live -within the stranger's land, 
 
 And strangely falls our Christmas -eve". 
 
 % 
 
 What part do these Christmastides play in the poem? An 
 expression in the poem descriptive of the third one indicates, 
 I think, the poet's intention, — as indeed our deeper study 
 cannot otherwise dispose of them. In cv. 7. the description 
 of the occasion closes with the words: — 
 
 cv. 7. "Eun out your measured arcs, and lead 
 
 The closing cycle rich in good". 
 
ITS STBUCTURE.I 29 
 
 What "closing cycle" can here be m eant? I see no expla- 
 nation possible other than that it means cycle of the poem; 
 and if the expression means this it stands just where it is 
 most suggestive. T aking these Ohristmastides as the begin - 
 nings of C3^rles , and compar ing the three cycles t hus intro- 
 d uced witli each other "'we'lma tliat all Jay^ ia|i sipnTJ a£3v?''- 
 ture, and that e a cli has to do predominant ly Anth one of the 
 leading thoughts of the poem . "" *~~' ' 
 
 There are other less obvious indications of structure, 
 which careful study enables us to put in their proper place: 
 such are Springtide (XXXVIII.— XXXIX., cxv.— CXVI.), New Year 
 (lxxxiii., CVI.), and the Anniversary of Arthur Hallam's death 
 (lxxii., xcix.). These occasions, as also Christmastide, are 
 in no case introduced arbitrarily, but always the suggestive- 
 ness which the season has in itself is in some way infused 
 into the spirit of the poem. 
 
 The relation of all these occasions to the thought will 
 be apparent when we come to follow out the structure poem 
 by poem. As preliminary to this task, attention is called to 
 the following table, constructed according to the preceding 
 suggestions, which will exhibit the general framework of the 
 poem. — 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 Jntrffduttarg ^k$t i.-xxvi. 
 
 PBOSPECT. I.— VI. 
 
 DEFINING-POINT — BEGINNING. VII. 
 
 AERIVAL ANB BTJBIAL OF THE DEAD. XVII.— XTIII. 
 
 c^irat %fk. XXVIII. -Lxxvn. 
 
 CHEISTMASTIDE. "" XXVIII.— XXX. 
 
 SPEINGTIDB. XXXVm.— XXXIX. 
 
 FIBST ANNIVERSABY OF THE DEATH. LXXII. 
 
 ^tm\& figfk LXXVIII.-CIII. 
 
 CHEISTMASTIDE. I/XXVIII. 
 
 NEW -TEAS. lii^^XIII. 
 
 SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH. XCIX. 
 
30 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOBIAM". 
 
 i^hird %ck. civ.— cxxxi. 
 
 CHEISTMASTIDB. CIV.— CV. 
 
 NEW-TBAE. CVI. 
 
 BIBTHDAY OF DBCBASED (FEB. 1). CVII. 
 
 SPBINGTIDB. CXV.— OXVI. 
 
 DBFINING-POINT — END. CXIX. 
 
 BBTBOSPECT AND CONCLUSION. CXX, — CXXXI. 
 
 EPILOGUE. ^ 
 
 ^'i™Memo°' 2. According to the above table we are to find the 
 "™j;^°°"Hhought of the poem developed in three cycles, preceded by 
 an introductory stage. These cycles present of cou rse very 
 different lines of thought, which necessitate different arrange- 
 ment. In all three lioweyer the procedureis^ fundamentally 
 the same. JEach„ cycle is introduced by Christmastide. Then 
 follows a series of poems (in the Third Cycle a single poem) 
 in which the thought characteristic of the cycle is suggested 
 in outlin e. Following this each cycle introduces its charac- 
 teristic season or anniversary — the first Cycle Springtide, 
 the second New-Year, the third the Birthday of the Deceased — 
 which season portrays the general spirit of the cycle. The^ 
 leading thought of the cycle, having been thus suggested and 
 introduced, is now followed out at length, in a series of poems 
 which make up the bulk of the cycle. This presentation of 
 the thought is followed, in the first and second cycles, by the 
 Anniversary of the Death, which in each case gives occasion 
 to meet and dispose of a last difficulty opposed by the poet's 
 mood to the full course of the thought, and thus makes the 
 triumph of the cycle complete. In room of such a remem- 
 brance of death, the t hirrl pyH^ flo^pg itp pmiTOP. nf thft wglif 
 and that of the poem, by- a new Springtide, whose suggestive- 
 ness is obvious. 
 
 The single cycles I need here describe no further than 
 to show their mutual relation, as presenting each an ordered 
 step in one progressive idea. The development of this ide a 
 takes in a field o f view r angi ng from the past through the 
 present to the future^ and from individual cares through the 
 calm of new friendship^to a hope and happiness for all the 
 race. Each cycle presents its pha^ of Jhis^_advancing and 
 .broadening thought. 
 
ITS STBUCTUKB. 31 
 
 In the Introductory Stage, whicli begins where tidings ^Jj-y'g'j^g; 
 are first received of the death of Arthur Hallam, we see the 
 individual soul, bereaved, alone, overwhelmed with sudden 
 grief. It is the poet's part in this stage to awake from the 
 confusion of despair, and to find firm ground in the conscious- 
 ness that love is holy and worthy to be cherished though its 
 object be forever removed. 
 
 The First Cycle, which interprets the past love, for First cyoio. 
 dead as for living, may be called the C vcle of the __Past. 
 It begins by adopting the thought, suggested in Christmastide, 
 that the dead friend is immortal. So in this cycle two friends 
 are before us; but the one is out of sight and recognisable 
 only by faith, while the survivor interprets the friend's state 
 by his own love, which is conjectured to have as deathless 
 effect there as here; and so both, though separate, are beheld 
 as drawing influence from the same past experience. 
 
 The Second Cycle, which seeks the possibility of present ^oy°i°* 
 communion with the immortal friend, may be called the.^Cj£le 
 of the Present. But communion with the dead is obtainable 
 oB]y~in one way, namely, by cherishing such community of 
 spirit and interest with, the living as the dead would have 
 cherished had he live3! So^this n ew relation to the unseen 
 WQjldr; when at last it is obtained, is conjoined with a new 
 friendship here, by which the ties of this world are streng- 
 thened. 
 
 The Third Cycle, which views the blessedness that is to Third cycie. 
 be when all men find their highest manhood in the same 
 love, may be called the Cycle of the Futur e, ^he poet's sym- 
 pathies here reach their broadest expression in his hope for 
 that nobler race, of which the dead friend may be regarded 
 as a worthy type. 
 
 3. Such is the outline of the idea of "In Memoriam". If?<i™Memo°' 
 now, guided by this outline and by the above indication of "^"etaii" 
 its framework, we analyse the poem point by point, we shall 
 find its thought and sentiment so grouped and related as to 
 reveal a plan symmetrical and .finished to the smallest detail. 
 
32 TENTSTTSON'S "IN MBMOEIAM". 
 
 PEOLOGUE. 
 
 l^t^oauE. The Prologue is dated 1849. It therefore views the body 
 of the poem as essentially complete, and gathers into itself 
 the greatest and highest achievement of the poem's thought. 
 Logically however it precedes, — the highest thought, which 
 the poem reaches by long struggle, being also the deepest, 
 underlying the whole. 
 
 The relation of the Prologue to the poem that follows is 
 well indicated by its form as an invocation. It bears to the 
 poem the same relation that prayer bears to work, the same 
 relation that the spirit of dependence on a Higher Power 
 bears to the spirit of self-reliant activity in practical life. 
 The poem moves in the scenery of the world we see, which 
 is overshadowed by the mystery of sorrow and death. The 
 prologue addresses itself to the world we do not see, and 
 by faith recognises in that world a divine Love in whose light 
 all mysteries are made clear. But further, as the poem moves 
 through the saddened world, itself comes at last, after long 
 conflict and questioning, to the vision of the same love, which 
 thu s becomes the key to the whole poem. The prologue thus 
 begins where the poem leaves ott, by uaming at^d presuppo- 
 sing that love at the outset; it also adds to the poem's idea 
 of that love by ascribing to it a divine name and nature. 
 
 The first stanza of the prologue contains in outline its 
 whole succeeding thought: — 
 
 "Strong Son of God, immortal Love, 
 Whom we, that have not seen thy face, 
 By faith, and faith alone, embrace, 
 
 Believing where we cannot prove." 
 
 The names here given to the Object invoked call for 
 some special remark, because in them lies deeply involved the 
 whole philosophy of the poem. The second of these names — 
 "immortal Love" — is simply the name of that pure afl"ection 
 which, as human love of friend for friend, 
 
 — "rose on stronger wings, 
 Unpalsied when he met with Death", — 
 
 and so has worked as an ennobling influence within the poet's 
 soul. The remarkable fact concerning it here is, that it is 
 
ITS STBUOTUBE. 33 
 
 recognised as invokable, as a legitimate object of adoration. PROLOGut;. 
 The first of these names — "Strong Son of God" — supplies 
 the idea in which alone such adoration of an affection is 
 possible. Immortal Love is recognised not only as an affection 
 within us, but as an entity above us. Within us, the poem 
 has followed the course of immortal Love as that hallowing 
 influence which transforms the individual, and through the 
 individual is adapted to transform the race, into something 
 nobler, into the nature of heaven. Above us, the prologue 
 views immortal Love as a divine Object of faith and love, 
 to be worshipped and obeyed, and so at the same time the 
 sc^ce and the goal of our noblest life. Tliis double character 
 of immortal Love is more sharply indicated by the remarkable 
 ex|p-ession, "Strong Son of God". No devout man can set aside 
 the fundamental article of faith that God is love. But the 
 Son of God, who being God is also love, is both God and 
 man; and being man is the Son of man, the archetypal man 
 who embodies perfectly our ideal manhood. Therefore the 
 love which He is is at the same time our Lord above us and 
 our holiest manhood within. The deepest philosophy of the 
 poem, whose work it is to find the most sacred content of 
 .love,— is_-lhere£Qre_.involveii-iD-Jthfi.-.iact-that -it addresses the 
 divi ne-human Christ and identifies Him with immortal Love ; 
 but the p hilosophy requires also that the a d dress be to tji e 
 n}njgt-p^;jiT-p T-ptiiPT- thay to the Qhristdxame — It is divine love 
 which ha s actuall y gpppaT-nrl I'Tipimntft- in history; but what 
 Sore to the present purpose, it does appear as a lyoulding 
 no wer in men's live s, while it does not cease to be Lord 
 al5^ 
 
 The faith by which we apprehend this divine-human Love 
 shows the same double character indicated in the object itself. 
 Because immortal Love is our greater manhood cherished 
 within, faith in it is the intelligent and determined cheri- 
 shing of an idea, — its exercise involves "believing where we 
 cannot prove". Because immortal Love is the divine Power 
 above us, to whom our service rightly belongs, faith in 
 him is the committal of life and destiny to a will not our 
 own, — by it we "embrace" one whom not seeing we love 
 and obey. 
 
 3 
 
34 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMOBIAM". 
 
 PROLOGUE. The tliouglit thus involved in the first stanza of the 
 Prologue is expanded in the rest. The remainder of the Pro- 
 logue may be thus analysed: — 
 
 A. THE OBJECT INVOKED. 
 
 "Strong Son of God, immortal Love." 
 
 1. Immortal Love, the strong Son of God, is divine. 
 
 The Possessor of all things, the creative Spirit, 
 the Author of life and death, the Resurrection and 
 the Po■\^'er of an endless life. 
 
 2. Immortal Love, the strong Son of G-od, is human.- 
 
 The highest holiest manhood, the rightful Lord 
 of oui' wills, the perfect light of which all our 
 systems are but broken gleams. * 
 
 B. THE APPREHENSION OP THAT OBJECT. 
 
 "By faith J and faith alone." 
 
 1. Because He is human, and so the head of our huma- 
 nity, the faith by which we apprehend him requires 
 the loyal submission of our wiU to his wiser wiU. 
 
 2. Because He is divine, and so infinitely greater than- 
 our capacities of knowledge, the faith by which we 
 apprehend him adds to our knowledge reverence and 
 humility. 
 
 C. THE UNWORTHINESS OP THE APPEEHENDER. 
 
 "We are fools and slight." 
 
 The thought of what we may and should become suggests 
 only too sharply the contrasted thought of what we are; and 
 this thought gives voice to the cry of our universal need, — 
 of help, of forgiveness, of wisdom. 
 
 1. A prayer for help — to bear the light of divine love. 
 
 2. A prayer for forgiveness — in a threefold petition: — 
 
 a. Forgive what is sinful in the love cherished for the 
 dead, which seemed worthy by human standard, 
 but in the broad light of divine love seems mean 
 and pool'. 
 
ITS STRUCTUBE. 35 
 
 b. Forgive what is sinful in the sorrow for the dead,'''^o.'^°'^""'- 
 a grief which, so far as it idolised the creature 
 
 apart from the Creator, was unworthily cherished. 
 
 c. Forgive what is sinful iu the song, so far as it n. 
 fails to give adequate expression to the truth that 
 faith receives. 
 
 8. A prayer for wisdom — to interpret as God interprets, n. 
 "And in thy wisdom make me wise." 
 
 Thus "In Memoriam" is introduced by an invocation, 
 wliich, from the beginning recognising immortal Love as Lord 
 over all, sets before that Love in prayer the needs of this 
 life, as they rise out of its saddest experience. The poem, 
 which begins with the experience, struggles at first through 
 darkness and doubt, seeing its love only as human, though 
 hallowed by death; but at last it comes also to unite its 
 highest human affection with the divine, and so the poem 
 ends Avith invocation and prayer (see poems CXXIX.— CXXXI.), 
 as in the Prologue it began. 
 
 I. -XXVII. 
 
 The monodramatic action, if such it may be called, of 
 "In Memoriam" begins at the point where tidings are first 
 received of the death of Arthur Henry Hallam. The blank 
 confusion and despair attendant on the first shock of grief is 
 first formally defined in T)0P.m vn ., which may be regarded 
 as the sta rting-point of the action , the six poems preceding 
 being prefatory and prospective. Beginning with poem vil. 
 a period of unquiet suspense ensues so long as the dead 
 friend's remains, which are being brought home-ward, are on 
 the seas. Not until the body arrives and is laid to rest in 
 English earth (XVIL— XVIII.) does the mind of the surviving 
 friend begin to gather firmness; and from this point onward 
 are shaped by degrees those thoughts and longings which 
 form the worthy achievement of this Introductory Stage. See 
 preceding, p. 31. 
 
36 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOBIAM". 
 
 DireroRY The characteristic of this Introductory Stage is resolutijjn 
 STAGE, j^j^f^ inquiry. From the absorbing presence of sorrow reso- 
 lution isi first shaped not to be driven aimlessly at the mercy 
 of loss. Afterward the unquiet consciousness of the present 
 and the calmer view of the past both give rise to inquiries 
 whose answer forms a firm ground, on which the succeeding 
 thought of the poem may be built. 
 
 PROSPECT. I, -VI. 
 
 POEM. 1. The first poem is prefatory of the whole. It looks for- 
 ward into the way to be taken and in a few words indicates 
 it, — not its end, but its direction. 
 
 Tlie principle cherished before bereavement, — 
 
 "That men may rise on stepping-stones 
 Of their dead selves to higher things", — 
 
 is in this bitter experience to be tested. But only such a 
 recovery from grief can really be an advance to "higher 
 things"' as cherishes grief with love, repressing neither for 
 the sake of speedier calm, but recognising the holiness of 
 l)otli. In sucli fidelity gain maylBfT gathered from loss. 
 
 The poet having thus committed himself to an ascent to 
 higher things, preparation for it is made and the difficulty 
 of the task recognised, in three stages. 
 
 A. FEOM UTTER DEPRESSION TO RESOLUTION. 
 
 Despair. The Yew -Tree, the churchyard guardian of 
 the dead, stands, in its changeless gloom, as a fit em- 
 blem of the survivor's stony sorrow. 
 Questioning. Sorrow has robed the world in her own 
 hopeless gloom. Shall she then be cherished or crushed? 
 Resolution. From the troubled introspective dream, in 
 which all determining power is for the time utterly 
 passive, the wiU wakes to a sense of its inaction and 
 resolves not to give way to despair. 
 
ITS STEUCTUEE. 37 
 
 INTBO- 
 B. POESY THE INTBEPEETEE AND ASSAUGEE OF GEIEF. DUOTOEY 
 
 STAGE. 
 
 There is some negative relief in the exercise of expressing v. 
 sorrow in metrical language. Poesy shall therefore be cherished 
 for its practical office. Compare pp. 22, 23. 
 
 0. THE LOSS THAT MUST REMAIN lEEBPABABLE. ^I' 
 
 There is no consolation in the common-place attempts at 
 comfort. The grief to be overcome is a grief that has special 
 elements of bitterness, even when compared with a father's 
 or mother's grief for an absent son; for in this case hopes 
 were built on the lost one's speedy presence. The loss can 
 no more be replaced than the loss of a betrothed maiden, 
 who has had her hopes dashed when at the highest by her 
 lover's sudden death. 
 
 DEFINING -POINT — BEGINNING, vil. 
 
 As the preceding poems indicate a resolution to rise to vii. 
 higher things, it is natural when the resolution is formed to 
 recognise at the outset what is that lowest point from which 
 the ascent is to be made. This point — the utter desolate- 
 ness consequent on the sudden shock of bereavement — is 
 well indicated by the feelings with which the former resi- 
 dence of the deceased is visited, as also by the surroundings 
 of weather and scenery. The structure of the verse corre- 
 sponds also with this blank desolation: — notice especially 
 the harsh sibilants in the last line but one (Stanza 3), and 
 the intentionally hard alliteration and utter want of rhythm 
 in the last line. The similar defining-point at the end of the 
 poem (cxix.) will indicate how; great is the ascent, and how 
 well the poet accomplishes his purpose. 
 
 The period from this point to the first Ohristmastide 
 (XXVIII.— XXX.) is predominantly a period of inquiry. The 
 first inquiry is prompted by the unquiet mind in its troubled 
 consciousness of the present. This is followed by tlie Arrival 
 and Burial of the Dead, which causes a degree of restfulness, 
 and turns the thought to the past. From the calmer view of 
 
gg TENNySONiS "IN MEMOKIAM". 
 
 DucTOEY ^^^ P^^t tl^^ second inquiry is suggested. The answer to both 
 STAGE, these inquiries reveals clearly the supreme desire which gives 
 meaning to "In Memoriam", the following out of which occa- 
 sionsall its achievements in thought and hopefulness. 
 
 THE UNQUIET PRESENT, vii-xvi. 
 
 VIII. Introduced by chorus-poem, which, confessing that sorrow 
 
 has thrown a darkness over every well-known pleasant spot, 
 yet cherishes the song that once pleased the dead. 
 
 A. THE HBAET WITH THE COMING- SHIP. IX. — X. 
 
 IX. 1. Following the sMp in spirit, with desire for a quiet 
 
 voyage. 
 X. 2. Following the ship in spirit, mth desire that its 
 
 voyage may soon be done, and the body at rest in 
 
 his native soil. 
 
 B. THE HEART IN CALM. XI.— XIV. 
 
 XI. A calm morning infuses to some degree its quiet into the 
 
 bereaved mind. This calmness is however only a calm despair. 
 
 XII. 1. First mood. The spirit follows the ship, only imper- 
 
 fectly realising that his arrival can bring rest. 
 
 XIII. 2. Second mood. Dreamy state, in which the bereaved 
 
 one's woe seems half strange, and his fancies rise on 
 wing to accompany the ship. 
 
 XIV. 3. Third mood. The bereavement almost seems unreal, 
 
 and fancy pictures the living friend as coming. 
 
 C. THE HEAKT IN STORM. XV. 
 
 XV. A tempestuous night suddenly dispels this hollow calm, 
 and produces a revulsion to unrest so wild that but for the 
 merciful alleviating influence of fancy, it would be unbearable. 
 
 INQUIRY. 
 
 svi. This revulsion in feeling startles the mind to inquiry. 
 
 "Can calm despair and wild unrest 
 
 Be tenants of a single breast, 
 Or sorrow such a changeling be?" 
 
ITS STBtJCTURE. 39 
 
 Are these merely changing moods of an unchanged self? HaSj,™'5,^°Y 
 the shock merely confused his thought but left his heart the ^f^^^- 
 same? — 
 
 This first inquiry is a real step upward, and even though 
 unanswered is important as an act of inquiry. Thought is 
 beginning to take the place of stunned despair. 
 
 AREIVAL AND BURIAL OF THE DEAD. XVII. -XVIII. 
 
 The ship that brings the dead friend is greeted with bles- xvii. 
 sings, and consecrated to special good fortune in the future. 
 
 With the burial in the restful surroundings of the Eng- xviii. 
 lish landscape comes a feeling of rest to the bereaved mind, 
 which from this point will gather firmness in endurance and 
 in hallowed memory. 
 
 The first result of this more restful feeling is ability to 
 contemplate his sorrow, not with the bewildered feelings of 
 one stunned by a sudden shock, but with the calmness of one 
 who has regained control of mind and fancy. 
 
 1. GEIEF THAT EBBS AND PLOWS. XIX. 
 
 Like the Wye, in whose hearing the dead is laid, — as 
 the incoming or outgoing tide makes the I'iver silent or vocal 
 so there are moods of grief that forbid utterance, and others 
 that permit it. 
 
 2. THE LOVE THAT CHOKES GRIEF'S UTTERANCE. XX. 
 
 The servants in a desolated house can speak their master's 
 praises volubly, but the children, who love more, are silent. 
 So with the lighter or heavier mood of grief 
 
 THE HALLOWED PAST, xxi.-xxv. 
 Introduced by chorus-poem, in which the continued promp- xxi. 
 ting to sing, in spite of the fact that the dead is laid to rest, 
 is justified as a spontaneous utterance which it is better not 
 to check. 
 
 1. Review of the five years of friendship with Arthur xxii, 
 Henry Hallam. How in the fifth year the shadow 
 Death invaded it and bore the friend out of sight. 
 
40 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOEIAM". 
 
 DucTOET 2- How the past, before Death suddenly darkened the 
 *x*x^ survivor's life, is brightened by a glory which in the 
 
 present light seems almost too great to be real. 
 
 INQUIRY. 
 
 sxiv. This vivid feeling of contrast between the past and the 
 
 present again suggests inquiry: 
 
 "And was the day of my delight 
 As pure and perfect as I say?" 
 
 XXV. The answer to this inquiry is also an answer to the other 
 
 (XVI.). The secret of the past glory, as also the secret of the 
 present confusedness, is love, which hallowed all intercourse 
 with him who is dead, and made every burden a joy. 
 
 XXVI, The love that hallowed the past still remains, its purity 
 
 and poAver in no way diminished by bereavement and sepa- 
 ration. This love remains a blessed influence in the dreary 
 present; and the wish that it may continue unimpaired in all 
 the future, which we recognise as the supreme desire of "In 
 Memoriam" is here expressed: • — 
 
 — "I long to prove 
 No lapse of moons can canker Love". 
 
 xxvii. The cherishing and expressing of such a desire contains 
 
 in itself a profound feeling of satisfaction only less than ful- 
 filment. The memory of such a love, and its continued life in 
 loss, is far better than any state wherein any trait of love — 
 its passion, or its purity, or its fidelity — even though the 
 want of it brings rest, is absent. 
 
 "Tis better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all". 
 
 This and tlie preceding poem mark the first fulfilment of the 
 desire expressed in poem i. 
 
 Here the Introductory Stage ends; and two things, in- 
 volved in the concluding poems XXVI. and XXVII. may be 
 regarded as its characteristic achievement, preparatory to the 
 First Cycle: first, the desire and resolution to cherish the 
 integrity of the love for the dead in all time to come; and 
 
ITS STHtrCTUEE. 41 
 
 secondly, the thought that such love is an essential endow- j3^^™°y 
 
 ment of true manhood to be valued and cherished though its stage. 
 object be forever removed. 
 
 XXVIII. — LXXVII. 
 
 Thus far "In Memoriam" has been the monody of one 
 bereaved, who by inquiry and answer has interpreted , his 
 individual love and sorrow. But the thought in which- the 
 I ntroductory Stage culmina ted — tha^^ ^"yp °^°^^ ^» r>iaT-iaTio<i 
 th ough its object be removed, because in the continue d life 
 o f love our own truest self liv es — i~ Jjir 1mt rtrp nf prr 
 parat ion for another thought, which is here first introduce d, 
 namely, t hat he whom death has remnved stil l livpSj and Ms 
 l ove in the unseen world is as undving as the love desolat e 
 here. 'T''j g_i.1?""C^"^ "^ ^^" frioTiH'g inf^piAT-tajif y is nj^ as the 
 preceding, a si mple result of nhsprvatinn m- ftypftripn ce : it is a 
 revealed truth, to be accepted by faith . It is introduced by the 
 suggestiveness attaching to Christmastide, the commemoration 
 of His birth "who brought life and immortality to light"; and 
 the fact that in its adoption the poet Jl£HVP'>i the realm nf 
 positive kuowledp-e and enters that nf faith is so important 
 in the development of the poem that some special thought 
 must be devoted to, its justification. See succeeding, poems 
 XXXIV.— XXXVI. 
 
 From this point therefore the two friends are before us, 
 the one in immortality, out of sight, and revealing no tra«e 
 of his new existence; the other believing in the removed one's 
 continued life and interpreting it so far as he may by his 
 own love. 
 
 What the poet has recognised in himself he now comes 
 to see by faith in his friend. So because the past companion- 
 ship has wrought such good influence in all the poet's Mfe, 
 he comes by degrees to believe that a similar influence 
 may be supplied by memory to the friend in another world 
 (see LXV.); and so there exists between the two souls the 
 
 FIEST 
 CYCLE. 
 
42 TENNYSON'S "IN MEMOEIAM". 
 
 CTCLB. communication of an undying effect — the memory and in- 
 iluence, common to both, of a past love. Because the love 
 portrayed in this cycle has its starting-point in a past com- 
 ])anionship, and is recalled and reenforced by memory, we 
 may name this First Cycle the Cycle of the Past. See prece- 
 ding, p. 31. 
 
 CHEISTMASTIDE. XXVIII.-XXX. 
 
 The coming of the Christmastide which introduces this 
 First Cycle reveals two conflicting emotions. The intent of 
 the occasion is gladness on account of the august birth which 
 Christmas celebrates. The reality of this occasion is sorrow 
 because he whose companionship was the joy of this and 
 every occasion is removed by death. The three poems which 
 portray this Christmastide show successive stages of the re- 
 luctant jdelding of sorrow to joy, until at last Christmas hope 
 is admitted and becomes henceforth an influence. 
 
 In three mental moods this Christmastide is portrayed: — 
 as the poet looks forward to it, with sorrow and dread; as 
 he meets it present, and is doubtful how to observe it so as 
 not to profane either it or his sorrow; and as in calmer 
 mood he looks back upon it and recalls how his conflict 
 ended in peace. 
 
 XXVIII. 1- CHRISTMAS ANTICIPATED. 
 
 The Christmas bells, proclaiming joy, fall discordantly 
 upon the poet's sorrow, but they bring also, in the youthful 
 memories they awaken, a touch of joy. 
 
 XXIX . 2. CHEISTMAS PBBSBNT. 
 
 The wonted Christmas merriments call for observance 
 now as at other times; grief finds them scarcely congenial, 
 but yields at last for form's sake. 
 
 XXX. 3- CHRISTMAS PAST. 
 
 In a retrospect is related how conflicting emotions strove 
 with each other in a variety of alternating moods; until 
 finally calm ensues in the thought that the dead are immortal, 
 and that their love for us, though separated, is unchanged. 
 
ITS STKUCTITEB. 43 
 
 Thus is introduced the idea which, as followed out, is ^ycle. 
 the foundation of all the succeeding thought of "In Memo- 
 riam", — the idea name ly that love cannot die either in this 
 w orld or in another. 'JJ^ i?onJict in which the idea is a c- 
 ce pted is a severe one, be cause it is not merely a conflict of 
 emotions, bu t that struggle in which the poet leaves the 
 realm of pos itive knowledge and enters the realm of fa ith. 
 Such an important procedure as the acceptance of a revealed 
 truth, which can never be proved but must be believed, needs 
 a more extended introduction than the mere account of its 
 beginning. The succeeding six poems therefore justify and 
 explain this procedure, while they also introduce the course 
 of thought characteristic of the cycle. 
 
 These six introductory poems are two groups of three, 
 of which groups the first, in its order and underlying idea, 
 is more especially the introduction to the present cycle's 
 thought. Compare preceding, p. 30. 
 
 ETERNAL THINGS AND THE APPREHENSION OF THEM. 
 
 XXXI.— XXXIV. 
 A. KNOWLEDGE AND FAITH, xxxi.-xxxm. 
 Three poems, "of the most solemn and hymn -like pieces 
 in 'In Memoriam'", suggested by the history of Lazarus' re- 
 surrection from the dead and our Lord's intercourse with the 
 family at Bethany (John XI.— XII.), depict our ideal relation 
 to eternal things. 
 
 1. EBGAEDING THE UNKNOWABLE MYSTBBT BEYOND DEATH. XXXI. 
 
 Lazarus, who could speak of the other world from know- 
 ledge, reveals nothing. To us here in this world eternal 
 things are not to be apprehended by knowledge. 
 
 2. EBGAEDING THE PEOPEE ATTITUDE OP THE LIVING TOWAED ETEENAL XXXII. 
 
 THINGS. 
 
 Mary, with her simple, satisfied, unquestioning faith, 
 illustrates this. In her consciousness that all is well, and 
 that her Lord is with her, she has such present satisfaction 
 that curiosity about unseen things finds no place. 
 
44 TENNTSON'S "IN MEMORIAM". 
 
 FIRST 8. EEGABDING THE RELATION OE ONE WHO KNOWS TO ONE 
 
 CYCLE, WHO BELIEVES. 
 
 XXXIII. Lazarus and Mary illustrate two phases of Christian life: 
 those whose ripened reason and spiritual life makes their 
 view of unseen things approach the character of knowledge; 
 and those whose faith, without knowledge, supports itself hy 
 forms. Both lives have a blessedness of their own; and "faith 
 through form", which produces practical good deeds, is not 
 to be despised even by the ripest, — a world of sin makes 
 such faith the desirable support of all. 
 
 What these three poems suggest ideally is followed out 
 in similar order in the poet's practical experience, as the 
 characteristic thought of the cycle. See poems XL.— LXV. 
 
 The use of faith is thus portrayed; a second group of 
 three poems now describe its grounds. 
 
 B. INNATE IDEAS AND REVELATION, xxxiv.-xxxvi. 
 No cold logical process is instituted to prove the fact of 
 immortality; appeal is rather made to the finer consciousness 
 which makes us dare to enjoy life and the world. 
 
 xxxiv. 1. Life itself should teach immortality; for the unspoken 
 consciousness of unending existence is what gives life and the 
 world whatever beauty and worth they have. 
 
 ixxxY. 2. Death seems by its appearance to teach the opposite; 
 but all the higher worth of love, aU that makes it nobler 
 than a Satyr's mood, requires for its interpretation and integ- 
 rity that this appearance be disregarded. 
 
 xxxvi. 3. Wliat our innate consciousness requires finds its fitting 
 expression in the revealed Word of God, — especially in the 
 Word made flesh, who appeals to all and expresses an inner 
 idea which all, even the most unlettered, may read. 
 
 xxxvii. These introductory groups are closed by a chorus-poem, 
 in which the song is justified against reproach, as being the 
 spontaneous expression of joy in revealed truth. 
 
ITS STBUCTUEB. 45 
 
 SPRINGTIDE. XXXVIII.-XXXIX. c™!e. 
 
 The cheer which accompanies the thought of immortality 
 and the hopeful outlook of a new faith toward the future is ' 
 
 well typified by the season when Nature wakes from winter 
 into warmth and bloom. The spirit with which this Spring- 
 tide is met, which we may regard as the general spirit of 
 the cycle, has already been indicated in the Christmastide. 
 The cheer comes from without, and makes its way only by 
 struggle into a reluctant mood. So throughout the cycle: the 
 bereaved heart is slow to yield to the hope involved in his 
 chosen idea. 
 
 1. Chorus-poem, reproducing in great part the sentiment xxxviir.. 
 of poem VIII., only here in the darkened world the song is 
 cherished as containing real solace in itself. 
 
 2. Yet tills springtide affords a landmark of the poet's xxxix. 
 advancement toward vigor and peace of mind, in the fact 
 
 that even the changeless Yew-tree (Compare II.) feels the 
 season's cheer; and Sorrow (Compare III.), though prophesying 
 gloom again, yet acknowledges the present touch of hope- 
 fulness. See remark on this poem, p. 27. 
 
 Succeeding this Springtide a series of questions and doubts 
 are now raised, whose answer is the characteristic achievement 
 of the cycle. These questions fall into three groups, whose order 
 and general subject have been anticipated in the three intro- 
 ductory poems concerning Lazarus and Mary (XXXI.— XXXIII.): 
 namely, regarding the heavenly life beyond death; regarding 
 the earthly life this side of death ; and regarding the relations 
 of the two to each other. 
 
 The answers to the questions of the first group are drawn 
 from the po et's interpretation of love, to the s econd group 
 by efforts of faith, and in the third group love and faith 
 reach alternately their highest expression. 
 
46 TBNNYSOX'S "IN MEJIOKIAM". 
 
 CYcll. riRST GKOUP: 
 
 QUESTIONINGS CONCERNING THE LIFE BEYOND THE GRAVE. 
 
 XL,— XL VIII. 
 
 Love's answer. 
 Four topics are discussed: two pairs of topics; and tlie 
 questions in eacli pair suggest themselves as alternative to 
 each other, 
 
 A. FIRST TOPIC: PKOG-EESS IN ANOTHBK VSrOELD. XL— XLIL 
 
 XL. 1. Illustrated by the life of a bride, who leaves her 
 parental home and becomes the centre of a new family circle, 
 and so a link in the world's progress. Such progress, only 
 nobler, is in heaven. The difference causes pain: the bride 
 may return from time to time, but he is gone forever. 
 
 xLi. 2. The thought of Arthur's continued progress in a great 
 and strange state of being arouses the fear that he will 
 outstrip the earthly survivor and so be always l)eyond reach. 
 
 xLii. 3. This fear allayed by the thought of love: Progress 
 there is certainly progress in love; and if here on earth 
 Arthur willingly devoted himself as guide and teacher, much 
 more there. 
 
 B. SECOND TOPIC: ALTEBNATIVE—WHETHEB, INSTEAD OE BEING CONSCIOUS, 
 
 ANll PKOGEESSING TO EVBE HIGHBE ENEEGIES , THE IMMOETAL SOUL MAY 
 
 SLEEP TILL THE MOENING OF BESUEEECTION. XLIH. 
 
 xLiii. The answer neither affirms nor denies: it is love's answer, 
 making the most of the alternative. If death is really sleep, 
 there will be a waking; so all souls sleep together, and love 
 loses nothing by it. 
 
 C. THIED TOPIC: MEMOEY IN ANOTHBK WOELD. XLIV.— XLVI. 
 
 xLiv 1. Considerations that make against memory in another 
 
 world. 
 
 Our forgetfulness of infancy and preexistenc (if preexi- 
 stence be a fact), which is only emphasised by seeming flashes 
 of a preexistent consciousness, suggests a similar relation of 
 the heavenly state to the earthly. If such be the fact love 
 will make the most of it, and beseeches the friend to use 
 
ITS STRUCTURE. 47 
 
 the superior wisdom of celestial beings, and resolve any drea- ™lb. 
 my idea of earth that may rise. 
 
 2. Considerations that make for memory in another world, xlv. 
 The grand result of this earthly life, as it advances from 
 
 infancy to maturity, is the development of self- consciousness 
 and Avith it the possibility of memory; unless we suppose all 
 this life's highest achievement is lost, this self-conscious per- 
 sonality and memory continue in heaven. 
 
 3. The nature of memory in another world. xlvi. 
 The gradual dimming of memory here is a necessity to 
 
 the formation of character; there, where character is per- 
 fected, memory takes in the whsle life perfectly and at once. 
 The lifetime which Arthur remembers may perhaps show 
 those five years of friendship as its peculiarly^ satisfactory 
 period. 
 
 D. rOUBTH TOPIC: ALTBENATIVE — WHETER, INSTBAD OB BBMEMBBRING, 
 
 THE IMMORTAL SOUL MAY LOSE THE WHOLE PERSONAL CONSCIOUSNESS 
 
 AND SEPARATE MIND NECESSARY TO MEMORY, AND BE AT LAST ABSORBED 
 
 INTO THE GENERAL SOUL. XLVII. 
 
 Love protests against the idea of such a cessation of xlvh, 
 consciousness as fatal to her integrity. Yet though it were 
 so. Love will make the most of the alternative, and make 
 all possible use of the last moment before dissolution. 
 
 This group concluded by chorus -poem. The ofiice of the xLvin. 
 song is not to give logical answers but love's answer. 
 
 From the consideration of the immortal life which has 
 reached its goal the poet now turns his thought to the human 
 life striving here on earth toward its goal, or at least shaping 
 itself an eternal destiny, whether it strive or not. This group, 
 as it has to do not with the life made perfect in heaven 
 but with the imperfect and sinful life here, is more charged 
 with feeling than the other; and as the character of its sub- 
 ject causes more doubt, the questions are answered by strong 
 efforts of faith rather than by simple interpretations of love. 
 
 Introduced by chorus -poem, which, reminding us that xlix. 
 sorrow remains in spite of all hopeful answers, strikes the 
 key-note of the coming group. 
 
48 TENNYSON'S "IN MBMOBIAM". 
 
 ™ST SECOND GROUP: 
 
 QUESTIONINGS AND DOUBTS CONCERNING HUMAN LIFE HERE 
 ON EARTH: ITS CHARACTER AND DESTINY, l.-lix. 
 
 Faith's answer. 
 As in the preceding group, four topics are discussed. 
 Their correlation is as follows: The four topics are two 
 pairs. The first pair refers to the devout human life; the 
 second to the undevout. The first member of each pair refers 
 more especially to the course of life, the second more espe- 
 cially to its goal. 
 
 A. CHARACTER AND DESTINY OF THE DEVOUT. 
 
 FIRST TOPIC: OUR DEVOUT HUMAN LIFE, AS GOD AND THE IMMORTALS 
 SEE IT. L.— LI. 
 
 L. Suggested by the wish that the immortal friend were 
 
 near, so that the consciousness of his nearness might be a 
 
 solace. 
 LI. But if the dead are near they can see all our uuworthi- 
 
 ness. To which thought faith answers that they see as God 
 
 does, and make loving allowance. 
 
 SECOND TOPIC: OUR PURSUIT OF A HIGH IDEAL, AND OUR DESTINY AS 
 COMPARED WITH IT. LII. 
 
 Lii. The poet's ideal — to answer Arthur's love worthily — seems 
 
 unattainable. But faith answers that the spirit of true love 
 is not offended at human frailty, but takes the faithful 
 working toward the ideal as the real worth in a world of sin. 
 
 B. CHARACTER AND DESTINY OF THE UNDEVOUT. 
 
 THIRD TOPIC : OUTLIVED SIN AS A STRENGTHENER OF CHARACTER. LIIL 
 
 Liii. Many a one seems stronger and richer in character by 
 reason of earlier waywardness when it is outlived. But while 
 this may be a fact, we are not to sin for the sake of out- 
 living it to greater strength, but to hold fast the good. 
 
 FOURTH TOPIC: WHETHER EVERY IMPERFECT LIFE SHALL AT LAST REACH 
 ITS GOAL. LIV.— LVL 
 
 Liv. 1. Sin proceeds in so many cases from causes beyond 
 
 the sinner's personal control, — shall then inevitable sins and 
 
ITS STmU'TCBE. 49 
 
 evils make any life eternally vain? In answer, Faith, unable cyom. 
 t(i explain, can only assert her trust that every life shall 
 at some far distant time reach the goal it was made for. 
 
 2. The Avislrthat no life may fail is godlike; but Nature i-"''- 
 seems to gi\e the lie to this wish, and to be at strife with 
 divine Love. To which Faith, more agitated, cannot answer, 
 but flees to that Lo-^-e wlio is Ijord of all, and trusts to a 
 hope larger than Nature. 
 
 3. But Nature suggests yet more perplexing thoughts, for, ^^'^■ 
 perfectly indifferent to all, she seems to recognise no sacred- 
 ness in life. To which Faith answers that if life is nothing 
 higher than Nature teaches, man. Nature's highest work, is 
 
 a splendid failure. Unable to rest in such a conclusion, and 
 yet unable to answer. Faith refers the question to the world 
 behind the ^'eil. 
 
 The agitated feeling which has accompanied the questions 
 of this group here reaches its climax, and the next three 
 poems break otf the course of thought abruptly and give way 
 to the emotion with which the preceding thoughts have over- 
 charged the poet's soul. Yet these three chorus-poems eifect 
 an important transition, one of the most important in the 
 poem; for in them the poet escapes from the evil dreams of 
 Nature to faith in a Holy One higher than Nature. 
 
 1. "Peace; come awaj." Agitated by the feeling that his jaii. 
 Mork shall fail, the poet turns to bid farewell; and yet his 
 adieus refuse to be final. Compare CXXIII. 3. 
 
 2. '-Abide a little longer liere." Neither the thought nor ltui. 
 the song can rest in such a cheerless hopeless end; to cease 
 
 at this stage would be fruitless labor. See pp. 23, 24. 
 
 3. "0 Sorrow, wilt thou live with me." At the begin- lix. 
 ning of the poein (m.) Sorrow could see in Nature only the 
 I'eflection of herself, and tlic hopelessness she suggested was 
 acknowledged to be from a "lying lip" (in. 1.). In xxxix., 
 wher'e Springtide is Nature's illustration of new life, Sorrow 
 cannot but acknowledge the present cheer; but as she pro- 
 phesies gloom again, her lip is yet a "lying" (me' (xxxiX. 3.), 
 
 she cannot be trusted. But now that Sorrow has fled from 
 Nature to God (Compai'e lv. -LVI.), and hi sjiitc of Nature's 
 
 4 
 
I'lEST 
 
 50 TEXXTSOX'S "TX jreMUKlAJI", 
 
 evil dreams can leave the problem of human destiny to Him, 
 she may lie taken and cherished as a trustworthy guide. She 
 is yet to be the I'eigning element in the song: but she is to 
 lead to hope. See preceding, pp. 27, 28. 
 
 Twit groups of questions ha\e been ans'wei'ed: the first 
 concerning the heavenly life, answered by successive inter- 
 pretations of love; the second, concerning the character and 
 destiny of the earthly, answered liy efforts of faith. The third 
 group of topics now succeeds, and in consideration of them 
 both love and faith reach their best expression. 
 
 THIKD GEO UP: 
 
 (QUESTIONINGS AXD PEARS CONCERNING THE POSSIBLE 
 
 RELATION OF THE HEAVENLY LIFE TO THE 
 
 EARTHLY lx.-lxv. 
 
 l.ove and faitirs noblest expression. 
 
 Two souls are before us. who have loved each other. The 
 love of the earthly soul is yet inidiminished ; how is it with 
 tlie heavenly? 
 
 A single alternati\e expresses the possible relation of the 
 immortal soul to past companionship: he may wish to forget 
 his past love, oi- he may remember it with pleasure. Three 
 poems give expression to each member of this alternative; 
 and in each of these groups of tlu'ee, the first poem approaches 
 the thought from its eartlil}' side, the second from its liea\-enly. 
 and the third di-aws the conclusion. 
 
 I-'IKST MEJIBEK: SUGIIESTU l.N 111' THE EAl.l ALTEIIXATIVE: IX HIS HIGHEU 
 
 STATE THE njJIORTAIj MAY WISH TO VOEGBT HIS PAS'I' LOVE. 
 
 EX.— LXJI. 
 
 1. The earthly snr\'ivor is as a simple girl who loves 
 one far above her in rank, \A'hose larger life she can folkn\' 
 not in understanding but (jnly in love. 
 
 2. The immortal (me may lo(jk back and be grieved at 
 the dwarfed life and l(i\'e that longs hei'e on earth foi' his 
 regard; and ye1 this love is as true as that of the gi'eatest. 
 See pi'ecediug. p. 13. 
 
ITS STRITTUBE. 51 
 
 3. Love'js conclnsioii : If this simple earthly affection shames cycle. 
 its object, love consents in full self-abnegation to sacrifice her lxh. 
 claim to I'egarcl. Hoa\- truly this sacrifice is the noblest ex- 
 pression of love we see \A'hen we leflect that this is the sur- 
 render of that highest blessiiii;- which the i)oem has sought. 
 
 SECOJN'D HEMBJJH: SUllOiESTilJ.N (IF .THE GOOD ALTEltJiATIVE: J.X HiS 
 
 HIGHER STATE THE IMllDr.TAL jrAY HBMBMBEE HIS VOKMEK LOVE 
 
 WITH I'LKASUBB. liXIII.— liXV. 
 
 1. The earthly survivor can luve lo-wer beings and yet lxiu. 
 love heaven none the less; — 'it is therefoi'e not necessarily 
 the case that greater lows in heaA^eii preclude the simpler 
 loves of earth. 
 
 '2. The immoi'tal may be as one who has risen from a lxiv. 
 humble lot to the highest distinction in the state, who remembers 
 his former home and friends with special fondness. 
 
 3. Faith's conclusion: Love is too precious tu be lost; it ^-^^'■ 
 Avorks its effect yonder as here, and the two friends, though 
 separated, partake of the same hallowed remembrance. This 
 thought may be regarded as faith's highest achievement in 
 this cycle. See preceding, pp. 31, 41, 42. 
 
 At the end of this third group a series of poems now 
 portray the calmer and more healthful mood reached by the 
 poet in his consideration of eternal things. These poems 
 contrast strikingly with the first portrayal of unquiet grief, 
 poems II.— IV. 
 
 1. In the first mood of grief (il.) the mind was like the lxa'i. 
 changeless YeA\'-tree, a perpetual guardian of the dead. Now 
 the bereaved has become spontaneously cheerful with all, and 
 takes interest in affairs other than his own. Yet this cheer- 
 fulness is after all like that of a blind man, who has a dark 
 world of his own, where he li^-es apart from others. 
 
 •i. In the first mood of grief (m.) the thought of death lxyh. 
 was always a disquieting influence depriving all Nature of 
 attractiveness. Now tlie bereaved can think even of the grave 
 and the memorials of the departed life with complacency. 
 
 3. In the first mood of grief (iv.) clouds of nameless sor- ^'ixxi'." 
 row darkened the berenved one's dreams. Now the returned 
 
 4* 
 
52 TEKXYSOS'S "IN MEMOBIAM". 
 
 CTCLE. calmness makes his dreams natural and serene again. The 
 object of his consciousness, no longer a tyrannical disturbance 
 in all his Avaking thoughts, begins to enter into his dreams 
 naturally and spontaneously. Four poems delineate how these 
 dreams lose their sorrow. 
 
 Lx\[n. a. The dead is dreamed uf as living but with a nameless 
 
 trouble in his face, making him not just the man he was; 
 which tr(juble is no doubt transferred from the sleeper's un- 
 quiet brain, 
 i.xix. b. In a troubled dream, in which the dreamer wanders 
 
 forth through a dreary land where Nature gives no more 
 hope of spring, and crowns himself with thorns, an angel 
 meets him witli comforting ^words and touches the crown 
 into leaf. 
 t-xA-. 0. The dreamer tries in \Am, in the midst of grotesque 
 
 shapes, t(j see his friend's features aright; until at last the 
 vision comes in some way beyond his will. 
 r.xxi, d. Finally, the past comes to live naturally in the dreams 
 
 of the present, and the dreamer's pleasure in the past is 
 genuine and complete, with the single exception of a vague 
 "blindfold sense of wrong", which he would gladly have 
 cleared away. 
 
 FIEST ANNIVERSARY OF THE DEATH, lxxii. 
 
 This day, wth its re\'ival of a bitter memory, breaks in 
 like a discord on the poet's growing peace of mind, and 
 seems at first thought to check and disturb all that fadth lias 
 achieved, AVe liave noticed however, in the last poem, that 
 pleasure in the memory of the past failed in one point of its 
 completeness; — there remains a "blindfold sense of wrong". 
 What that sense of wrong is the present anniversary suggests, 
 and being suggested it is met and disposed of satisfactorily. 
 
 The day suggests naturally the name and fame that 
 wcmld have been Arthur's had the day not been darkened bv 
 his death. The loss of that fame to himself and the worhl 
 is the "wrong" which still disturbs the poet's sense of instice 
 
Ms stRiV'TT-ni-:. 53 
 
 ill his reiiKJval. Sonic tlioug-hts regarding the fame lost liere cTni. 
 are here introduced. 
 
 In accordance with the general procedure in the present 
 cycle, the thought of fame is first considered with regard to 
 the dead, nnd then with regard to tlie living. 
 
 A. THE FAMK WHICH THE DEAD LOST HEBK ANT) GAINS YONDEK. 
 LXXin.— LXXV, 
 
 1. By reason of his untimely death the friend and the Lxxm. 
 world lost his fame; but still his immortal soul contains the 
 same powers, glorified rather than impaired. 
 
 •2. His evident kindred with earth's great names suggests lxxiv. 
 more than can well be said. 
 
 3. Though the greatness of the dead missed proper recog- i.xxv. 
 iiition here it is acknowledged and reaches its fruition yonder. 
 
 B. THE itoHK THAX I'AMK THAT iS YET THE SOLAfK OK THE MVINO. 
 LXXVI. — LXXVII. 
 
 1. The poet transports himself in fancy to an ideal point Lxxvr. 
 whence he can see human fame as Heaven sees it, and compares 
 
 his own dying songs with that wliich really deserves fame. 
 
 2. These songs mil die. But their use in the present is lxxvu. 
 their sufficient justification. To sing of his sorrow and his 
 
 love is sweeter to the poet than fame, is its own reward. 
 
 Thus is met and \an(iuislied that last hindrance to the 
 poet's complacency in Ms memories of the past, and he is 
 ready to enter a new era of thought. 
 
 Lxxviii,— cm. 
 
 In the preceding cycle the poet has reached cahmiess in 
 the thought of that holy love which is not impaired by sepa- 
 ration, but continues, as in this world, so in the other world, 
 a memory hallowed and rich in influence. Such a blessing 
 the poet's faith has drawn from his contemplation of the past. 
 
64 T>JNN'YS(1X'S "\S MnMllllIAM". 
 
 *CTCLE^' There follows now tlicCycle of the Present, — which 
 
 I so denominate, because the thought has to do with the 
 present aspect of the poet's love for the dead and of the 
 immortal's love for him. This thought of the present deve- 
 lops itself in two directions. On the one liand, the poet be- 
 trays a longing for some bond between him and the immortal 
 more distinctively present than that of a common memory, — 
 a longing, in fact, for some real present communion in spirit, 
 in which he may know that the friend is near. Toward this 
 consummation the thought advances, not without a certain 
 cautious tone, as if the poet were conscious that in cher- 
 ishing such an unusual desire he were treading upon pre- 
 carious ground. On the othei' side, re al communion in sp irit 
 with the immortal certainly demands nothing __sbiirt-ol-€om- 
 pH gilcewith his example and advice were he living; and the 
 poet knows he would have rtTerisliecl iivmg sympathy and 
 friendship with the world around him. Besides, opening o f 
 th e heart toward the unseen world is only possible b;^ o])enin f)- 
 t he heart correspondingly toward this world . So the poet ad- 
 vances toward his desire by choosing a aew friendship her e 
 
 CHRl STMASllDE. LXXVIII. 
 
 'llie (Jhristnias Avliich introduce^ this Second Cycle is an 
 occasion characterised by calmness. The lapse of time has 
 brought a change in the spirit of its (ibservance, in this 
 respect, that the merriments and pleasures peculiar to Christ- 
 mas are accepted and enjoyed no longer under querulous pro- 
 test but for their own sake. At the same time "tlie quiet 
 sense of something lost" is a reminder that Cliristmas is not 
 what the occasion was before bereavement. 
 
 As the thought of the First Cycle was prefaced hy a 
 group of poems which suggested it first in outline, so in this 
 cycle, in the fouT' poems succeeding. Correspondius' 1o the 
 
I'i'S sTHlTTl'm-!. 5') 
 
 later expanded thought, the outline is subdivided into the *'i^i?<!Sf' 
 two related thoughts which together form the characteristic 
 thought of the cycle. 
 
 THE DIVIDED NATURE AND ITS COMPLEMENT. i.xxix.-LXxxii. 
 
 A. THE TIIVIDET) NATDBE IS TO SEEK rEACE IN' TTS PRESENT STA'Pl:. 
 LXXIX.— liXXX. 
 
 1. The poet's passionate asseition in the midst of his t.xxix. 
 sorrow that Arthur was more than a lirother to him ( ix. 5) 
 
 was no mere hasty ejaculation but a fact whicli lie can 
 reassert with all i-almness. He was more than a brother by 
 the very fact of being unlike, and so from his ditference 
 supplying the poet's lack. 
 
 2. But if he supplied my lack, then liis example, so far i-^^^^- 
 as I may interpret it, should still live in me, — and it shall. 
 
 If places were changed and he the mourner, lie would turn 
 his sorrow into gain by being stayed in jteace with God and 
 man, — so let me do. 
 
 B. THE BIVIBED XATUKE'S MEAL COMi'LEJIKXT, WHICH X(i XKW BBLATIdN' 
 (AX TiEPI-ACE, KKJtAIXS AS NEET)!-!'!. AS BEFOUK, LXXXL— T.XXXIl. 
 
 The peace with God and man, which the dead w(tnld 
 have exemplified is only partly a compensation. "NA'hat is 
 reaUy desired is the friend's real nearness. 
 
 1. The desire hinted and its fulfilment prepared for. If ixxxi. 
 the survivor's love was immature at the time of Arthur's death, 
 
 and so capable of more, it was y(^t ripened liy Death itself — 
 so the two may yet love e(|ually and satisfactorily. 
 
 2. The desire plainly expressed. It is comnmnion that i-xxxn. 
 is after all missed and wanted. No certitiule of Arthur's 
 blessedness can make that want as if it were not. 
 
 \EW-^■EAR. LXXXIII. 
 
 As in the preceding r;\-cle Springtide added to the thought i^xxxtu. 
 
 of immortality the suggestiveness of a ne^\■ awakening season, 
 
 so in this broader field of thought New- Year heralds a ne^^■ 
 
 round of seasons. As the springtide illustrated the spirit of 
 
56 I'UNNVfiOK'S "IN* iJEMontAM". 
 
 ctclS* its cycle by thrusting its clieei' from without ou a reluctant 
 mood, so here the New- Year illustrates the greater healthful- 
 ness of spirit, in that now the mood answers to the promise 
 of the season and goes forth with longiag to meet it. I'he 
 same spirit has also been illustrated at Christmastide , in the 
 pleasure taken in its observances for their own sake. 
 
 The present cycle's course of thought, akeady suggested 
 in outline (lxxix.— LXXXII.), noAV follows. Its double charac- 
 ter, as involved in its groTmd idea that it is only the opening 
 of the heart toward earthly relationships that opens it 
 also toward heaven, suggests a double series of topics, in 
 the iirst part of whicli the eavtlily blessing is secured, in the 
 second the heavenlv. 
 
 FIRST GEOUP: 
 THE BEREAVED FINDS PEACE, WITH ALL. I.xxxiv.-Lxxxix. 
 
 In the introductory group the poet has recognised The 
 want in his nature left by bereavement, and has committed 
 himself to the C(jurse that Arthur would have taken had he 
 lived. The succeeding poems now carry tliis idea out into 
 practice. 
 
 The poems of this group subdivide themselves into two 
 groups, in the first of wliich the liereaved commits liimself 
 to his idea, and in the second finds peace in it. 
 
 .\. THB BBEEAVBll f'OMMITS HlMSELl' TO NEW FBAnDSHIP. 
 LXXXIV.— LXXXT I. 
 
 Lxxxiv. 1. The poet contemplates what theii' friendship would 
 
 have become had Arthur lived and l)ecome his brother, as 
 was intended. This poem makes evident what the poet needs 
 to sup]dy his loss — namely, present requited friendship. 
 
 J.xxx^^ 2. At the solicitation of one who ((Jompare st. 2 with Epil. 1) 
 
 is destined to sustain the same relation to the poet which 
 Arthur would have sustained, and by that fact becomes a 
 candidate for Arthur's place in the poet's aifection, the poet 
 reviews his course, recognises the good that has resulted 
 from his cherishing of grief and love, confesses Avhat the dead 
 
ITS STHTIOTTiRH. 57 
 
 would wish could his wish be heard, and at last offers him- "^o^^' 
 self as friend, that so the healthful action of soul on soul 
 may preserve the integrity of his manhood. 
 
 3. This conclusion ratified by a song-, in which the poetLxxxvi. 
 expresses his longing for peace. 
 
 B. THE BEREAVED FINDS PEACE AND CALMNESS, EVEN IN THOSE ASSO- 
 CIATIONS AND SCENES WHICH MOST VIVIDLY RECALL HIS SORROW. 
 
 Lxxxvn.— Lxxxrx. 
 
 1. A visit to the old Cambridge halls, and renewed lxxxvii. 
 memory of those days of student life, with renewed sympathy 
 
 with aU. 
 
 2. In the nightingale's song, which is popularly regarded lxxxvui. 
 to commingle joy and woe, the joy comes predominantly to 
 
 him, in spite of his prelude of woe. 
 
 3. The past is lived over again in the scenes of the 
 former summer retreat. The new joy is well indicated by 
 comparing the appearance of nature in this poem with such 
 poems as vni. XXTII. XXXVIII. 
 
 SECOND GROUP: 
 
 IN HIS PEACE WITH ALL THE BEREAVED FINDS COMMUNION 
 
 IX SPIRIT WITH THE DEAD, xc.-xcv. 
 
 In the introductory poems (lxxxl— LXXXIL,) the thought 
 of this group is betrayed, as if reluctantly, between the lines, 
 and then plainly intimated, but only negatively. The hint is 
 now carried out to realisation. 
 
 1liis grou]), like the foregoing, subdivides itself into two 
 groups, in the first of which the poet defines his idea, and 
 in the second realises it. 
 
 A. THE BEREAVED DEFINES HIS THOUGHT AND COMMITS HIMSELF TO IT. 
 
 XC— XCIV, 
 
 1. The greatest obstacle to sucli communion in spirit with xc. 
 the dead is disposed of — namely, the obstacle which a sup- 
 posed change in the bereaved, caused by years of separation, 
 would make, to destroy congeniality when they meet again. 
 Tlie poet's desire exists undiminished by any change of time. 
 
,58 TEXSrsON'S "IN MKMOMAM". 
 
 ^CTcu? Notice how closely this poem corresponds in thought with its 
 
 introducer, Lxxxi. 
 xoi. 2. The spirit of the departed is invoked to come crowned 
 
 with the glory of the seasons, — in spring as he yras, in 
 
 summer as he is. 
 xcii. 3. Yet this desire to commune with the dead is no crude 
 
 desire to see him in vision, which could not but be both 
 
 unsatisfactory and uncertain. 
 xrai. 4. No visual_ shade, but the spirit himself, apprehended 
 
 by spiritual perception, outside of and above the sensuous 
 
 nature, 
 xciv. 5. The preparation necessary to receive such a guest — 
 
 purity of heart, soundness of intellect, holiness of aifection, 
 
 and peace with all. To such preparation the poet has already 
 
 committed himself. See LXXX. 
 
 B. THB DESIEE OP THK BEREAVED IS ACTUALLY BBALISBB. XCA". 
 
 xcv. In a perfectly calm summer night, the scene is such as 
 to combine in one the thought preceding. 
 
 1. The present new friendship is represented in the inter- 
 course of the circle who have been together all the evening, 
 and have at last separated for the night. 
 
 2. After the others are gone a hunger for the old com- 
 panionship seizes the poet's heart. The letters of the dead, 
 which he reads, brings the past vividly to mind; and all at 
 once he seems to be caught up to living mystic communion 
 with him , which at last vanishes as the morrow begins to rise. 
 
 <■ The poet has realised his desire in an hour of mysterious 
 communion with the immortal friend. That hour vanished, 
 "stricken through with doubt". What remains as its pernm- 
 nent sequence, and wherein does the wished -for blessing fail 
 of completeness? The answer to such a question seems to 
 be^the object of the succeeding three poems. 
 xcvi. 1. How doubt is conquered. Apparently in allusion to 
 
 the fact that the preceding trance was dissip^tted by doubt 
 (XCV. 11), the poet defines his position. He has committed 
 himself to belief in eternal things, and will follow out such 
 
faith to its greatest results. But t'aitli, which must ackuow- ^^YChr^! 
 ledge that eternal things "never can be proved", must thereby 
 admit the possibility of doubt. On the other hand, the reso- 
 lute conquest of doubt may minister a stronger faith than 
 could exist had there been no doubt; whereas knowledge, 
 be it ever so clear, does not work practical good cliaracter 
 as faith does. 
 
 2. Love's comnumion good though personal intercourse >;cvi.i. 
 fails. Illustrated by the case of a wife who has loved truly 
 once, and though her lord is now absorbed in things apart, 
 
 yet she is certain that tlie love once existent has never 
 passed away. 
 
 3. Vienna unvisited. The fatal significance of that city, xcvm. 
 as the place where Arthur died, is brought vividly before 
 
 the poet's mind, and the thought of it seems to be a dis- 
 turbing influence in his new communion. 
 
 SECOND ANXR'ERSARV OF THE DEATH, xcix. 
 
 This day breaks in as before (lxxii.) with the renewal -■^cix. 
 of sorrow in tlie memory of an irreparable loss. ^Ye see here 
 however this advance on (he feelings that characterised the 
 former anniversary : — that I'enewed a mere individual sori'ow, 
 this sorrow is tnur-hed with sympathy for all who have similai' 
 sad memories. 
 
 As the former anniversary g-Axe occasion to dispose of 
 the last regret regarding Arthur's untimely death, so this 
 gives similar occasion to dispose of the last obstacle to the 
 lull calmness of the present. This ol)stacle is indicated in the 
 preceding poem, — namely, tlic aversion to those things which 
 awaken most vividly his loss — illustrated liy the poet's aver- 
 sion to Vienna. The succeeding four poems dispose of this 
 difficulty and prepare the mind for the next cycle. 
 
 The poet is about to leave his native Lincolnshire, where 
 every spot suggests some memory of liis friend, — with double 
 vividness now that he is on the eve of leaving. These me- 
 
go TENNYSON'S "IX MKMORIAM". 
 
 IwSf Ivories, which almost cause his sorrow to begin anew, must 
 be met and resolved ere the growing peace of mind is 
 complete. 
 
 A. BABBWBLL TO OLJ) SCENES. ('.— CII. 
 
 •■• 1. 'rhe old place, as the poet is about to leave it, 
 
 awakens sad memories and causes sorrow to begin anew. 
 
 li- 2. Thought of the new associations and other memories 
 
 which will come to cluster round the same scenes. 
 
 (11. 3. The pleasant thought of childhood and the sad thought 
 
 of bereavement from Arthur strive together and mingle at 
 last into one picture, in which he seems to view both from 
 afar; and thus his aversion passes into tender raelanchol}'. 
 
 B. rO.VTENT TO ENTER NEW SCENES. I'lII. 
 
 A dream on the last night in the old home cheers the 
 l(oet with hope of what will be. 
 
 1. Passing with noble companions down a widening river 
 toward the great sea, — 
 
 •1. The scenery becomes grander, and all grow in majesty 
 of thought and spirit. 
 
 3. ^Vllen at last Arthur is seen, gi'eatened and glorified, 
 all are ready to meet him, and all sail away together on 
 the great deep. 
 
 This dream both satisfies the thought of the present 
 oycle, and stands as a hint of the world's great future, which 
 the coming cycle is to portray. 
 
 CIV.-CXXXI. 
 
 To the Cycle of the Past and the Cycle of the Present 
 is now added "the closing cycle", the Cycle of the Future. 
 Besides its advance in time we notice also, as in the prece- 
 ding cycle, an advance in breadth; and the future of which this 
 
ITS STBrCTUEE. 
 
 61 
 
 cycle sings takes iu the whole race of man, as the poet sees ™™ 
 it raised and ennobled by the same love which has hitherto 
 wrought him such good. 
 
 The friend whom the v)oem commemorates is connected 
 with this greater future by being taken as its type, as one 
 appearing in advance of his time, from A\-hose i)ure life men 
 may gather wisdom and be lieljied tliereby toward the ideal 
 of manhood. See Epilogue, st. 35. In accordance with this plan 
 the course of poems characteristic of the cycle (cix. — CXIV.) 
 is taken up with a portayal of his qualities of mind and heart, 
 as these already were in themselves, and as they were in 
 promise. 
 
 CHRISTMASTIDE. CIV.-CV. 
 
 1. Christmas eve. The surroundings are strange, and in civ. 
 this unaccustomed place there is nothing to keep alive the 
 memory of past joys or bereavements. 
 
 2. Christmas present. In the second Christmastide the cv- 
 lapse of time had made Christmas observances pleasant for 
 their own sake (LXXVIII.); now the change of place has 
 wrought to cause the usual customs to die (st. 3), as was 
 indeed predicted at the first Christmastide (xxix. 4).' But 
 tliis dying of "use and wont'" after they have been once 
 revived is no sign of retrogression in the thought; rather, 
 the usual customs have lost their life because the spirit of 
 Christmas has become so settled and significant that the an- 
 cient form can no more express its meaning. The cheer of 
 this season not only eclipses tlie grief, but scorns aU formal 
 demonstrations of joy as unnecessary and meaningless. 
 
 Henceforth the thought advances into the greater future 
 which the world shall see when men come to cherish and 
 exemplify such qualities as tlie deceased lias already shown 
 in type. 
 
 A stiikmg characteristic of tlie coming cycle is, that all 
 significant occasions — New- Year, Springtide - which Iiave 
 
fi'2 TEXXYSOX'S '■IX JlKjrOHIAM". 
 
 CYCM. represented the sj)irit of preceding cycles, are reintroduced 
 with fresh significance, — as if everything ^^'ere suggestive 
 towai'd the greatness that is to be. 
 
 CVl. 
 
 NEW-YEAE. CVL 
 
 This occasion introduces the thought of the present cycle 
 in brief, as in preceding cycles has been done by groups of 
 l)oems. The poet's individual desires for the future are in 
 this song" inseparaljly interwoven with his longings for the 
 reign of neAV principles and ne^\' charactei', for the intro- 
 duction of better customs and the banishment of unrighteous- 
 ness, until humanity shall reproduce in a regenerated society 
 the greatness and the character of Christ. It is the same ideal 
 which was portrayed by a Christian apostle eighteen hundred 
 years before. — compare stanza 8 with Ephesians I v. 13. 
 
 BIRTHDAY OF THE DECEASED (FEB. 1). GVII. 
 
 In the First Cycle .S]iringtide brought the cheer of a new 
 season (XXXVIIL- XXXIX.); in the second NeAv-Year heralded 
 a new round of seasons (LXXXIII.); and now this characte- 
 rising occasion of the Third Cycle suggests a new life, a noble 
 life which, haAdng been lived once, may furnish the model for 
 noble lives to come. The present occasion illustrates, as has 
 already been intimated in the Christmastide, how in this cycle 
 the spirit of hope has overcome. In the first cycle the sug- 
 gestiveness of the blooming season nmst make its -way from 
 without into a reluctant mind; in the second cycle the calmer 
 mood and the promising season answer' spontaneously to each 
 other; but here in the thii'd cycle the hopeful mood has so 
 overcome the influences of season and weather that even the 
 bitter cold wintry day can have no disturbing efi'ect on the 
 confirmed cheer within, — the mind's peace is within itself. 
 (Jompare with this the spirit of the present Christmastde, cv. 
 
ITS STBUCTUEB. {];] 
 
 The thought characteristic (»f this cycle now ensues, intro- cycle. 
 duced by a poem in which the bereaved expresses his reso- cvm. 
 lution to forsake indi\'i(hial sorrows and individual aims, and 
 from his experience t(i reap in the larger broader world the 
 truit that comes from st)irow interpreted Ijy love. 
 
 Looking t(Avard that broader future the thought shapes 
 itself on what the birthday naturally suggests — the character 
 of the deceasetl, its worth and its promise. He is regarded 
 as a type of the nobler race that is to be; and therefore from 
 every line of his character some instructive suggestion may 
 be drawn. 
 
 Six poems portray at length the character of the de- 
 ceased. These divide themselves into two groups, which repre- 
 sent respectively its aspect as regards the individual and its 
 aspect as regayds the race. 
 
 FIRST GEOUP- 
 
 WISDOM GATHERED FKOM A BEMINISCENCE OF WHAT THE 
 
 DECEASED WAS IN HIS PBESONAL CHARACTER, cix.-cxii. 
 
 '•'T is held that sorrow makes us wise, 
 Whatever wisdom sleep with thee". 
 
 1. His intellect and character as showing a well-rounded cix. 
 manhood in hi|nself — a worthy example. 
 
 2. His influence on othei's — to shame all (n'il and to ex. 
 bring good to light. 
 
 3. The genuineness and tnie nobilit.y of his character — c>;i- 
 gentler even than he seemed. 
 
 4. The reserve of power and character in him, which cxn. 
 caused liis friends e\m- to hope more. 
 
 SECOND GROUP: — 
 
 AVISDOM GATHERED FKOM THE CONSIDERATION OF WHAT 
 
 THE DEGASED WAS AND WOULD HAVE BECOME. IN HIS 
 
 ADAPTEDNESS TO ACT ON THE WORLD, oxxii.-cxiv. 
 
 "T is held that sorrow makes us wise; 
 
 Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee 
 
 Which not alone had gnided mc. 
 But served the seasons that may risi.' 
 
g4 TENKYSOX'S "IN MEMOHIAM". 
 
 CTCLE. l- His rare ciualities of miud and lieart would have made 
 
 cxm. him an important influence on Ms age, equal to all emergencies. 
 
 cxiv. 2. He was a worthy exemplifier of tliat higher Wisdom 
 
 which in this eager age Knowledge needs to keep her within 
 
 legitimate bounds. 
 
 This gives the poet occasion to define his idea of Avisdoni 
 as the supplementer and regulator of knowledge, 'without which 
 regulator the latter may be a danger and no blessing. This 
 poem expands the idea expressed in Prologue, st. 7. 
 
 SPRINGTIDE. CXV.-CXVI. 
 
 The last note of time in the poem. Standing immediately 
 after those poems in which are defined in terms of Arthur's 
 character the greatness which the world needs, it is a good 
 suggesti\eness that the character so defined may become I'eal, 
 just as the year wakes from winter, and works out in a neA^' 
 season all the promise of the spring. This occasion introduces 
 the final application and conclusion (jf the thought; and so 
 with springtide the poem leaves us passing on into a new era. 
 
 1. The year awakes from the frosts of winter into the 
 life and bloom of spring. So awakes the poet's regret, and 
 buds and blossoms with the rest. 
 
 2. But just as the year's awakening is tlie awakening of 
 "life re - orient out of dust", so the feeling that awakes 
 with it is not all, nor predominantly, regret. It is rather 
 anticipation of a strong bond to be, a feeling of ceititude in 
 the better future. 
 
 Having drawn the lesson from the achievements and the 
 ])romise of his friend's life, and used the suggestiveness of 
 springtide to illustrate what is to be, the poet now dvdws 
 the application, for himself and for e^ery one. 
 
 THB WOKK 01' THE DAYS TO (.OMB. CXVII.— CXVIII. ^ 
 
 1. For the bereaved himself. To make every day and 
 every hour contribute some element of good toward the bless- 
 edness of his coming union with Artlmr. 
 
ITS S'i'BUOl'TlitH. ({5 
 
 ■2. For e\-eiy one, as a re])rpsentative of liumanity. Sug- ™m. 
 gested by the progress of life on the globe, from the lowest ixviii. 
 organisms uij to man, Avho, answering to that ty])p of progress, 
 has such dignity of natiu-e that lie is sure to be either the 
 herald of a still higher race, or, failing this, to show the 
 greatness of his nature even in its ruins. It is incumbent 
 on every one therefore to subdue tlie loAver nature and 
 cherish the higher. 
 
 DEFINING- POINT — END. oxix. 
 
 The progress in hope made since the first crushing blcjw oxix. 
 of bereavement, is indicated ])y the different feelings expe- 
 rienced on visiting the former residence of the deceased. 
 Compare vil. No longer in confused despair, but in peaceful 
 hope, the pnet comes, thinking on the departed friend with 
 blessings ; and all surroundings of Aveather and scenery answer 
 to the calm mthin. 
 
 As the first defining -point wa!< preceded by a prospect 
 (l.— VI.), so tliis is succeeded by a retrospect, to which is' 
 added the summarv and conclusion of the whole work. 
 
 RETROSPECT ANT) CON(T;nsl()N. cxx.-CXXXI. 
 
 The retrospect sliows an interesting parallelism to the 
 prologue, in this res])pct. that it has reached the summit of 
 progress occupied by the latter, so th<ft: both view tlie victory 
 over despair and doubt as gained. The parallelism runs how- 
 ever in inverse order. The Prologue, beginning with prayer, 
 looks directly to that immortal Loxe in whose pei-sonal might 
 the victory has been gained; and from this vre\\- of heaven 
 it advances to recognise the woes and the needs of earth, as 
 they are exemplified in the experience which 'Tu Jlemoriam" 
 records. See preceding, p. 3ri. At this point tlie i)oem 
 takes up the thought, and passes through the world of sor- 
 rowful experience, seeking heavenly things by faith. I'o revieA\' 
 this long journey stands now the Retrospect: and this passes 
 
66 TT!XNyS(iX'f^ "IX Mv;jtnEIAM", 
 
 CYCLE, ^y " ^^'^^ fapid strokes to recognise the love by which the 
 poet's faith has been actuated as the immortal Love whom 
 the Prologue, celebrates, which Love is accepted as Lord of 
 all, and worshipped, as at the beginning. So prayer and 
 achievement are united in one. 
 
 A. HOW THE PAST I'dNFLICT HAS PBOVBD THE DIGNITY OF MAN. CXX. 
 
 |xx. Such a fight of faith with death proves man infinitely 
 
 more than a mere link in the animal creation, and born to 
 ajiigh divine destiny, which he is to strive to i-ealise. 
 
 II. A SUHVEY 01' THE KESULTS BEACHED IN THE THKEE GBEAT CYCLES 
 OF THE BBEEAVEIl SOUL'S PBOGBESS. f'XXI.— C^XXIII. 
 
 rxxi. 1. l^he Cycle of the Past. Suggested by the thought of 
 
 the planet Venus, the star of love, which, being both evening 
 star and morning star, illustrates in one both the rising of 
 love on the darkened and despairing life to cheer its night, 
 and the rising of love on the life progressing in hope, to 
 herald its morning. 
 
 txxn. 2. The ( 'ycle of the Present. Eembiiscence of the culmi- 
 
 nating scene in the second cycle (XCV.), where an hour of 
 communion was enjoyed Avith the immortal dead. That same 
 nearness is again desired as a permanent blessing. 
 
 cxxiii. 3. The Cycle of the i'uture. From tlie general \'iew of 
 
 the de\-elopnient of earth and man characteristic of the third 
 cycle (see CXVIII. CXX.), tlie poet draws a suggestion of his 
 own contrast to inanimate nature: in that while the most solid 
 things of earth iiass. yet he is conscious of an undjdng spir- 
 itual nature, in which lie will dwell. 
 
 r. HOW THE DIVI.VB POWEIl WAS FOUND. CXXIV, 
 
 cxxiA'. In the last poem (st. 3) is expressed the consciousness of 
 
 a spiritual nature whicli is eternal. This recognition of con- 
 scious immortality is naturally folio-wed by recognition of Him 
 Avho is the Author of immortalit\', — wl),o is found not by 
 I'eason, or speculation, but by faith' and love. As the most 
 important experience in Avhich God was" found, and the type 
 of all the I'est, allusion is made in stanzas 5 and 6 to that 
 hour of most bewildered doubt (liv.— LVI.), Avhen the poet 
 
ITS STBUCTDRE. (57 
 
 fled from Nature to God, and found tliei'ein ii power to mould ™clb, 
 and sanctify him. 
 
 In tliis and the preceding poem is readied, as the regular 
 sequence of what precedes, the poet's view of the two funda- 
 mental doctrines of re-\ealed religion — tli e doctrine of a fut ure 
 life, and the doctrine of a (jod. Both of these are made a 
 itiatter not of specidatiuiT but uf an aotu- ired Christi a a ucon- 
 sciousness; and so both are brought into that realm of practi- 
 "cal: life where all men are one. These poems may be regarded 
 as the culminating illustration in ''In Memoriani" of that theo- 
 logical tendency in nineteenth-century literatni'e which led the 
 poet, in accordance with the spirit of his time, to select such 
 a distinctively theological theme as the pui-pose of his work. 
 See preceding, p. 20. 
 
 II. THE MINISTHY OF POBSY. (\X\. 
 
 Poesy has acted as chorus, to interpret the poefs way- fxxv. 
 ward moods, Avhether of grief or iov: but in his deepest self 
 the poet ha s never lost hope, — he has merely used the song 
 "¥^od end^ -^ee preceding, pp. 21 — 23". 
 
 K. SL'MMAliY" (IF IIIOTKOSPBCT. CXXVI. — CXXVIII, 
 
 The conclusion to which the Retrospect has conducted is 
 summarised in three poems, which are directed respectiveh'. 
 as was the retrospect, to past, present, and future. 
 
 1. The sanctifier of the past gloiified in the present. <'xxyi. 
 '■Love is and Avas my Ivord and King". What Avas cherished 
 as an influence Avithin, to guide and bless, is recognised as 
 the niaster-poA\'er of tlie life. 
 
 •2. The unseen Kuler of the present. The same Love, rxxvii. 
 Avhose A^oicc pui'e hearts can hear through the wild storms 
 of human passion, and so aa'c may kn(n\', as liappy spirits 
 know, that in spite of conflict all is well. 
 
 :i. The hope for the world's future. In lo\e. which shall cxxtiii. 
 make its power more felt, and shall (jutlive the reactions of 
 onward time, until its divine end is attained. 
 
58 TKXNysOX'S -'IX MEMOBIAM" 
 
 ('ONCLUDING INVOCATION. 
 
 THIRD III this invocation the thought of Love reaches its iiighest. 
 
 First beheld as a moulding- sanctifying power Avithin (CXXIV), 
 then as Lord and King above (CXXVI.— CXXVIII.), it is now 
 seen to involve more, namely. — the love Avhich has become 
 man's I'uling po«'er A\-ithin and without assumes thereby pe?-- 
 sonality in manhood, becomes in a dee]i sense incarnate. See 
 p. 33. Arthur, who was true tn divine Love here, now lives 
 in Uod, and is here addressed in an invocation which recog- 
 nises his nature as. Avhile not less perfect in itself, inseparable 
 from the divine. 
 
 txxix, 1. 'Phe innnortal friend iu whom divine Love has as- 
 
 sumed a mysterious personality is addressed as the type- from 
 which the .-wurld's ideal may be interpreted. 
 
 exxx. •>. The earthly frieiul sees his own love growing by his 
 
 loyalty tii that other into the same divine image. 
 
 Fl-NALLV, 
 
 exxxi. 3. A prayer to that Love over all. whose power, flowing 
 
 through our deeds, and appropriated by "faith which comes 
 of self-contrel", makes us h<dy. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Ei'n^oGUE. 'Phe poem^wliich begins Mith death ends with nmrriage, 
 that highest earthly illustration of crowned and completed 
 kn-e. The Epilogue is a marriage - song celebrating the union 
 of the friend whom the poet welcomed in the place of the 
 deceased (t'omi)are stanza 1 with LXXXV. ^) Avith a sister of 
 the poet and of her Avho would ha\e become the wife of 
 Arthur Henry Hallam. This marriage - song gives occasion to 
 bring in reA'ieM' before ns the leading features and influences 
 of the poem, which indeed have become so familiar and well 
 defined, that we may almost recognise them as dramatis per- 
 sonae. 
 
 1. Love, which surAives regret and the grave, has reco- 
 vered her peace in this Avorld, has grown greater and holier. 
 
ITS STEUCTtJEB. fi() 
 
 and yet bj' no means less loyal to the dead, and now, noKPii.oftuB. 
 more disturbed by the i)ast, devotes herself to the sinless 
 joys of the present. 
 
 2. Remembrance of the dead is cherished, not sacrificed; 
 the dead is tliought of as living and perhaps present on this 
 occasion, shedding unseen blessings on this coronation of love. 
 
 :>. The living present is suggested by the marriage-bells 
 and festivities, — a present in which love finds its purest 
 expression. 
 
 -t. The greater future is suggested by the thought of the 
 ne^^• life that may rise from this union, a newborn soul who 
 shall look on a .race more advanced than this, and contribute 
 to its greatness ; and so be a link between us and the perfect 
 future. 
 
 ■5. A view of the far future perfected. 
 
 a. Its character. The view of knowledge eye to eye, the 
 complete subjugation of all that is brutish in us. the flower 
 and fruit of which the present contains only the seed. 
 
 b. Its type. The life of Arthur, who appeared in advance 
 of his time. 
 
 c. Its culmination — life in God. 
 
 "THAT GOD, WHICH EVER LIVES AND LOVES, 
 
 ONE GOD', CITE LAW, ONE ELEMENT, 
 
 AND ONE FAE-OPF DIVINE EVENT, 
 TO WHICH THE WHOLE CREATION MOVES." 
 
Biographical Sketch. 
 
 I was bora in AMlseyville, Tioga Co., X. Y., on the 27tli 
 flay of January, 1850. In 1864 my parents moved, for the 
 sake of better school advantages, to Oweg'o, in the same 
 county, where in the four years succeeding I prepared myself 
 for college. In 1868 I entered the Junior class in Union 
 ('ollege, Schenectady, X. Y., and graduated June 29, 1870. The 
 two 3'ears succeeding my graduation I spent in teaching. In 
 1872 T entered the Baptist Theological Seminary in Rochester, 
 N. Y., where after a full theological course 1 graduated in 
 1875. The succeeding three years 1 spent as a pastor in 
 Baldwinsville , ^\ Y. During this pastorate the wish to devote 
 myself to a special line of study, with the intention of be- 
 coming a teacher, became continually stronger; which resulted 
 finally in my giving up my position as pastor and sailing, 
 in May 1878, for Europe. After a few months devoted to 
 acquiring the G-erman language, I entered the University of 
 Leipzig in October 1878, where I have studied ever since, 
 with the exceiition of one semester (Summer 1880) spent in 
 London. 
 
 Here in Leipzig I ha^e devoted myself mainly to private 
 study. I have heard however Prof Franz Delitzsch on Isaiah, 
 Biblical Theology, and Introduction to the Old Testament; 
 Prof. Luthardt on the Gospel of John ; Prof.- Friedrich Delitzsch 
 on Assyrian, Inscription of Esar-Haddon, Syriac, and Biblical 
 Aramaic; Prof Whicker on History of Anglo-Saxon Poetry, 
 and History of the English Drama; lie. G-uthe on HebrcAv 
 Grammar ; Prof Krehl on Syriac Grammar. In London I read 
 in the British Museum on the History of English Literature. 
 I have also had private lessons in Hebrew, one course from 
 Herr Grossberger and another from Dr. Biesenthal. 
 
 "^ti^ 
 
 Leipzig, May, 1881. 
 
Cornell University Library 
 
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 Tennyson's "In Memorlam"; its purpose and 
 
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