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THE 
 
 POETRY OF TENNYSON 
 
 HENRY VAN DYKE 
 
 SEVENTH EDITION 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1896 
 
Copyright, 1889, 1891, 1892, 
 By HBNBY VAK DTKE. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Biverstde Prets, Cambridge, U, S. A. 
 Electiotyped and Fiinted by H. O. Houghton & Company. 
 
To 
 
 SI ^onns (Moman 
 
 OF AN OLD FASHION 
 
 \rflO LOTES ABT 
 
 NOT FOB ITS OWN SAKE 
 
 BUT B£OAUSE IT ENNOBLES LIFE 
 
 WHO BEADS POETBT 
 
 NOT TO SILL TIME 
 
 BUT TO FILL IT WITH BEAUTIFUL THOUGHTS 
 
 AND WHO STILL BELIETES 
 
 IN aOD AND DUTY AND IMUOBTAL LOTB 
 
 E BeSfcate 
 IHIS BOOK 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The preface is that part of a book which 
 comes last to the author and first to the 
 reader. And if I may go so far as to as- 
 sume — merely as a working hypothesis — 
 the existence of a reader for this book, I 
 should like to say a few words about the spirit 
 and purpose in which it has been written. 
 
 The title was chosen to set a bound to the 
 author's discursiveness, and to be an encour- 
 agement to the reader's patience. It is meant 
 to tell not only what the book contains, but 
 also what it omits. One thing that will not 
 be found here is a biography of the poet, or a 
 collection of anecdotes in regard to his pri- 
 vate affairs. 
 
 The time to write a life of Tennyson has 
 not yet arrived ; and those who love him pray 
 that it may be long on the way. When it 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 does come, it will offer no allurements to the 
 seeker of sensations and no excuse to the 
 purveyor of scandals. A life that has been 
 spent, not in the chase of notoriety, but in 
 the nobler pursuit of true glory, — a life 
 that is free from the shadow of those mys- 
 terious problems which have darkened the 
 graves of some poets and drawn the vultures 
 around them in flocks, — a life that has 
 flowed strong and straight and clear, 
 
 Like some broad river mshing down alone, 
 
 With the selfsame impulse wherewith he was thrown 
 
 From his loud fount upon the echoing lea, — 
 
 surely such a life is the happiest and the 
 best, and it deserves to be treated by the 
 world with gentleness and honour and that 
 divine reticence which is the mark of noble 
 minds. 
 
 For my own part, I am of opinion that the 
 best biography of Tennyson will always be 
 found in his works. His poems are his life. 
 And I cannot help recalling the words which 
 he wrote me a few months ago : / thinh it 
 wisest in a man to do his work in the world 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 as quietly avd as well as he can, without 
 much heeding the praise or dispraise. 
 
 The reader of this book will find in the 
 appendix a brief record of such facts and 
 dates as may be helpful in studying the 
 work of the poet, and a bibliography more 
 complete than any that has yet been pub- 
 lished ; but not one word in these pages, I 
 hope, which would either awaken or feed an 
 idle personal curiosity. 
 
 Nor does this book contain an analysis of 
 Tennyson's poems. It is meant to be some- 
 thing less and something more than that. 
 For there is a distinction to be drawn be- 
 tween a man's poems and his poetry. Even 
 those who love Tennyson most and can read 
 with pleasure everything that he has writ- 
 ten, those who feel the subtle charm of his 
 style so strongly that they are quite willing 
 to be called Tennysonians, — and with that 
 company the present writer claims fellow- 
 ship, — even they must feel desirous that 
 the poet should be judged, not by his first 
 work, nor by his last work, but by his best 
 
yiii PREFACE. 
 
 work. Take, for example, his later poems. 
 Many of them, like Bizpah, and The Re- 
 venge, and ITie Ancient Sage, and the lines 
 To Virgil, and parts of the second Lochsley 
 Hall, are vigorous, splendid, unsurpassed 
 in their kind by anything in English lit- 
 erature. The slight critics who sneered at 
 them as the work of an old man, and wel- 
 comed them with a general chorus of " Go 
 up, thou bald head," only condemned them- 
 selves, and made us regret that since the 
 days of Elisha the bears have allowed one 
 of their most beneficent functions to fall 
 into disuse. 
 
 But after all, the lasting fame and influ- 
 ence of Tennyson must rest upon the great 
 works into which he has put the fulness of 
 his strength and the freshness of his art ; 
 and even in these, the chief thing to be con- 
 sidered is not the poem, but the poetry ; the 
 soul of beauty and power which makes 
 them live. Of this a man cannot well write 
 without going beyond the letter of his text 
 and uttering some of his own deepest con- 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 victions in regard to art and religion and 
 human life. 
 
 I suppose and hope that this book holds 
 such an utterance. I should be sorry to 
 have any one take^ it merely as a collection 
 of critical essays. It does, indeed, contain 
 a certain amount of work which belongs en- 
 tirely to criticism, and some of which has 
 never been done before. The analysis of 
 the changes in The Palace of Art ; the his- 
 tory of the order of production of Tlie 
 Idylls of the King, and the attempt to 
 show that they are not an allegory ; the full 
 table of Biblical allusions and quotations in 
 the poems of Tennyson, — these are contri- 
 butions to the careful study of the tech- 
 nique of a poet who has become a classic in 
 his own lifetime. But beginning with the 
 second essay in this book, I have not hes- 
 itated to express with freedom, and with 
 such clearness as I could attain, those opin- 
 ions in regard to the meaning of life and 
 the province of art, without which it is not 
 possible to form any true judgment of the 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 value of a poet's work. I do not desire to 
 sail under false colours, or even under a 
 dubious flag. There need be no doubt, at 
 least, in regard to the standpoint from which 
 this book is written. 
 
 Poe&y is a part of life, and a most im- 
 portant part. The late Mr. Matthew Ar- 
 nold used to say, in his large and suggest- 
 ive way, The future, of poetry is immense. 
 That is certainly true ; but the question 
 still remains. What is to be the poetry of 
 the future? There are many who tell us 
 that it will be something new and strange. 
 Some say that it will shake off all the old 
 laws of melody and measure, and care noth- 
 ing for beauty of form. Others say that it 
 will care for nothing else ; that its only 
 merit will be sensuous beauty; that it will 
 empty itself of all moral meaning, and have 
 no message for the soul of man. The ad- 
 herents of an older creed — who stand mid- 
 way between these new teachers, as it were 
 between the devil and the deep sea — may 
 well take comfort in the dissension of their 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 adversaries, and, leaving them to fight out 
 their battle, rest satisfied with the belief 
 that the world always has loved, and al- 
 ways will love, poetry that is poetical. And 
 surely this means something which cannot 
 be produced either by bald realism' or by 
 dainty aestheticism. It means something 
 musical and creative and ideal ; something - 
 which ennobles life and fills time with beau- 
 tiful thoughts. 
 
 Poetry is, in truth, the prophetic art. 
 
 It is an art because its first object is to 
 give pleasure through the perfection of 
 formi Without delight it is a vain thing. 
 The world will never really care for it. A 
 man may be as wise as Solomon, as honest 
 as Diogenes, as instructive as the Encyclo- 
 pedia, but unless he can learn to write 
 without roughness or obscurity or tedious- 
 ness, unless he can lend to his verse that 
 subtle charm of style which comes from the 
 harmony of measured sounds, the world 
 will say to him, with Heine : Das hottest 
 du Alles sehr gut in guter Prosa sagen 
 fiionnen. 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 It is the prophetic art, because its highest 
 object is to convey to the mind of man a mes- 
 sage which shall lift him up above himself 
 and make him not only happier but better. 
 After all, the most perfect pleasure is that 
 which accompanies the purification of the 
 heart through pity and fear and love. The 
 world will not be fully satisfied with any- 
 thing less. And only of those men who can 
 bring a meaning into life, touch it with 
 glory and link it to immortality, will the 
 world say. These are my great poets. 
 
 If, then, any one shall ask why I have 
 written this book, let him take this for an- 
 swer. The first reason is because I believe 
 in the power of poetry to cheer and sweeten 
 and elevate human life. I had rather have 
 my children grow up thinking that the earth 
 is flat and that light is a liquid, than have 
 them grow up without a love for true 
 poetry. 
 
 The second reason is because I believe 
 that Tennyson is one of the great poets, — 
 great in the clarity and beauty and nobil- 
 
PREFACE. xili 
 
 ity of his style ; great in the breadth of his 
 human sympathy; great in the truth with 
 which he has expressed the hopes and fears 
 of this century ; great, above all, in the faith 
 with which he has voiced the great reaction 
 out of the heart of a doubting age, towards 
 the Christianity of Christ and the trust in 
 Immortal Love. 
 
 In the future, when men call the roll of 
 poets who have given splendour to the name 
 of England, they will begin with Shak- 
 spere and Milton, — and who shall have the 
 third place, if it be not Tennyson? 
 
 New Yobk City, 
 Oaober, 1889. 
 
PEEFACE 
 
 TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 My suggestive friend, Mr. Brander Mat- 
 thews, has a charming essay on the art of 
 writing prefaces. It would be well if some 
 one, say Mr. Andrew Lang or Mr. Edmund 
 Gosse, would compose an ode or a ballade 
 on the pleasure of it. 
 
 Even in its first and simplest form, — 
 when the author emerges from his conflict 
 with type-setters and proof-readers, feeling 
 that he has at least preserved his honour 
 with the u unblemished, and takes his pen 
 in hand to commend his book to the public 
 as skilfully as he may and as modestly as he 
 can, — even then, this kind of literary exer- 
 cise has its attractions. But when he comes 
 to prepare the preface for a Second Edition, 
 
PREFACE TO TEE SECOND EDITION, xv 
 
 he has arrived indeed at what the old poet 
 calls " a pleasing task." 
 
 The reasons for taking this view of it are 
 so obvious that some of them ought to be 
 mentioned. 
 
 It is gratifying, on high moral grounds, 
 for the author to have a personal conviction 
 of the fundamental justice, and the benefi- 
 cial results, of the principles embodied in 
 the law of copyright. And this pleasure 
 naturally blends in his mind with a sen- 
 timent of esteem for the gentle reader, who 
 by exhausting the first edition has made it 
 necessary to write a preface for the second. 
 These are humane and agreeable feelings. 
 
 There is a satisfaction, also, to a right- 
 minded author, in being able to render a 
 service to any of the critics who have previ- 
 ously failed to understand his book. I am 
 particularly glad of the opportunity to offer 
 some assistance here to a gentleman who 
 writes for one of the English periodicals. 
 It is with the desire to meet his needs as a 
 critic that I have added the words A Com- 
 
xvi PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 parison and a Contrast to the title of the 
 chapter on Hilton and Tennyson. The ad- 
 dition may appear to be superfluous to most 
 readers; but I do not think that a writer 
 ought to hesitate to do a little thing like 
 this, if only it will make the pathway of one 
 of the least of the weekly reviewers more 
 easy. 
 
 It is a still greater pleasure to be able to 
 say that the two new chapters which have 
 been added to the book make it very much 
 more complete. The chapter entitled Fruit 
 from an Old Tree deals with Tennyson's 
 latest poems : the chapter On the Study 
 of Tennyson gives a general survey and 
 review of his works. I have also enlarged 
 and revised the Chronology and notes on 
 the literature of the subject, so that they 
 now contain the fullest and most accurate 
 list of materials for study that has yet been 
 prepared. In this latter task I have re- 
 ceived kind and invaluable assistance ; and 
 I am most glad of the opportunity to ex- 
 press here my gratitude to Lord Tennyson ; 
 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION, xvii 
 
 to Professor Herman Grimm, of Berlin ; to 
 C. J. Caswell, Esq., of Horncastle ; to Dr. 
 William J. Eolf e, of Cambridge, Mr. Eu- 
 gene Parsons, of Chicago, Professor A. Mac- 
 Mectan, of Halifax, and others who have 
 given me their generous aid. 
 
 But after all there is nothing in connec- 
 tion with this preface more delightful than 
 the privilege which Mr. Thomas Bailey 
 Aldrich has given me of quoting here his 
 poem on Tennyson. It seems like an an- 
 swer, true and beautiful as only a poet could 
 make it, to the question which closed the 
 first preface to this book. 
 
 " Shakespeare and Milton — what third blazoned name 
 
 Shall lips of after-ages link to these ? 
 
 His, who beside the wild encircling seas 
 Was England's voice, her voice with one acclaim, 
 For threescore years ; whose word of praise was fame, 
 
 Whose scorn gave panse to man's iniqoitieB. 
 
 " Others shall have theb little space of time. 
 Their proper niche and bnst, then fade away 
 Into the darkness, poets of a day ; 
 Bat thon, builder of enduring rhyme, 
 Thon shalt not pass ! Thy fame in every clime 
 Qu earth shall live where Saxon speech has sway. 
 
Xriii PBEFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 " Waft me this verse across the winter sea 
 
 Through light and dark, through mist and blinding 
 sleet 
 
 winter winds, and lay it at his feet ; 
 Though the poor gift betray my poverty, 
 At his feet Jay it : it may be that he 
 
 Will find no gift, where reverence is, unmeet." 
 
 New Tobk Cety, July, 1891. 
 
 NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION 
 
 This edition has been much enlarged in 
 the chronology. It contains also an altered 
 and improved estimate of Maud. I should 
 be very much ashamed if I felt any shame 
 at confessing a change in critical judgment 
 produced by the reception of new light. In 
 this case the new light that came to me was 
 Tennyson's own wonderful reading and inter- 
 pretation of the poem. It was but a few 
 weeks ago that I heard him, — and now we 
 listen in vain for 
 
 " The sound of a voice that is still." 
 OOTOBBB 18, 1892. 
 
TENNYSON 
 
 m LUCEM TRANSITUS 
 
 OOTOBEE 6, 1892. 
 
 Fbom the silent shores of midnight, touched vith splen- 
 dours of the moon, 
 
 To the singing tides of heaven and the light more clear 
 than noon 
 
 Passed a sonl that grew to mnsic, till it was with God in 
 tune. 
 
 Brother of the greatest poets, — true to nature, true to 
 
 art, — 
 Lover of Immortal Love, — uplif ter of the human heart. 
 Who shall help us with high mnsic, who shall sing if 
 
 thou depart ? 
 
 Silence here, for love is silent, gazing on the lessening 
 
 sail; 
 Silence here, for grief is voiceless when the mighty poets 
 
 fail; 
 Silence here, — but far ahove us, many voices crying, 
 
 HaJlI 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 TAOB. 
 
 The FmsT Fijobt 1 
 
 The PaiiAob of Abt 19 . 
 
 HuiTON Ans Tbiihyson 47 
 
 The Fkcncesb aus Maud 109 
 
 In Mbmobiam 129 
 
 The IDYIJ.S OF the Krsa 131 
 
 The Hibtobio Tiulogt 197 
 
 The Bible or TESirrsoN 221 
 
 Fbuit from an Ou) Teeb 255 
 
 On the Study of Tennyson 279 
 
 Gebonology 324 
 
 A List of Bibucai, Qpotations and Allusions 
 FOUND IN the Works of Tennyson . . . 351 
 
THE FIEST FLIGHT. 
 
THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 THE FIRST FLIGHT. 
 
 The advent of a true poet usually bears 
 at least one mark of celestial origin — lie 
 " Cometh not with observation." A smaU 
 volume is printed on some obscure press ; 
 the friends to whom it is sent, "with the 
 compliments of the author," return thanks 
 for it in words which compromise truth with 
 affection; the local newspaper applauds it 
 in a perfunctory way ; some ogre of a critic, 
 whose appetite for young poets is insatiable, 
 may happen to make a hasty and savage 
 meal of it ; or some kindly reviewer, who is 
 always looking on the hopeful side of litera- 
 ture, may discover in it the buds of promise. 
 But this is mainly a matter of chance : the 
 certainty is that there will be few to buy the 
 book with hard cash, and fewer still to read 
 it, except from curiosity or friendship, and 
 that the great world wiU roU on its way as 
 
4 THE POETBT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 serenely as if nothing of consequence had 
 occurred. 
 
 Somewhat after this fashion most of the 
 leading English poets have arrived. There 
 was no great stir made by the publication of 
 Descriptive Sketches, or Sours of Idleness. 
 The announcement of Original Poems hy 
 Victor and Cazire did not produce any ex- 
 citement. Even Venus and Adonis failed 
 to inform the public that the creator of 
 Hamlet and Othello had appeared. The 
 recognition of genius in a first flight rarely 
 takes place at the proper time ; it is reserved 
 for those prophets who make their predic- 
 tions after the event. 
 
 But surely there never was a poet of rank 
 who slipped into print more quietly than the 
 junior author of Poems hy Two Brothers. 
 The book was published in 1826, for J. & J. 
 Jackson of Louth, and W. Simpkin & B. 
 Marshall of London. The title-page bore a 
 modest motto from Martial : Hcec nos novi- 
 mus esse nihil. The preface repeated the 
 same sentiment in more diffuse language. 
 
 " The following Poems were written from 
 the ages of fifteen to eighteen, not conjointly 
 but individually; which may account for 
 their differences of style and matter. To 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT. 5 
 
 light upon any novel combination of images, 
 or to open any vein of sparkling thought, 
 untouched before, were no easy task : indeed 
 the remark itself is as old as the truth is 
 clear : and no doubt if submitted to the mi- 
 croscopic eye of periodical criticism, a long 
 list of inaccuracies and imitations would re- 
 sult from the investigation. But so it is: 
 we have passed the Rubicon and we leave 
 the rest to fate ; though its edict may create 
 a fruitless regret that we ever emerged from 
 ' the shade ' and courted notoriety." 
 
 That was surely a most gentle way of 
 passing the Eubicon. The only suggestion 
 of a flourish of trumpets was the capital 
 P in poems. Fate, who sat smiling on the 
 bank, must have been propitiated by a bow 
 so modest and so awkward. Not even the 
 names of the young aspirants for public 
 favour were given ; and only the friends of 
 the family could have known that the two 
 brothers who thus stepped out, hand in hand, 
 from " the shade," were Charles and Alfred 
 Tennyson. 
 
 It is difficult to conjecture — unless, in- 
 deed, we are prepared to adopt some wild 
 theory of the disinterested benevolence of 
 publishers — what induced the Jacksons to 
 
6 THE POETRT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 pay ten pounds in good money for the privi- 
 lege of printing this book. But if they were 
 alive to-day, and had kept a sufficient num- 
 ber of the first edition on their shelves, their 
 virtue would have its reward. For I must 
 confess to having paid as much for a single 
 copy as they gave for the copyright ; and as 
 prices go it was an excellent bargain. 
 
 Here it is : a rather stout little volume of 
 two hundred and twenty-eight pages, paper 
 not of the finest, print not without errors. 
 It contains one hundred and two pieces of 
 verse, ia all sorts of metres, and imitated 
 after an amazing variety of models. There 
 is nothing very bad and nothing very inspir- 
 ing. The Literary Chronicle and Weekly 
 Review came as near to the truth as one 
 can expect of a newspaper when it said : 
 " This volume exhibits a pleasing union of 
 kindred tastes and contains several little 
 pieces of considerable merit." That is the 
 only contemporary criticism which has been 
 exhumed. And it would be absurd, at this 
 late day, to turn the " microscopic eye," of 
 which the brothers were so needlessly afraid, 
 upon their immature production. To reprint 
 it without Tennyson's consent, even in this 
 country where literary piracy is protected by 
 
TBE FIRST FLIGHT. 7 
 
 statute, would be morally criminal ; to discuss 
 it seriously and in detail as a poetical work 
 would be foolisb. 
 
 And yet, to one who can find a pleasure 
 in tracing the river to its narrow source 
 among the hiUs, this book is precious and 
 well worth reading. For somewhere between 
 these covers, hardly to be distinguished from 
 the spring of that twin-rivulet of verse which 
 ran so brief a course in the Sonnets of 
 Charles Tennyson, lies the fountain-head of 
 that deeper, clearer stream which has flowed 
 forth into In Memoriam and The Idylls 
 of the King, and refreshed the English- 
 speaking world for more than sixty years 
 with the poetry of Alfred Tennyson. Here, 
 then, we may pause for a moment, and glance 
 at some of the impulses which led him to 
 commence poet, and the influences which 
 directed his earliest efforts. 
 
 It seems to me that the most interesting 
 and significant thing about this little book 
 is the fact that the two brothers appear in 
 it together. For this tells us a great deal 
 in regard to the atmosphere of the home in 
 which Tennyson's boyhood was passed. The 
 seven sons and four daughters of the Rector 
 of Somersby were not ordinary children; 
 
8 TBE POETBT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 nor was their education conducted in that 
 dull, commonplace, Gradgrind spirit which 
 so often crushes all originality out of a child. 
 The doors of the ideal world were opened to 
 them very early; they were encouraged to 
 imagine as well as to think; they peopled 
 their playgrounds with lofty visions of kings 
 and knights, and fought out the world-old 
 battles of right and wrong in their childish 
 games, and wove their thoughts of virtue 
 and courage and truth into long romances 
 with which they entertained each other in 
 turn at the dinner-table. The air of the 
 house was full of poetry. Charles, the sec- 
 ond son, was probably the leader in this life 
 of fancy. It was he, at all events, who first 
 directed his brother Alfred, his junior by 
 a year, into the poetic path. One Sunday 
 morning, when Alfred was to be left at home 
 alone, Charles gave him a slate and bade 
 him write some verses about the flowers in 
 the garden. The task was eagerly accepted, 
 and when the family had returned from 
 church, the little boy came with his slate all 
 written over with lines of blank verse to 
 ask for his brother's approval. Charles read 
 them over gravely and carefully, with the 
 earnestness of a childish critic. Then he 
 
TEE FIRST FLIGHT. 9 
 
 gave the slate back again, saying, " Yes, you 
 can virrite." It was a very kindly welcome 
 to the world of poetry, and I doubt whether 
 Alfred Tennyson ever heard a word of praise 
 that filled him with more true delight than 
 this fraternal recognition. 
 
 Having found each other as kindred spirits, 
 the two boys held closely together. They 
 were intimate friends. They helped and 
 cheered and criticised each other in their 
 common studies and writings. It is a good 
 omen for genius when it is capable of frater- 
 nity. It is the best possible safeguard 
 against eccentricity and morbidness and sol- 
 itary pride. Charles Lamb was right when 
 he wrote to Coleridge : " O my friend, cul- 
 tivate the filial feelings ! and let no man 
 think himself released from the kind chari- 
 ties of relationship." Tennyson's best work 
 has never lost the insight of the heart. And 
 if there were no other reason for valuing 
 these Poems hy Two Brothers, I should 
 still prize them as the monument of a bro- 
 therly love to which the poet has paid this 
 exquisite tribute in In Memoriam : 
 
 Bnt ihon and I are one in kind, 
 As moulded like in Xatore's mint ; 
 And hill and wood and field did print 
 
 The same sweet forms on either mind. 
 
10 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 For ns the same cold streamlet curl'd 
 Thro' all his eddying coves ; the same 
 An winds that roam the twilight came 
 
 In whispers of the beauteous world. 
 
 At one dear knee we proffer' d tows ; 
 One lesson from one book we leam'd, 
 Ere childhood's flaxen ringlet tum'd 
 
 To black and brown on kindred brows. 
 
 And so my wealth resembles thine. 
 
 Another noticeable feature in this book is 
 the great number of quotations from modem 
 and classical authors. Almost all of the 
 poems have mottoes. I glance over them at 
 random and find scraps from Virgil, Addi- 
 son, Gray, Clare, Cicero, Horace, Moore, 
 Byron, Milton, Eacine, Claudian, Rousseau, 
 Scott, Hume, Ossian, Lucretius, SaUust, and 
 The Mysteries of Udolpho. Of a truth 
 these schoolboys must have read well, if not 
 wisely. Moreover, there are footnotes, in 
 which they tell us that " pight is a word 
 used by Spenser and Shakespeare," and that 
 "none but the priests could interpret the 
 Egyptian hieroglyphics," and that " Ponce 
 de Leon discovered Florida when he was in 
 search of the fabled fountain of youth," and 
 that " Apollonius Rhodius was not born at 
 Alexandria, but at Naucratis." The display 
 of learning is so immense that it becomes 
 
TEE FIRST FLIGHT. 11 
 
 amusing ; but it is not without significance, 
 for it distinctly marks Tennyson as one of 
 those who, like Milton, were students before 
 they were poets, and whose genius did not 
 develop in solitude but in 
 
 Converse with all forms 
 Of the many-sided mind. 
 
 The volume abounds, as I have already 
 said, in imitations ; indeed, there is hardly a 
 piece in it which does not sound like an echo 
 of some other poet. The influence which is 
 most clearly marked is that of Byron. He 
 is quoted six times. There is a strong 
 flavour of his dramatic melancholy in such 
 lines, as, 
 
 I wander in darkness and sorrow, 
 Unfriended and cold and alone ; 
 
 or, 
 
 I stand like some lone tower 
 
 Of former days remaining^, 
 Within whose place of power 
 
 The midnight owl is plaining. 
 
 It is evident that this grief could not have 
 been very real to a schoolboy between fif- 
 teen and eighteen. It was like the gloom of 
 Shakespeare's young gentleman of France 
 who was " sad as night only for wantonness." 
 And the fashion of the sadness was learned 
 
12 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 from the author of OMlde Harold. His 
 metrical manner also is copied with undis- 
 guised enthusiasm. The lad who wrote, 
 
 Thou shalt come like a storm when the moonlight is dim, 
 And the lake's gloomy bosom is full to the brim ; 
 Thou shalt come like the flash in the darkness of night, 
 When the wolves of the forest shall howl with affright, 
 
 had certainly been captured by the Assyrian 
 who came down like the wolf on the fold. 
 In addition to these tokens of the sincerest 
 flattery, there is a poem on The Death of 
 Lord Byron, which begins : 
 
 The hero and the bard is gone ! 
 His bright career on earth is done, 
 Where with a comet's blaze he shone. 
 
 After reading all this it is interesting to 
 hear Tennyson tell, in his own words, spoken 
 many years afterward, how the news of that 
 death had affected him. " Byron was dead. 
 I thought the whole world was at an end. I 
 thought everything was over and finished 
 for every one — that nothing else mattered. 
 I remember, I walked out alone and carved, 
 ' Byron is dead ' into the sandstone." 
 
 The spell of this passionate devotion soon 
 passed away, but perhaps we can see some 
 lingering trace of its effects in poems as late 
 as Locksley Hall and Maud. Indeed, I 
 
TBE FIRST FLIGHT. 18 
 
 think the influence of Byron upon Tennyson 
 has been generally underrated, if not com- 
 pletely ignored. 
 
 There are a few other points of interest 
 in this rare little volume. For instance, the 
 variety of metrical forms indicates an un- 
 usual freedom and catholicity of taste. The 
 result of such a miscellaneous admiration of 
 all styles, from the finish of Horace to the 
 formlessness of Ossian, might possibly be 
 nothing better than a facility in general imi- 
 tation, the fluency of a successful parodist. 
 But if a boy had real genius it would lead 
 him on to try experiments in many metres 
 until he mastered those which were best 
 fitted to express his thoughts, and gave new 
 life to obsolete forms of verse, and finally, 
 perhaps, created some original form. And 
 this, in fact, is what Alfred Tennyson has 
 done. He has attempted almost every kind 
 of measure. And though his early efforts 
 were so far unsuccessful that so good a judge 
 as Coleridge remarked that " he had begun 
 to write poetry without knowing what metre 
 was," yet in the end he made himself the 
 most musical of English singers. A promise, 
 or, at least, a hint of this result is contained 
 in the Poems hy Tioo Brothers, and I can- 
 
14 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 not help conjecturing, on this ground alone, 
 that the pieces in this volume which show 
 the greatest freedom and rapidity, and even 
 uncertainty, of movement, like The Vale of 
 Bones, Persia, The Old Sword, and Atv- 
 tony to Cleopatra, are the work of Alfred 
 rather than of Charles. 
 
 But there are also other indications which 
 help us in guessing at the authorship of par- 
 ticular pieces. Of course we cannot be quite 
 sure of them. But here and there we find a 
 thought, a phrase, which the Laureate has 
 used again in his maturer works, and which 
 may possibly mark some of these earlier 
 efforts as belonging to him. I will give a 
 few illustrations of these parallel passages. 
 
 In Memorse we find the lines : 
 
 To life, whose every hour to me 
 Hath been increase of misery. 
 
 T%e Two Voices gives us the same thought : 
 
 Thou art so full of misery, 
 Were it not better not to be ? 
 
 In Midnight there is a reference to 
 
 the glutting wave 
 That saps eternally the cold gray steep ; 
 
 which reminds us of 
 
 Break, break, break, 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O sea. 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT. 15 
 
 In the lines On the Death of my Grand- 
 mother we read : 
 
 Her f aiih like Stephen's, softened her distress. 
 
 The comparison is used again in The Two 
 
 Voices : 
 
 Like Stephen, an nnqnenchM fire. 
 
 In /Switzerland the poet cries : 
 
 O I when shall Time 
 Avenge the crime ? 
 
 and in The Vision of Sin he says again : 
 
 It was a crime 
 Of sense, avenged by sense that wore with time. 
 
 In the poem on Sublimity the phrase, 
 " Holds communion with the dead," may- 
 have been written by the hand that after- 
 ward wrote the same phrase in In Memo- 
 riam. 
 
 In Egypt we find : 
 
 The first glitter of his rising beams 
 Falls on the broad-bas'd pyramids sublime. 
 
 The epithet recurs in A Fragment, printed 
 in an annual in 1830 : 
 
 The great pyramids, 
 Broad-bas'd amid the fleeting sands. 
 
 Other passages might be quoted to show the 
 connection between Tennyson's earlier and 
 later work. It is one of his characteristics 
 
16 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 that he uses the same image more than once, 
 and that the repetition is almost always an 
 improvement. But it will be more profit- 
 able to close this essay with a few lines 
 which are worthy to be remembered for their 
 own merits, and which, we may conjecture, 
 on internal evidence, belong to the first 
 genuine poetry of Alfred Tennyson. There 
 is a touch of reality in this : 
 
 The tolling of thy funeral bell, 
 The nine low notes that spoke thy knell, 
 I know not how I bore so weU, 
 My Brother! 
 
 True and broad descriptive power is shown 
 in such lines as these : 
 
 Like some far fire at night 
 Along the dun deep streaming. 
 
 A wan, dull, lengthened sheet of swimming light 
 Lies the broad lake — 
 
 The thunder of the brazen prows 
 O'er Actium's ocean rung. 
 
 But perhaps the passage which exhibits the 
 most sustained vigour of expression is found 
 in the poem entitled Persia. It is a de- 
 scription of the great king contemplating 
 the ruin of his empire. He spreads the dust 
 upon his laurelled head, as he is forced 
 
 To view the setting of that star 
 Which beam'd so gorgeously and far 
 
THE FIRST FLIGHT. 17 
 
 O'er Anatolia, and the fane 
 Of Belus, and Gaister's plain, 
 
 And Sardis, and the glitteiing sands 
 
 Of bright Pactolus, and the lands 
 Where Croesus held his rich domain ; 
 And further east, where hroadly roU'd 
 Old Indus pours his streams of gold ; 
 And southward to Gilicia's shore. 
 Where Cydnus meets the billows' roar ; 
 And northward far to Trebizonde 
 
 Benown'd for kings of chivalry, 
 Where Hyssus rolling from the strand 
 
 Disgorges in the Euzine Sea — 
 The Euxine, falsely named, which whelms 
 The mariner in the heaving tide — 
 To high Sinope's distant realms 
 Where cynics rail'd at human pride. 
 
 This is not perfect poetry ; but it is certainly 
 strong verse. It is glorified nomenclature. 
 Milton himself need not have blushed to 
 acknowledge it. The boy who could write 
 like this before he was eighteen years old 
 knew something, at least, of the music and 
 magic of names. If we may read our his- 
 tory, like our Hebrew, backward, we can 
 detect the promise of a great poet in the 
 swing and sweep of these lines, and recog- 
 nize the wing-trial of genius, in Tennyson's 
 first flight. 
 
ADDENDUM. 
 
 This essay was written in 1889, when " Poems by Two 
 Brothers " had heen published only in the first edition, 
 and there was no guide in conjecturing the individual 
 authorship of the different pieces save the internal evi- 
 dences ; the traces of personality in the style ; the char- 
 acteristic choice of subjects ; and some slight resem- 
 blances in phrase and figure to later poems by Charles or 
 Alfred Tennyson. The attempt to distinguish the work 
 of the two brothers under these conditions was in effect a 
 little recreation in what is called the Higher Criticism. 
 Since that time a new edition of the book has been issued 
 by the present Lord Tennyson, and the poems have been 
 attributed, as far as possible, to their respective authors, 
 on the additional evidence of the differences in hand- 
 writing in the original manuscript, and the recollections 
 of Mr. Frederick Tennyson, who had contributed four 
 poems to his brothers* volume. Curious to see how far 
 this new and valuable evidence confirms the results of 
 the critical process, I have reexamined this essay. I find 
 that of the sijcteen conjectures which I ventured to make 
 at the authorship of the poems, thirteen are confirmed by 
 the testimony of tradition and the manuscript, and, in- 
 stead of having to rewrite the chapter, I need only call 
 the reader's attention to the fact that the lines " On the 
 Death of Lord Byron," " On the Death of my Grand- 
 mother," and " My Brother," were probably not by Al- 
 fred but by Charles Tennyson. 
 
 August, 1893. 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 
 
 The year of our Lord eighteen htindred 
 , and thirty-three was a period of waiting and 
 uncertainty in English literature. Twelve 
 years had passed since the brief, bright 
 light of Keats went out at Rome ; eleven 
 years, since the waters of Spezzia's treach- 
 erous bay closed over the head of Shelley ; 
 nine years, since the wild flame of Byron's 
 heart burned away at Missolonghi ; a few 
 months, since the weary hand of Scott had 
 at last let faU the wizard's wand. The 
 new leaders were dead; the old leaders were 
 silent. Wordsworth was reclining on the 
 dry laurels of his Ecclesiastical Sonnets at 
 Rydal Mount ; Coleridge was pacing up and 
 down the garden-path at Highgate talking 
 transcendental metaphysics ; Southey had 
 ceased writing what he called poetry ; 
 Thomas Moore was warbling his old songs 
 to an audience which had almost begun to 
 weary of them. The coming man had not 
 yet arrived. Dickens was a short-hand re- 
 
22 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON 
 
 porter in the House of Commons; Thack- 
 eray was running through his property in 
 the ruinous dissipation of newspaper-pub- 
 lishing ; Carlyle was wrestling with poverty 
 and the devil at Craigenputtock ; Kobert 
 Browning, a youth of twenty, was travelling 
 in Italy; Matthew Arnold and Arthur 
 Clough were boys at Kugby; WUliam 
 Morris and Algernon Charles Swinburne 
 were yet unborn. In this somewhat barren 
 and unpromising interval, the poetical repu- 
 tation of Mr. Alfred Tennyson, late of the 
 University of Cambridge, was trembling in 
 the balance of Criticism. 
 
 Criticism with a large C, you wiU please 
 to observe ; for the reign of their mighty 
 Highnesses, the Reviewers, was stDl un- 
 shaken. Seated upon their lofty thrones in 
 London and Edinburgh, they weighed the 
 pretensions of all new-comers into their 
 realms with severity if not with impartial- 
 ity, and meted out praise and blame with a 
 royal hand. In those rude days there was 
 no trifling with a book in little " notices " 
 of mild censure or tepid approbation, — 
 small touches which, if unfavourable, hardly 
 hurt more than pin-pricks, and if favoura- 
 ble, hardly help more than gentle pats upon 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 23 
 
 the head. That is the suave, homoeopathic 
 method of modern times : but then — in 
 the days of Herod the king — it was either 
 the accolade or decapitation. Many an in- 
 nocent had the dreadful Gifford slaughtered, 
 and though he had done his last book, there 
 were other men, like Wilson and Croker 
 and Lockhart, who stiU understood and 
 practiced the art of speedy dispatch. Black- 
 wood and The Qua/rterly stiU clothed them- 
 selyes with Olympian thunder, 
 
 " And that two-handed engine at their door, 
 Stood ready to smite once and smite no more." 
 
 It was before this stern tribunal that 
 young Tennyson had made his appearance 
 in 1830 with a slim volume of Poems, 
 Chiefly Lyrical. They were fifty-three in 
 number, and covered only one hundred and 
 fifty-four pages ; yet within that narrow 
 compass at least a score of different metres 
 were attempted with amazing skill, and the 
 range of subjects ,extended from The Mer- 
 man to Supposed Confessions of a Second- 
 rate Sensitive Mind not in Unity with It- 
 self. One can easily imagine the confusion 
 and scorn which the latter title must have 
 excited in the first-rate unsensitive mind of 
 an orthodox Edinburgh Reviewer. Nor were 
 
24 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the general style and quality of the poems 
 calculated to moUify these feelings. Dainty 
 in finish, pre-raphaelite in their minute 
 painting of mosses and flowers and in their 
 super-subtle shading of emotions, musical 
 yet irregular, modern in sentiment, yet 
 tinged with some archaic mannerisms, the 
 poems taken altogether concealed the real 
 strength of some of them (such as Mariana, 
 The Poet, Ode to Memory, and The De- 
 serted jEToMse,) under an appearance of 
 delicacy and superficiality. Arthur Henry 
 HaUam praised them, but that counted for 
 nothing, because he was Tennyson's friend. 
 The Westminster Review praised them, but 
 that counted for little, because it belonged 
 to the party of literary revolt. Leigh Hunt 
 praised them, but that counted for worse 
 than nothing, because he was the arch-here- 
 tic of poetry, the leader of the so-called 
 " Cockney school." The authoritative voice 
 of Criticism was not heard until " Christo- 
 pher North " took up the new poet in Black- 
 wood, and administered the castigation which 
 he thought most necessary and salutary. 
 Mingling a little condescending encourage- 
 ment with his condemnation, and holding 
 out the hope that if " Alfred " would only 
 
TBE PALACE OF ART. 25 
 
 reform Ids style and get rid of his cockney 
 admirers he might some day write something 
 worth reading, the stern magister set to work 
 in the meantime to demolish the dainty lyrics. 
 Drivel, and more dismal drivel, and even 
 more dismal drivel was what he called them ; 
 and in winding up his remarks upon the 
 song entitled The Owl, he said: "Alfred 
 himself is the greatest owl ; aU he wants is 
 to be shot, stuffed, and stuck in a glass case, 
 to be made immortal in a museum." 
 
 Truly this was Criticism of the athletic 
 order; and the humour of it lies in the 
 unconscious absence of wit. Six months 
 after this article was printed, in Decem- 
 ber, 1832, Mr. Tennyson put out his sec- 
 ond volume. Its title-page ran as follows : 
 Poems hy Alfred Tennyson. London : 
 Edward Moxon, 64, New Bond Street. 
 MDCCCXXXIII. It is, therefore, prop- 
 erly speaking, the edition of 1833. 
 
 It lies on my desk now, a slender vol- 
 ume of one hundred and sixty-three pages, 
 with Barry Cornwall's autograph on the fly- 
 leaf, and his pencil-marks running aU along 
 the margins. It contains only thirty poems, 
 but among them are The Lady of Shalott, 
 The Miller's Daughter, CEnone, The Palace 
 
26 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 of Art, The Lotos-Eaters, and A Dream of 
 Fair Women. 
 
 It was evident at once that the young 
 poet had not changed his style, though he 
 had enriched it. Fuller and stronger were 
 his notes, more manly and of a wider range ; 
 but his singing was still marked by the 
 same lyrical freedom, the same delicacy of 
 imagination, the same exquisite and uncon- 
 ventional choice of words, the same peculiar 
 blending of the classic with the romantic 
 spirit, — qualities which to us have become 
 so familiar that we can hardly realize how 
 fresh and strange they must have seemed to 
 the readers of half a century ago. It was 
 clear enough that this new writer was no 
 mere disciple of Leigh Hunt, or neophyte of 
 the Cockney school, to be frightened back 
 into the paths of propriety by brutal thun- 
 ders. He might be moving on the same 
 lines which Keats had begun to f oUow, but 
 he was going beyond his leader; he was 
 introducing a new spirit and method into 
 English verse; he bid fair to become the 
 master of a new school of poetry. In the 
 opinion of the reviewers he needed to be 
 dealt with mildly, but firmly. And this 
 time it was not " crusty Christopher," but a 
 
TBE PALACE OF ART. 27 
 
 more dangerous critic, who undertook the 
 task. The review of Tennyson's poems 
 which appeared in the Quarterly for July, 
 1833, is one of the cleverest and bitterest 
 things ever written, and though unacknow- 
 ledged, it has always been attributed to the 
 editor, James Gibson Lockhart, sometimes 
 called " the scorpion," because of a certain 
 peculiarity in the latter end of his articles. 
 
 He begins in a tone of ironical compli- 
 ment, apologizing for never having seen Mr. 
 Tennyson's first volume, and proposing to 
 repair his unintentional neglect by now in- 
 troducing to the admiration of sequestered 
 readers " a new prodigy of genius, another 
 and a brighter star of that galaxy or milky 
 way of poetry of which the lamented Keats 
 was the harbinger." He proceeds to offer 
 what he calls " a tribute of unmingled ap- 
 probation," and selecting a few specimens 
 of Mr. Tennyson's singular genius, " to 
 point out now and then the peculiar bril- 
 liancy of some of the gems that irradiate 
 his poetical crown." This means, in plain/ 
 words, to hold up the whole performance to 
 ridicule by commending its weakest points 
 in extravagant mock-laudation, and passing 
 over its best points in silence. A method' 
 
28 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 more unfair and exasperating can hardly be 
 imagined. It is like applauding a musician 
 for every false note. Loekhart's " unmin- 
 gled approbation" was a thousand times 
 more severe than old Christopher's blunt 
 and often clumsy abuse. It was as if one 
 had praised Pope for his amiable temper, or 
 Wordsworth for his keen sense of humour. 
 
 And yet, — after all, — in spite of the 
 malicious spirit and the unjust method of 
 the article, — we may as well be honest and 
 confess that on many points Lockhart was 
 right. His hard, formal, opinionated, Cale- 
 donian mind could not possibly appreciate 
 the merits of Tennyson, but it could and it 
 did detect the blemishes of his earlier work. 
 In almost every case the shaft of the re- 
 viewer's irony found the joint in the poet's 
 armour and touched some vulnerable spot. 
 
 The proof of this is furnished by Tenny- 
 son himself. For ten years he preserved an 
 almost unbroken silence. When at length 
 he published his Poems, in Two Volumes, 
 in 1842, he was recognized immediately as 
 the poet, not of a coterie, but of England. 
 The majestic blank-verse of Morte d" Arthur, 
 the passionate force of Locksley Hall, the 
 sweet English beauty of Dora,Th60arden- 
 
TEE PALACE OF ART. 29 
 
 er-'s Daughter, and The Talking Oak, the 
 metaphysical depth and human intensity of 
 The Two Voices and The Vision of Sin, — 
 and perhaps more than all the simple, magi- 
 cal pathos of that undying song, 
 
 Break, break, break 
 
 On thy cold gray atones, Sea ! 
 
 won the admiration of readers of every 
 class, and Tennyson was acknowledged, in 
 the language of Wordsworth, as decidedly 
 the first of our living poets. But no less 
 significant than these new poems, in the his- 
 tory of his genius, was the form in which 
 his earlier poems were reprinted. The edi- 
 tion of 1842 contained a selection from the 
 edition of 1833; and it is most remarkable 
 that all of the weaker pieces which Lockhart 
 had criticised most severely were omitted, 
 while those which were retained had been 
 so carefully pruned and corrected as to seem 
 almost rewritten. There is an immense im- 
 portance, for example, in such a slight 
 change as the omission of the accent from 
 words like charmed and apparelled. It in- 
 dicates a desire to avoid even the appear- 
 ance of affectation. Or take this passage 
 from The Miller's Daughter in its first 
 form : — 
 
30 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Remember you that pleasant day 
 
 When after roving in the woods, 
 ('Twas AprU then), I came and lay 
 
 Beneath the gimmiy chestnut-buds 
 That glistened in the April blue. 
 
 Upon the slope so smooth and cool 
 I lay and never thought of you 
 
 But angled in the deep mill-pool. 
 
 A water-rat from o£ the bank 
 
 Plunged in the stream. With idle cara 
 Downlooking through the sedges rank 
 
 I saw your troubled image there. 
 Upon the dark and dimpled beck 
 
 It wandered like a floating light, 
 A full fair form, a warm white neck 
 
 And two white arms — how rosy white ! 
 
 These are very pretty lines, and doubtless 
 quite true to nature, for the buds of the 
 chestnut are very sticky in April, and the 
 water-rat has a habit of diving suddenly into 
 the water. But as Mr. Lockhart politely 
 observed, the accumulation of such tender 
 images as the gummy buds and the plun- 
 ging rat was somewhat unusual and disturb- 
 ing. Tennyson saw the justice of the crit- 
 icism. He recognized that the canon of 
 truth to nature must be supplemented by the 
 canon of symmetry in art, and that facts 
 which are incongruous and out of harmony 
 must not be recorded. The water-rat was 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 31 
 
 not profoundly suggestive of love at first 
 sight. Moreover, one who was looking up 
 at the chestnut-buds would not have noticed 
 their stickiness, but only their shining . as 
 they were moved by the wind. Here, then, 
 is the new version of the passage, quite as 
 true but far more poetical, and made sim- 
 pler by a more careful art : — 
 
 But, Alice, what an hour was that, 
 
 When after roving in the woods 
 ('Twas April then), I came and sat 
 
 Below the chestnuts, when their buds 
 Were glistening to the breezy blue ; 
 
 And on the slope, an absent fool 
 I east me down, nor thought of you, 
 
 But angled in the higher pool. 
 
 Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood 
 
 I watch' d the little circles die ; 
 They past into the level flood. 
 
 And there a vision caught my eye ; 
 The reflex of a beauteous form, 
 
 A glowing arm, a gleaming neck. 
 As when a sunbeam wavers warm 
 
 Within the dark and dimpled beck. 
 
 Now a poet who could take criticism in 
 this fashion and use it to such good purpose, 
 was certainly neither weak nor wayward. 
 Weighed in the balance, he was not found 
 wanting but steadily growing. He would 
 not abandon his art at the voice of censure, 
 
32 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 but correct and perfect it, until it stood com- 
 plete and sound beyond the reach of censure. 
 "Th^ method and the result of this process of 
 self-criticism — which Tennyson has prac- 
 ticed more patiently and successfully than 
 any other poet — may be traced most clearly 
 in the history of The Palace of Art, the long- 
 est and most important of the 1833 poems. 
 Nor can I think of any better way to study 
 the unfolding of his genius and the develop- 
 ment of his style, than to observe carefully 
 the number and nature and purpose of the 
 changes which he has made in this poem. 
 
 The poem is an allegory. Its meaning 
 is clearly defined in the dedication to an 
 unnamed friend. Its object is to exhibit a 
 gifted but selfish soul, in its endeavours to 
 live alone in its own enchanted world of re- 
 fined and consummate pleasures, without car- 
 ing for the interests or the sufferings of the 
 great world of mankind. The lesson which 
 the poet desires to teach is that such a life 
 must be a failure and carry its punishment 
 within itself. It is an aesthetic protest 
 against sestheticism. But it is worthy of 
 notice that, while the dedication in the first 
 edition was addressed to a member of the 
 aesthetic class, — 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 33 
 
 You are an artist, and will underatand 
 Its many lesser meanings, — 
 
 in the second edition these lines have disap- 
 peared. It is as if the poet desired to give 
 a wider range to his lesson ; as if he would 
 say, " You are a man, and no matter what 
 your occupation may be, you will feel the 
 truth of this allegory." 
 
 This first alteration is characteristic. It 
 shows us the transformation of Tennyson's 
 feelings and purposes during those eventful 
 ten years of silence. He had grown broader 
 and deeper. He was no longer content to 
 write for a small and select circle of readers. 
 His sympathies were larger and more hu- 
 mane. He began to feel that he had a coun- 
 try, and patriotism inspired him to write for 
 England. He began to feel that the lives 
 of common men and women were full of ma- 
 terials for poetry, and philanthropy inspired 
 him to speak as a man to his fellow-men. 
 This change was prophesied in the first 
 conception of The Palace of Art, but when 
 the fulfilment came, it was so thorough that 
 it had power to remould the form of the 
 prophecy itself. 
 
 The Palace which the poet built for his 
 soul is described as standing on a lofty table- 
 
34 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 land, secure and inaccessible, for his first 
 object was to dwell apart from the world. 
 Then follows, in the original edition, a de- 
 scription of its long-sounding corridors, 
 
 Koofed with thick plates of green and orange glass, 
 Ending in stately rooma. 
 
 In the second edition the architect's good 
 taste has discarded this conservatory effect 
 and these curiously assorted colors. He 
 describes instead the surroundings of the 
 Palace, with its four great courts and its 
 foaming fountains, its smooth lawns and 
 branching cloisters. He draws a gilded par-\ 
 apet around the roof, and shows the distant ' 
 landscape. In following this order he has 
 given reality and dignity to his structure, so 
 that it seems less liKe a picture-gallery and 
 more like. a royal mansion. 
 
 Then he leads the soul through the differ- 
 ent rooms, and describes the tapestries on 
 the walls. As the poem stood at first these 
 included the Madonna, Venus Anadyomene, 
 St. Cecily, Arthur in th^' valley of Avilion, 
 Kriemhilt pouring the IJfibelungen gold into 
 the Ehine, Europa, wijth her hand grasping 
 the golden horn of the bull, and Ganymede 
 borne upward by the eagle, together with 
 landscapes of forest and pasture, sea-coast, 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 35 
 
 mountain-glen, and woodland, interspersed 
 with gardens and vineyards. When the 
 Palace was changed, Venus and Kriemhilt 
 disappeared, and Europa occupied a smaller 
 place. Pictures of Numa and his wise 
 wood-nymphs, Indian Cama seated on his 
 summer throne, and the porch of Moham- 
 med's Paradise thronged with houris, were 
 added. And among the landscapes there 
 were two new scenes, one of cattle feeding 
 by a river, and another of reapers at their 
 sultry toil. 
 
 The soul pauses here, in the first edition, 
 and indulges in a little rhapsody on the evo- 
 lution of the intellect. This disappears in 
 the second edition, and we pass directly from 
 the chambers hung with arras into the great 
 hall, the central apartment of the Palace. 
 Here the architect had gathered, at first, a 
 collection of portraits of great men which 
 was so catholic in its taste as to be almost 
 motley. Lockhart laughed derisively when 
 he saw the group. "Milton, Shakespeare, 
 Dante, Homer, Michael Angelo, Martin Lu- 
 ther, Francis Bacon, Cervantes, Calderon, 
 King David, the Halicarnassean {qumre, 
 which of them ?), Alfred himself (presum- 
 ably not the poet), 
 
36 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Isaiah with fierce Ezekiel, 
 
 Swarth Moses by the Coptic sea, 
 
 Plato, Petrarca, Livy, Raphael, 
 And eastern Confutzee." 
 
 This reminds the critic of a verse in that 
 Hibernian poem, The Groves of Blarney, 
 and he wonders whether Mr. Tennyson was 
 not thinking of the Blarney collection — 
 
 " Statues growing that noble place in 
 Of heathen goddesses most rare ; 
 Homer, Plutarch, and Nebuchadnezzar, 
 AU standing naked in the open air." 
 
 But in the revised Palace all these have been 
 left out, except the first four, and the archi- 
 tect has added a great 
 
 mosaic choicely plaim'd 
 With cycles of the human tale 
 Of this wide world, the times of every land 
 So wrought, they wUl not fail. 
 
 The people here, a beast of burden slow, 
 
 Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings ; 
 
 Here play'd a tiger, rolling to and fro 
 The heads and crowns of kings ; 
 
 Here rose an athlete, strong to break or bind 
 All force in bonds that might endure. 
 
 And here once more like some sick man declin'd 
 And trusted any cure. 
 
 This mosaic covered the floor, and over these 
 symbols of struggling humanity the vainglo- 
 rious soul trod proudly as she went up to 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. gj 
 
 take her throne between the shining win- 
 dows on which the faces of Plato and Veru- 
 1am were blazoned. In the first edition 
 there was a gorgeous description of the ban- 
 quet with which she regaled herself; piles 
 of flavorous fruits, musk - scented blooms, 
 ambrosial pulps and juices, graceful chalices 
 of curious wine, and a service of costly jars 
 and bossed salvers. Thus she feasted in 
 solitary state, and 
 
 ere young night divine 
 Crowned dying day with stars, 
 
 Making sweet close of his delicious toils, 
 She lit white streams of dazzling gas, 
 
 And soft and fragrant flames of precious oils 
 In moons of purple glass. 
 
 This was written when the use of gas for 
 illuminating purposes was new, and not con- 
 sidered unromantic. When the Palace was 
 remodelled the gas was turned off, and the 
 supper was omitted. The soul was lifted 
 above mere sensual pleasures, and sat listen- 
 ing to her own song and rejoicing in her 
 royal seclusion. 
 
 There are a great many minor alterations 
 scattered through the poem, which I have 
 not time to notice. Some of them are mere 
 changes of spelling, like Avilion, which be- 
 
38 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 comes Avalon ; and Cecily, which is changed 
 to Cicely in 1842, and back again to Cecily 
 in later editions ; and sweet Europa's man- 
 tle, which at first " blew unclasped," and 
 then lost its motion and got a touch of colour, 
 becoming "blue, unclasped," and finally re- 
 turned to its original form. (Some one has 
 said that a painter would not have been 
 forced to choose between colour and motion, 
 for he could have made the mantle at once 
 blue and blowing.) Corrections and re-cor- 
 rections such as these show how carefully 
 Mr. Tennyson seeks the perfection of lan- 
 
 But the most interesting change yet to be 
 noted is directly due to Lockhart's sharp 
 criticism ; at least, it was he who first pointed 
 out the propriety of it, in his usual sarcastic 
 way. " In this poem," said he, "we first 
 observed a stroke of art which we think very 
 ingenious. No one who has ever written 
 verses but must have felt the pain of eras- 
 ing some happy line, some striking phrase, 
 which, however excellent in itself, did not 
 exactly suit the place for which it was des- 
 tined. How curiously does an author mould 
 and remould the plastic verse in order to fit 
 in the favorite thought ; and when he finds 
 
THE PALACE OF AST. 39 
 
 that he cannot introduce it, as Corporal 
 Trim says, any how, with what reluctance 
 does he at last reject the intractable, but 
 still cherished, offspring of his brain. Mr. 
 Tennyson manages this delicate matter in a 
 new and better way. He says, with great 
 candour and simplicity, ' If this poem were 
 not already too long 1 should have added the 
 following stanzas,^ and then he adds them ; 
 or, ' I intended to have added something on 
 statuary, but I found it very difficult ; but 
 I have finished the statues of Elijah and 
 Olympias ; judge whether I have succeeded ; ' 
 and then we have those two statues. This 
 is certainly the most ingenious device that 
 has ever come under our observation for 
 reconciling the rigour of criticism with the 
 indulgence of parental partiality." 
 
 The passages to which Mr. Loekhart al- 
 ludes in this delicious paragraph are the 
 notes appended to pages 73 and 83 of the 
 original edition. The former of these con- 
 tains four stanzas on sculptures ; the latter 
 gives a description of one of the favourite 
 occupations of the self-indulgent soul, which 
 is too fine to be left unquoted. Above the 
 Palace a massive tower was built : 
 
40 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Hither, when all the deep unsounded skies 
 Were shuddering with silent staxs, she clomb, 
 
 And, as mth optic glasses, her keen eyes 
 Pierced thro' the mystic dome. 
 
 Regions of lucid matter taking forms, 
 
 Brushes of fire, hazy gleams, 
 Clusters and beds of worlds, and hee-Iike swarms 
 
 Of suns, and starry streams. 
 
 She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mara, 
 That marrellons round of milky light 
 
 Below Orion, and those double stars 
 Whereof the one more bright 
 
 Is circled by the other. 
 
 But, however admirable these lines may 
 seem, and however much we may regret their 
 loss, there can be no doubt that the manner 
 of their introduction was incongruous and 
 absurd. It was like saying, " This Palace 
 is not to have a hall of statues, but I will 
 simply put on a small wing as a sample of 
 what is not to be done. And there is no 
 room for an observatory, but I will construct 
 one in order that you may see what it would 
 have been like." The poet himself seems 
 to have recognized that the device was too 
 "ingenious" to be dignified; and in 1842 
 he restored the symmetry of the Palace by 
 omitting the annex-buildings entirely. — 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 41 
 
 And now let us sum up the changes which 
 have been made in the Palace since it was 
 first constructed. For this purpose it will 
 be better to take Macmillan's edition of 
 1884 (which probably represents the final 
 text) and lay it beside the edition of 1833. 
 
 In 1833 the poem, including the notes, 
 contained eighty-three stanzas; in 1884 it 
 has only seventy-five. Of the original num- 
 ber thirty-one have been entirely omitted — 
 in other words, more than a third of the 
 structure has been pulled down; and, in 
 place of these, twenty-two new stanzas have 
 been added, making a change of fifty-three 
 stanzas. The fifty-two that remain have 
 almost all been retouched and altered, so 
 that very few stand to-day in the same shape 
 which they had at the beginning. I suppose 
 there is no other poem in the language, not 
 even among the writings of Tennyson, which 
 has been worked over so carefully as this. 
 
 But what is the significance' of all this* 
 toilsome correction and remodelling ? How 
 does the study of it help us to a better com- 
 prehension of the poet ? I think it shows us, 
 first of all, the difference between the intel- 
 lectual temper of Tennyson and that of a 
 man who is possessed by his theories, instead 
 
42 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 of possessing them, and whom they carry 
 away into eccentricity. Suppose, for exam- 
 ple, that such an article as Lockhart's had 
 been written about Wordsworth's early 
 work, what would he have done ? Or rather, 
 for the case is not adscititious but actual, 
 what did he do when the Philistines feU 
 upon him ? He replied to the attacks upon 
 Goody Blake by publishing Peter Bell ; 
 he insisted upon using the language of 
 common life even when he had nothing to 
 say; he justified his poem upon an idiot 
 and his pony, by producing a much longer 
 one upon a pedlar and his ass. But with 
 Tennyson the effect of criticism was differ- 
 ent. He had the saving sense of humour, 
 and could see the point of a clever jest even 
 when it was directed against himself. He 
 was willing to learn even from an enemy, 
 and he counted no pains too great to take if 
 only he could succeed in cleansing his work 
 from blemishes and freeing it from " the de- 
 fects of its virtues." The result of this, 
 merely from a technical point of view, is 
 seen in the Palace of Art. It has gained 
 in rebuilding. The omission of unnecessary \ 
 decoration is a good rule for the architect. , 
 And though we lose many rich and polished 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 43 
 
 details, beautiful as the capitals of Corin- 
 thian pillars, their absence leaves the Palace | 
 standing more clear and noble before the 
 inward eye. 
 
 But when we look at the alterations from 
 a higher point, when we consider their ef- 
 fect upon the meaning of the poem, we see 
 how immense has been the gain. The new 
 lines and stanzas are framed, almost with- 
 out exception, with a wondrous skill to in- 
 tensify the allegory. Touch after touch 
 brings out the picture of the self-centred 
 soul : the indifference that hardens into 
 cruel contempt, the pride that verges on in- 
 sanity, the insatiate lust of pleasure that de- < 
 vours all the world can give and then turns ; 
 to feed upon itself, the empty darkness of 
 the life without love. It seems as if the poet ; 
 had felt more deeply, as he grew older, the 
 need of making this picture clear and strong. 
 Take for instance these two stanzas which he 
 has added to the poem, describing the exul- 
 tation of the soul in her exclusive joy : — 
 
 O God-like isolation which art mine, 
 
 I can but connt thee perfect gain, 
 What time I watch the darkening droTes of swine 
 
 That range on yonder plain. 
 
44 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 In filthy sloughs they roll a prurient skin, 
 They graze and waUow, hreed and sleep ; 
 j And oft some brainless devil enters in, 
 And driyes them to the deep. 
 
 These lines are essential to the understand- 
 ing of the poem. They touch the very core 
 of the sin which defiled the Palace and de- 
 stroyed the soul's happiness. It was not 
 merely that she loved beauty and music and 
 fragrance ; but that in her love for these 
 she lost her moral sense, denied her human 
 duties, and scorned, instead of pitying and 
 helping, her brother-men who lived on the 
 plain below. This is the sin o£ selfish pride, 
 the sin which drives out the Christ because 
 He eats with publicans and sinners, the un- 
 pardonable sin which ma;kes its own heU. 
 And it is just this sin, the poet declares, that 
 transforms the Palace of Art into a prison 
 of despair. 
 
 Is not this a lesson of which the age has 
 need ? The chosen few are saying to their 
 disciples that the world is a failure, humanity 
 a mass of wretchedness, religion an outworn 
 dream, — the only refuge for the elect of 
 wealth and culture is in art. Retreat into 
 your gardens of pleasure. Let the plague 
 take the city. Delight your eyes with all 
 
THE PALACE OF ART. 45 
 
 things fair and sweet. So shall it be well 
 with you and your soul shall dwell at ease 
 while the swine perish. It is the new gospel 
 of pessimism which despairs of the common 
 people because it despises them, — nay, the 
 old gospel of pessimism which seeks to se- 
 crete a selfish happiness in " the worst of 
 all possible worlds." Nebuchadnezzar tried 
 it in Babylon; Hadrian tried it in Eome; 
 Solomon tried it in Jerusalem ; and from all 
 its palaces comes the same voice: vanitas 
 vanitatum et omnia vanifas. 
 
 It is not until the soul has learned a better 
 wisdom, learned that the human race is one, 
 and that none can really rise by treading on 
 his brother-men, learned that true art is not 
 the slave of luxury but the servant of hu- 
 manity, learned that happiness is born, noi 
 of the lust to possess and enjoy, but of th 
 desire to give and to bless, — then, an 
 not until then, when she brings others witli 
 her, can the soul find true rest in her Palace.; 
 
 Tennyson has learned, as well as taughtj 
 this consecration of art. He has always 
 been an artist, but not for art's sake; a 
 lover of beauty, but also a lover of hunianity ; 
 a singer whose music has brightened and 
 blessed thousands of homes wherever the 
 
46 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 English tongue is spoken, and led the feet 
 of young men and maidens, by some Or- 
 phean enchantment, into royal mansions and 
 gardens, full of all things pure and lovely 
 and of good report. 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON: 
 
 A COMPARISON AND A CONTRAST, 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 
 
 CoMPAKisON has long been recognized as 
 one of the fruitful methods of criticism. 
 But in using this method one needs to re- 
 member that it is the least obvious compar- 
 ison which is often the truest and the most 
 suggestive. The relationship of poets does 
 not lie upon the surface ; they receive their 
 spiritual inheritance from beyond the lines 
 of direct descent. Thus a poet may be 
 most closely connected with one whose name 
 we never join with his, and we may find his 
 deepest resemblance to a man not only of 
 another age, but of another school- 
 Tennyson has been compared most fre- 
 quently with Keats ; sometimes, but falsely, 
 with SheUey; and sometimes, more wisely, 
 with Wordsworth. Our accomplished Amer- 
 ican critic, Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman, 
 who touches nothing that he does not adorn, 
 has a chapter in his Victorian Poets on 
 Tennyson and Theocritus. But the best com- 
 parison, — one which runs far below the out- 
 
60 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON . 
 
 ward appearance into the profound affini- 
 ties of genius — yet remains to be carefully 
 traced. Among aU poets, — certainly among 
 all English poets, — it seems to me that 
 Tennyson's next of kin is Milton. 
 
 By this I do not mean to say that they 
 are equally great or exactly alike. For so 
 far as perfect likeness is concerned, there is 
 no such thing among the sons of men. 
 Every just comparison involves a contrast. 
 And when we speak of greatness, Milton's 
 place as the second poet of England is not 
 now to be called in question by any rival 
 claim. Yet even here, when we ask who is 
 to take the third place, I think there is no 
 one who has such a large and substantial 
 title as the author of In Memoriam and 
 The Idylls of the King. The conjunction 
 of the names of Milton and Tennyson will 
 be no unfamiliar event for the future ; and 
 for the present there is no better way of 
 studying these two great poets than to lay 
 their works side by side, and trace their 
 lives through the hidden parallel of a kin- 
 dred destiny. 
 
 I. 
 
 There are two direct references to Milton 
 in the works of Tennyson; and these we 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 51 
 
 must examine first of all, in order that we 
 may understand the attitude of his mind to- 
 wards the elder master. The first is in The 
 Palace of Art. The royal dais on which 
 the soul set up her intellectual throne is 
 described as having above it four portraits of 
 wise men. 
 
 There deephaired Milton like an angel tall 
 Stood linmid, Shakespeare hiand and mild, 
 
 Orim Dante pressed his lips, and from the -wall 
 The bald blind Homer smiled. 
 
 Thus ran the verse in the 1833 edition ; 
 and it tells us the rank which Tennyson, in 
 his twenty-fourth year, assigned to Milton. 
 But there is hardly an instance in which the 
 fineness of Tennyson's self - correction is 
 more happily illustrated than in the change 
 which he has made in this passage. In the 
 later editions it reads as follows : — 
 
 For there was Milton like a seraph strong. 
 Beside him, Shakespeare bland and mild ; 
 
 And there the world-worn Dante grasped his song 
 And somewhat grimly smiled. 
 
 And there the Ionian father of the rest ; 
 
 A million wrinkles carved his skin ; 
 A hundred winters snowed npon his breast, 
 
 From cheek and throat and chin. 
 
 Let those who think that poetic expression 
 
52 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 is a matter of chance ponder upon this pas- 
 sage. Every alteration is an improvement ; 
 and most of all the change in the first line. 
 For now the poet has formed a true picture of 
 Milton's genius, and shovrs a profound com- 
 prehension of its essential quality. Its sign 
 is strength, but strength seraphic; not the 
 rude, volcanic force of the Titan, but a power 
 serene, harmonious, beautiful ; a power of 
 sustained flight, of far-reaching vision, of 
 lofty eloquence, such as belongs to the sera- 
 phim alone. Mark you, the word is not 
 "angel," for the angels are lower beings, fol- 
 lowers in the heavenly host, some weak, and 
 some fallen ; nor is the word " cherub," for 
 the cherubim, in the ancient Hebrew doc- 
 trine, are silent and mysterious creatures, not 
 shaped like men, voiceless and inapproach- 
 able ; but the word is " seraph," for the ser- 
 aphim hover on mighty wings about the 
 throne of God, chanting His praise one to 
 another, and bearing His messages from 
 heaven to earth. This, then, is the figure 
 which Tennyson chooses, with the precision 
 of a great poet, to summon the spirit of Mil- 
 ton before us, — a seraph strong. That one 
 phrase is worth more than all of Dr. John- 
 son's ponderous criticisms. 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 53 
 
 The second reference is found among 
 the Experiments in Quantity which were 
 printed in the Cornhill Magazine in 1863. 
 
 We have here the expression of Tenny- 
 son's mature opinion, carefully considered, 
 and uttered with the strength of a generous 
 and clear conviction; an utterance well 
 worth weighing, not only for the perfection 
 of its form, but also for the richness of its 
 contents and the revelation which it makes 
 of the poet's own nature. Hear with what 
 power and stateliness the tone-picture begins, 
 rising at once to the height of the noble 
 theme ; — 
 
 O, mighty-mouth' d inTentor of hanuomes, 
 O, skill'd to sing of Time or Eternity, 
 
 God-gifted organ-yoice of England, 
 
 Hilton, 3 name to resound for ages ; 
 Whose Titan angels, Gahriel, Ahdiel, 
 Starr' d from Jehovah's gorgeous armouries. 
 
 Tower, as the deep-domed empyrean 
 
 Rings to the roar of an angel onset, — 
 Me rather all that bowery loneliness 
 The brooks of Eden mazUy murmuring 
 
 And bloom profuse and cedar arches 
 
 Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean. 
 Where some refulgent sunset of India 
 Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle. 
 
 And orimson-hued the stately palm-woods 
 
 Whisper in odorous heights of even. 
 
 Thus the brief ode finds its perfect close, 
 
54 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the rich, full tones dying away in the pro- 
 longed period, as the strains of some large 
 music are lost in the hush of twilight. But 
 one other hand could have swept these grand 
 chords and evoked these tones of majestic 
 sweetness, — the hand of Milton himself. 
 
 It was De Quincey, that most nearly in- 
 spired, but most nearly insane, of critics, who 
 first spoke of the Miltonic movement as 
 having the qualities of an organ voluntary. 
 But the comparison which with him was little 
 more than a fortunate and striking simile is 
 transformed by the poet into a perfect 
 metaphor. 
 
 The great organ, pouring forth its melo- 
 dious thunders, becomes a living thing, 
 divinely dowered and filled with music, — 
 an instrument no longer, but a voice, majes- 
 tic, potent, thrilling the heart, — the voice of 
 England pealing in the ears of all the world 
 and all time. Swept on the flood of those 
 great harmonies, the mighty hosts of angels 
 clash together in heaven-shaking conflict. 
 But it is the same full tide of music which 
 flows down in sweetest, lingering cadence 
 to wander through the cool groves and frar 
 grant valleys of Paradise. Here the younger 
 poet will more gladly dweU, finding a deeper 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 55 
 
 delight in these solemn and tranquil melodies 
 than in the roar and clang of battles, even 
 though angelic. 
 
 Is it not true ? True, not only that the 
 organ voice has the twofold gift of beauty 
 and grandeur; true, not only that Tenny- 
 son has more sympathy with the loveliness 
 of Eden than with the mingled splendours 
 and horrors of the celestial battlefields ; but 
 true, also, that there is a more potent and 
 lasting charm in Milton's description of the 
 beautiful than in his description of the sub- 
 lime. I do not think that L" Allegro, II 
 Penseroso, and Comus have any lower place 
 in the world, or any less enduring life, than 
 Paradise Lost. And even in that great 
 epic there are no passages more worthy to be 
 remembered, more fruitful of pure feelings 
 and lofty thoughts, than those like the Hymn 
 of Adam, or the description of the first even- 
 ing in Eden, which show us the fairness and 
 delightfulness of God's world. We have 
 forgotten this ; we have thought so much of 
 Milton's strength and sublimity that we 
 have ceased to recognize what is also true, 
 that he, of all English poets, is by nature 
 the supreme lover of beauty. 
 
56 TBE POETRT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 n. 
 
 This, then, is the first point of vital sym- 
 pathy between Tennyson and Milton : their 
 common love of the beautiful, not only in 
 nature, but also in art. And this we see 
 most clearly in the youth and in the youth- 
 ful writings of the two poets. 
 
 There is a close resemblance in their early 
 life. Both were born and reared in homes 
 of modest comfort and refined leisure, under 
 the blended influences of culture and reli- 
 gion. Milton's father was a scrivener; de- 
 prived of his heritage because he obeyed his 
 conscience to become a Protestant, but 
 amassing a competence by his professional 
 labor, he ordered his house well, softening 
 and beautifying the solemnity of Puritan 
 ways with the pursuit of music and litera- 
 ture. Tennyson was born in a country rec- 
 tory, one of those fair homes of peace and 
 settled order which are the pride and strength 
 of England, — homes where " plain living 
 and high thinking " produce the noblest 
 types of manhood. His father also, like 
 Milton's, was a musician, and surrounded 
 his seven sons with influences which gave 
 them poetic tastes and impulses. It is 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 57 
 
 strange to see how large a part music has 
 played in the development of these two 
 poets. Milton, even in his poverty, would 
 have an organ in his house to solace his dark 
 hours. Tennyson, it is said, often called one 
 of his sisters to play to him while he com- 
 posed ; and in his dedication of the Songs 
 of the Wrens to Sir Ivor Guest, he speaks 
 of himself as " wedded to music." 
 
 It is of course no more than a coincidence 
 that both of the young poets should have 
 been students in the University of Cam- 
 bridge. But there is something deeper in 
 the similarity of their college lives and stud- 
 ies. A certain loftiness of spirit, an habitual 
 abstraction of thought, separated them from 
 the mass of their feUow-students, They were 
 absorbed in communion with the great minds 
 of Greece and Home. They drank deep at 
 the springs of ancient poesy. Not alone the 
 form, but the spirit, of the classics became 
 familiar to them. They were enamoured of 
 the beauty of the old-world legends, the 
 bright mythologies of Hellas, and Latium's 
 wondrous histories of gods and men. For 
 neither of them was this love of the ancient 
 poets a transient delight, a passing mood. 
 It took strong hold upon them ; it became 
 
68 TBE POETRY OF TEN NTS OK 
 
 a moulding power in their life and work. 
 We can trace it in all their writings. Allu- 
 sions, themes, illustrations, similes, forms 
 of verse, echoes of thought, conscious or 
 unconscious imitations, — a thousand tokens 
 remind us that we are still beneath the in- 
 fluence of the old masters of a vanished 
 world, — 
 
 " The dead, but soeptered sovereigns, who still rule 
 Our spirits from their nms." 
 
 And here, again, we see a deep bond of 
 sympathy between Tennyson and Milton: 
 they are certainly the most learned, the most 
 classical, of England's poets. 
 
 Following their lives beyond the univer- 
 sity, we find that both of them came out into 
 a period of study, of seclusion, of leisure, of 
 poetical productiveness. Milton retired to 
 his father's house at Horton, in Bucking- 
 hamshire, where he lived for five years. 
 Tennyson's home at Somersby, in Lincoln- 
 shire, was broken up by his father's death in 
 1831 ; and after that, as Carlyle wrote to 
 Emerson, "he preferred clubbing with his 
 Mother and some Sisters, to live unpro- 
 moted and write Poems ; . . now here, now 
 there ; the family always within reach of 
 London, never in it ; he himself making rare 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 59 
 
 and brief visits, lodging in some old com- 
 rade's rooms." The position and circum- 
 stances of the two young poets were wonder- 
 fully alike. Both were withdrawn from the 
 whirl and conflict of active life into a world 
 of lovely forms, sweet sounds, and enchant- 
 ing dreams ; both fed their minds with the 
 beauty of nature and of ancient story, 
 charmed by the music of divine philosophy, 
 and by songs of birds filling the sweet Eng- 
 lish air at dawn or twilight ; both loved to 
 roam at will over hill and dale and by the 
 wandering streams ; to watch the bee, with 
 honeyed thigh, singing from flower to flower, 
 and catch the scent of violets hidden in the 
 green ; to hear the sound of far-off bells 
 swinging over the wide-watered shore, and 
 listen to the sighing of the wind among the 
 trees, or the murmur of the waves on the 
 river-bank ; to pore and dream through long 
 night-watches over the legends of the past, 
 until the cold winds woke the gray-eyed 
 morn, and the lark's song startled the dull 
 night from her watch-tower in the skies. 
 They dwelt as idlers in the land, but it was 
 a glorious and fruitful idleness, for they 
 were reaping 
 
 The harvest of a quiet eye 
 
 That broods and sleeps on his own heait. 
 
60 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 How few and brief, and yet how wonder- 
 ful, how precious, are the results of these 
 peaceful years. L^ Allegro, II Penseroso, 
 Arcades, Comus, Lycidas ; Isabel, Recol- 
 lections of the Arabian Nights, Ode to 
 Memory, The Dying Swan, The Palace of 
 Art, A Dream of Fair Women, Mariana, 
 The Lady of Shalott, The Lotos-Eaters, 
 CEnone, — these are poems to be remem- 
 bered, read, and re-read with ever fresh de- 
 light, the most perfect things of their kind 
 in all literature. Grander poems, more pas- 
 sionate, more powerful, are many ; but there 
 are none in which the pure love of beauty, 
 Greek in its healthy symmetry. Christian in 
 its reverent earnestness, has produced work 
 so complete and exquisite as the early poems 
 of Milton and Tennyson. 
 
 Their best qualities are the same. I am 
 more impressed with this the more I read 
 them. They are marked by the same exact 
 observation of Nature, the same sensitive 
 perception of her most speaking aspects, the 
 same charm of simple and musical descrip- 
 tion. Eead the Ode to Memory, — for in- 
 stance, the description of the poet's home : — 
 
 Come from the woods that helt the gray hillside, 
 The seven elms, the poplars four 
 That stand heside my father's door ; 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 61 
 
 And chiefly from the brook that loves 
 To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand 
 Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, 
 Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, 
 
 In every elbow and turn. 
 The filtered tribute of the rough woodland. 
 
 O ! hither lead my feet I 
 Pour round my ears the livelong bleat 
 Of the thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds 
 
 Upon the ridged wolds, 
 When the first matin-song hath waken'd loud, 
 Over the dark dewy earth forlorn. 
 What time the amber mom 
 Forth g^nshes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 
 
 Compare with this some lines from Zi'Alle' 
 gro: — 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight. 
 And singing startle the dull night 
 From his watch-tower in the skies, 
 Tfll the dappled dawn doth rise ! 
 
 Some time walking, not unseen, 
 
 By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green, 
 
 Right against the eastern gate 
 
 Where the great sun begins his state, 
 
 Bob'd in flames and amber light, 
 
 The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 
 
 While the ploughman, near at hand, 
 
 Whistles o'er the furrow' d land. 
 
 And the milkmaid singeth blithe. 
 
 And the mower whets his scythe, 
 
 And every shepherd tells his tale 
 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale. 
 
 Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures 
 
 While the landscape round it measures ; 
 
62 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Busset lawns and fallows gray, 
 Where the nibbling flocks do stray ; 
 Mountains on whose barren breast 
 The labouring clonds do often rest ; 
 Meadows trim with daisies pied, 
 Shallow brooks and rivers wide. 
 
 Here are the same breadth of vision, deli- 
 cacy of touch, atmospheric effect ; the same 
 sensitiveness to the simplest variations of 
 light and sound; the same power to shed 
 over the quiet scenery of the English coun- 
 try the light of an ideal beauty. It is an 
 art far beyond that of the landscape painter, 
 and all the more perfect because so well con- 
 cealed. 
 
 Another example will show us the simi- 
 larity of the two poets in their more purely 
 imaginative work, the description of that 
 which they have seen only with the dream- 
 ing eyes of fancy. Take the closing song, 
 or epilogue of the Attendant Spirit, in Ca- 
 mus : — 
 
 To the ocean now I fly 
 
 And those happy climes that lie 
 
 Up in the broad fields of the sky. 
 
 There I anok the liquid air, 
 
 All amidst the gardens fair 
 
 Of Hesperus, and his daughters three, 
 
 That sing about the golden tree : 
 
 Along the crisped shades and bowers 
 
 Kevels the spruce and jocund Spring ; 
 
MILTON AND TENNYBON. 63 
 
 The ^aces and the rosy-bosomed Honta 
 Thither all their bounties bring ; 
 There eternal summer dwells, 
 And west-winds, with musky wing, 
 About the cedam alleys fling 
 Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
 Iris there with humid bow 
 Waters the odourous banks, that blow 
 Flowers oi more mingled hue 
 Than her purfled scarf can shew, 
 And drenches with Elysian dew 
 Beds of hyacinths and roses. 
 
 Compare this with Tennyson's Recollections 
 of the Arabian Nights : — 
 
 Thence thro' the garden I was drawn — 
 A realm of pleasance, many a mound, 
 And many a shadow-chequer' d lawn 
 Full of the city's stilly sound. 
 And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round 
 The stately cedar, tamarisks, 
 Thick rosaries of scented thorn, 
 Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks 
 
 QraTen with emblems of the time, 
 
 In honour of the golden primie 
 Of good Haroun Abaschid. 
 
 With dazed vision unawares 
 From the long alley's latticed shade 
 Emerged, I came upon the great 
 Pavilion of the Caliphat. 
 Bight to the carven cedam doors 
 Flung inward over spangled floors. 
 Broad-based flights of marble stairs 
 Ran up with golden balustrade. 
 
64 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 After the fashion of the time, 
 And humour of the golden prime 
 Of good Haroim Alxaschid. 
 
 Here is more than a mere resemblance of 
 words and themes, more than an admiring 
 imitation or echoing of phrases ; it is an 
 identity of taste, spirit, temperament. But 
 the resemblance of forms is also here. We 
 can trace it even in such a minor trait as the 
 skilful construction and use of double-words. 
 This has often been noticed as a distinguish- 
 ing feature of Tennyson's poetry. But Mil- 
 ton uses them almost as freely and quite 
 as magically. In Comus, which has a few 
 more than a thousand lines, there are fifty- 
 four double-epithets ; in L' Allegro there are 
 sixteen to a hundred and fifty lines ; in Tl 
 Penseroso there are eleven to one hundred 
 and seventy lines. Tennyson's Ode to Mem- 
 ory, with a hundred and twenty lines, has 
 fifteen double-words ; Mariana, with eighty 
 lines, has nine ; the Lotos-Eaters, with two 
 hundred lines, has thirty-two. And if I 
 should choose at random fifty such words 
 from the early poems, I do not think that 
 any one, not knowing them by heart, could 
 tell at first glance which were Milton's and 
 which Tennyson's. Let us try the experi- 
 ment with the following list : — 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 65 
 
 Lo\f-thoughted, empty-vaulted, rosy-white, rosy-bo- 
 somed, violet-embroidered, dew-impearled, ovec-ezquisite, 
 long-levelled, mild-eyed, white-handed, white-breasted, 
 pure-eyed, sin-worn, self-consumed, self-profit, elose- 
 curtained, low-browed, ivy-crowned, gray-eyed, far- 
 beaming, pale - eyed, down - steering, flower - inwoven, 
 dewy-dark, moon-loved, smooth-swarded, quick-falling, 
 slow-dropping, coral-paven, lily-cradled, amber-dropping, 
 thrice-great, dewy-feathered, purple-spiked, foam-foun- 
 tains, sand-built, night-steeds, full-flowing, sable-stoled, 
 sun-steeped, star-led, pilot-stars, full-juiced, dew-fed, 
 brazen-headed, wisdom-bred, star-strown, low-embowed, 
 iron-worded, globe-filled. 
 
 It w^iU puzzle the reader to distinguish 
 with any degree of certainty the authorship 
 of these words. And this seems the more 
 remarkable when we remember that there 
 are two centuries of linguistic development 
 and changing fashions of poetic speech be- 
 tween Comus and (Enone. 
 
 Not less remarkable is the identity of 
 spirit in Tennyson and Milton in their deli- 
 cate yet wholesome sympathy with Nature, 
 their perception of the relation of her moods 
 and aspects to the human heart. This, in 
 fact, is the keynote of L'' Allegro and H 
 Peiiseroso. The same world, seen under 
 different lights and filled with different 
 sounds, responds as deeply to the joyous, as 
 to the melancholy, spirit. There is a pro- 
 
66 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 found meaning, a potent influence, in the 
 outward shows of sky and earth. While 
 the Lady of Shalott dwells in her pure se- 
 clusion, the sun shines, the lily blossoms on 
 the river's breast, and the blue sky is un- 
 clouded ; but when she passes the fatal line, 
 and the curse has fallen on her, then 
 
 In the stormy eastwind straining, 
 The pale yellow woods are waning, 
 The broad stream in his hanks complaining, 
 HeavUy the low sky raining, 
 Over tower' d Camelot. 
 
 Thus, also, when the guilty pair in Eden 
 had transgressed that sole command on which 
 their happiness depended, — 
 
 Sky lowered, and muttering thnnder, some sad drops 
 Wept at completing of the mortal sin. 
 
 Mr. Kuskin says that this is " the pathetic 
 fallacy ; " for, as a matter of fact, the clouds 
 do not weep, nor do the rivers complain, 
 and he maintains that to speak of them as 
 if they did these things is to speak with a 
 certain degree of falsehood which is un- 
 worthy of the highest kind of art. But Mr. 
 Ruskin may say what he pleases about Mil- 
 ton and Tennyson without much likelihood 
 of persuading any sane person that their 
 poetry is not profoundly true to Nature, — 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 67 
 
 and most true precisely in its recognition of 
 her power to echo and reflect the feelings of 
 man. All her realities are but seemings ; 
 and she does seem to weep with them that 
 weep, and to rejoice with them that do re- 
 joice. Nothing can be more real than that. 
 The chemistry of the sun is no more true 
 than its message of joy ; the specific gravity 
 of the rain is of no greater consequence than 
 its message of sadness. And for the poet 
 the first necessity is that he should be able 
 to feel and interpret the sentiment of nat- 
 ural objects. The art of landscape-poetry, 
 I take it, consists in this : the choice and 
 description of such actual images of external 
 nature as are capable of being grouped and 
 coloured by a dominant idea or feeling. Of 
 this art the most perfect masters are Tenny- 
 son and Milton. And here I have reversed 
 the order of the names, because I reckon 
 that on this point Tennyson stands first. 
 Take, for example, the little poem on Mari- 
 ana, — that wonderful variation on the 
 theme of loneliness suggested by a single 
 line in Measure for Measure. Here the 
 thought is the weariness of waiting for one 
 who does not come. The garden has grown 
 black with moss, the nails in the wall are 
 
68 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 rusted, the thatch is full of weeds on the 
 forsaken house ; the moat is crusted over 
 with creeping marsh - plants, the solitary 
 poplar on the fen trembles eternally in the 
 wind ; slowly pass the night-hours, marked 
 by the distant sounds of crowing cocks and 
 lowing oxen ; slower stiU the hours of day, 
 while the fly buzzes on the window-pane, the 
 mouse shrieks in the wainscot, the sparrow 
 chirps on the roof ; everything in the pic- 
 ture belongs to a life sunken in monotony, 
 lost in monotony, forgotten as a dead man 
 out of mind. Even the light that falls into 
 the moated grange is full of dust. 
 
 But most she loathed the hour 
 When the thiok-moted sunbeam lay 
 Athwart the chambers, and the day 
 Downsloped, was westering in his bower. 
 Then, said she, " I am very dreary, 
 He will not come,'' she said ; 
 
 She wept, ' ' I am aweary, aweary, 
 Oh God, that I were dead." 
 
 Now aU this is perfect painting of the 
 things in nature which respond exactly to 
 the sense of depression and solitude and in- 
 tolerable, prolonged neglect, in a human 
 soul. For an illustration of the opposite 
 feeling turn to the description of the May 
 morning in The Gardener's Daughter. The 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 69 
 
 passage is too long to quote here ; but it is 
 beyond doubt one of the most rich and joy- 
 ous pictures in English verse. The world 
 seems to be overflowing with blossom and 
 song as the youth draws near to the maiden. 
 It is love set to landscape. And yet there 
 is not a single false touch ; all is true and 
 clear and precise, down to the lark's song 
 which grows more rapid as he sinks to- 
 wards his nest, and the passing cloud whose 
 moisture draws out the sweet smell of the 
 flowers. 
 
 Another trait common to the earlier 
 poems of Milton and Tennyson is their 
 purity of tone. They are sensuous, — indeed 
 Milton declared that all good poetry must 
 be sensuous, — but never for a moment, in a 
 single line, are they sensual. 
 
 Look at the Lady in Comus. She is the 
 sweet embodiment of Milton's youthful ideal 
 of virtue, clothed with the fairness of open- 
 ing womanhood, armed with the sun-clad 
 power of chastity. Darkness and danger 
 cannot 
 
 Stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts. 
 
 Evil things have no power upon her, but 
 shrink abashed from her presence. 
 
70 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 So dear to heaven is saintly chastity 
 
 That when a soul is found sincerely so, 
 
 A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 
 
 Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt ; 
 
 And in clear dream and solemn vision, 
 
 Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear. 
 
 Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 
 
 Begin to cast a heam on tV outward shape, 
 
 The unpolluted temple of the mind. 
 
 And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence, 
 
 Till all be made immortal. 
 
 And now, beside this loveliest Lady, bring 
 Isabel, with those 
 
 Eyes not down-dropt nor over-bright, but fed 
 With the clear-pointed flame of chastity, 
 Clear, vrithout heat, undying, tended by 
 Pure vestal thoughts in the translucent fane 
 Of her still spirit. 
 
 Bring also her who, for her people's good, 
 passed naked on her palfrey through the 
 city streets, — Godiva, who 
 
 Rode forth, clothed on with chastity ; 
 The deep air listen'd round her as she rode, 
 And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. 
 
 These are sisters, perfect in purity as in 
 beauty, and worthy to be enshrined forever 
 in the love of youth. They are ideals which 
 draw the heart, not downward, but upward 
 by the power of " das ewig Weihliche." 
 
 There are many other points of resem- 
 blance between the early poems of Milton 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 71 
 
 and Tennyson on which it would be pleasant 
 to dwell. Echoes of thought like that son- 
 net, beginning 
 
 Check every outflash, every ruder sally 
 
 Of thought and speech : speak low, and give up whoUy 
 
 Thy spirit to mild-minded melancholy, — 
 
 which seems almost as if it might have been 
 written by II Penseroso. Coincidences of 
 taste and reading such as the fondness for 
 the poet to whom Milton alludes as 
 
 Trim that left half told 
 The story of Oambuscan hold. 
 Of Camhall and of Algarsif e 
 And who had Canace to wife, — 
 
 and whom Tennyson calls 
 
 Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath 
 Preluded those melodious bursts that fill 
 
 The spacious times of great Elizabeth 
 With sounds that echo still. 
 
 Likenesses of manner such as the imitation 
 of the smooth elegiac poets in Lycidas and 
 (Enone. But a critic who wishes his con- 
 clusions to be accepted cheerfully and with 
 a sense of g;ratitude must leave his readers 
 to supply some illustrations for themselves. 
 And this I will be prudent enough to do ; 
 expressing only the opinion that those who 
 study the subject carefully will find that 
 there is no closer parallel in literature*, than 
 
72 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 that between the early poems of Milton and 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 III. 
 
 There are two causes which have power 
 to change the natural or premeditated course 
 of a man's life, — the shock of a great out- 
 ward catastrophe, and the shock of a pro- 
 found inward grief. When the former 
 comes, it shatters all his cherished plans, 
 renders the execution of his favorite pro- 
 jects impossible, directs the current of his 
 energy into new channels, plunges him 
 into conflict with circumstances, turns his 
 strength against corporeal foes, and produces 
 a change of manner, speech, life, which is 
 at once evident and tangible. With the 
 latter, it is different. The inward shock 
 brings with it no alteration of the visible 
 environment, leaves the man where he stood 
 before, to the outward eye unchanged, free 
 to tread the same paths and pursue the same 
 designs ; and yet, in truth, not free ; most 
 deeply, though most subtly, changed; for 
 the soul, shaken from her serene repose, and 
 losing the self-confidence of youth, either 
 rises into a higher life or sinks into a 
 lower; meeting the tremendous questions 
 which haunt the shade of a supreme 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 73 
 
 personal bereavement, she finds an answer 
 either in the eternal Yes or in the eternal 
 No ; and though form and accent and mode 
 of speech remain the same, the thoughts and 
 intents of the heart are altered forever. 
 
 To Milton came the outward conflict ; to 
 Tennyson, the inward grief. And as we 
 follow them beyond the charmed circle of 
 their early years, we must trace the parallel 
 between them, if indeed we can find it at 
 all, far below the surface; although even 
 yet we shall see some external resemblances 
 amid many and strong contrasts. 
 
 Milton's catastrophe was the civil war, 
 sweeping over England like a flood. But 
 the fate which involved him in it was none 
 other than his own conscience. This it was 
 that drew him, by compulsion more strong 
 than sweet, from the florid literary hospital- 
 ity of Italian mutual laudation societies into 
 the vortex of tumultuous London, made him 
 " lay aside his singing robes " for the heavy 
 armour of the controversialist, and leave his 
 "calm and pleasant solitariness, fed with 
 cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark 
 on a troubled sea of noises and harsh dis- 
 putes." His conscience, I say, not his 
 tastes : all these led him the other way. 
 
74 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 But an irresistible sense of duty caught him, 
 and dragged him, as it were, by the neck to 
 the verge of the precipice, and flung him 
 down into the thick of the hottest conflict 
 that England has ever seen. 
 
 Once there, he does not retreat. He quits 
 himself like a man. He is not a Puritan. 
 He loves many things that the mad Puritans 
 hate, — art, music, fine literature, nature, 
 beauty. But one thing he loves more than 
 all, — liberty ! For that he will fight, — 
 fight on the Puritan side, fight against 
 anybody, desperately, pertinaciously, with 
 grand unconsciousness of possible defeat. He 
 catches the lust of combat, and " drinks 
 delight of battle with his peers." The 
 serene poet is transformed into a thunder- 
 ing pamphleteer. He launches deadly bolts 
 against tyranny in Church, in State, in so- 
 ciety. He strikes at the corrupt clergy, at 
 the false, cruel king, at the self-seeking 
 bigots disguised as friends of freedom. He 
 is absorbed in strife. Verse is forgotten. 
 But one brief strain of true poetry bursts 
 from him at the touch of personal grief. 
 The rest is' all buried, choked down, con- 
 cealed. The full stream of his energy, un- 
 stinted, undivided, fiows into the struggle 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 76 
 
 for freedom and truth ; and even when the 
 war is ended, the good cause betrayed by- 
 secret enemies and foolish friends, the free- 
 dom of England sold back into the hands 
 of the treacherous Stuarts, Milton fights on, 
 like some guerilla captain in a far mountain 
 region, who has not heard, or will not be- 
 lieve, the news of surrender. 
 
 The blow which fell on Tennyson was 
 secret. The death of Arthur Henry Hal- 
 lam, in 1833, caused no great convulsion in 
 English polities, brought no visible disaster 
 to church or state, sent only the lightest 
 and most transient ripple of sorrow across 
 the surface of society ; but to the heart of 
 one man it was the shock of an inward 
 earthquake, upheaving the foundations of 
 life and making the very arch of heaven 
 tremble. Bound to Hallam by one of those 
 rare friendships passing the love of women, 
 Tennyson felt his loss in the inmost fibres 
 of his being. The world was changed, dark- 
 ened, filled with secret conflicts. The im- 
 portunate questions of human life and des- 
 tiny thronged upon his soid. The ideal 
 peace, the sweet, art-satisfied seclusion, the 
 dreams of undisturbed repose, became im- 
 possible for him. He must fight, not for a 
 
76 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 party cause, but for spiritual freedom and 
 immortal hopes, not against incorporate and 
 embattled enemies, but against unseen foes, 
 — thrones, principalities, and powers of 
 darkness. 
 
 I think we have some record of this strife 
 in poems like Two Voices, and TTie Vision 
 of Sin. The themes here treated are the 
 deepest and most awful that can engage the 
 mind. The worth of life, the significance of 
 suffering, the reality of virtue, the existence 
 of truth, the origin and end of evil, human 
 responsibility. Divine goodness, mysteries of 
 the now and the hereafter, — these are the 
 problems with which the poet is forced to 
 deal, and he dares to deal with them face to 
 face. I will not say that he finds, as yet, 
 the true solution ; there is a more profound 
 and successful treatment of the same prob- 
 lems to follow in In Memoriam. But I 
 think that, so far as they go, these poems are 
 right and true ; and in them, enlightened by 
 grief, strengthened by inward combat, the 
 poet has struck a loftier note than can be 
 heard in the beautiful poems of his youth. 
 
 For this, mark you, is clear. The poet 
 has now become a man. The discipline of 
 sorrow has availed. Life is real and earnest 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 77 
 
 to him. He grapples with the everlasting 
 facts of humanity. Men and women are 
 closer to him. He can write poems like 
 Dora, Ulysses, St. Simeon Stylites, as won- 
 derful for their difference in tone and sub- 
 ject as for their common virility and abso- 
 lute truth to nature. He has learned to feel 
 a warm sympathy with 
 
 Men, my brothers, men, the workers : 
 
 to care for all that touches their welfare ; to 
 rejoice in the triumphs of true liberty; to 
 thunder in scorn and wrath against the social 
 tyrannies that crush the souls of men, and 
 
 The social lies that warp ns from the living truth. 
 
 It is true that there is no actual and visi- 
 ble conflict, no civil war raging to engulf 
 him. He is not called upon to choose be- 
 tween his love of poetry and his love of 
 country, nor to lay aside his singing-robes 
 even for a time. It is his fortune, or mis- 
 fortune, to have fallen upon an age of peace 
 and prosperity and settled government. But 
 in that great unseen warfare which is ever 
 waging between truth and error, right and 
 wrong, freedom and oppression, light and 
 darkness, he bears his part and bears it well, 
 by writing such poems as Lochsley Hall, 
 
78 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Sea Dreams, Enoch Arden, Aylmer's 
 Field ; and these entitle him to high rank 
 as a poet of humanity. 
 
 Are they then so far apart, Milton and 
 Tennyson, the Latin Secretary of Cromwell 
 and the Poet Laureate of Queen Victoria, — 
 are they so far apart in the spiritual activity 
 of their lives as their circumstances seem to 
 place them ? Are they as unlike in the fact, 
 as they are in the form, of their utterance 
 on the great practical questions of life ? I 
 think not. Even here, where the lines of 
 their work seem to diverge most widely, we 
 may trace some deep resemblances, under 
 apparent differences. 
 
 It is a noteworthy fact that a most impor- 
 tant place in the thought and writing of both 
 these men has been occupied by the subject 
 of marriage. How many of Tennyson's 
 poems are devoted to this theme ! The Mill- 
 er's Daughter, The Lord of Burleigh, 
 Lady Clare, Edwin Morris, The Brook, 
 The Gardener's Daughter, Love and Duty, 
 Locksley Hall, The Princess, Maud, Enoch 
 Arden, Aylmer's Field, The Golden Sup- 
 per, The Window, The First Quarrel, The 
 Wreck, The Flight, and The Idylls of the 
 King, all have the thought of union between 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 79 
 
 man and woman, and the questions which 
 arise in connection with it, at their root. 
 
 In The Coming of Arthur, Tennyson 
 makes his chosen hero rest all his power 
 upon a happy and true marriage : — 
 
 What happiness to reign a lonely king 
 
 Vext with waste dreams ? For saving I be join'd 
 
 To her that is the fairest under heaven, 
 
 I seem as nothing in the mighty world, 
 
 And cannot will my will nor work my work 
 
 Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm 
 
 Victor and lord. But were I join'd with her, 
 
 Then might we live together as one life. 
 
 And reigning with one will in everything, 
 
 Have power on this dark land to lighten it, 
 
 And power on this dead world to make it live. 
 
 Compare with this Adam's complaint in 
 Paradise : — 
 
 In solitude 
 What happiness ? Who can enjoy alone ? 
 Or all enjoying what contentment find ? 
 
 his demand for a companion equal with him- 
 self, " fit to participate all rational delight ; " 
 and his description of his first sight of Eve : 
 
 She disappeared and left me dark. I wak'd 
 
 To find her, or forever to deplore 
 
 Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure. 
 
 Mark the fact that those four tremendous 
 pamphlets on Divorce with which Milton 
 
80 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 horrified his enemies and shocked his friends, 
 have underlying all their errors and extrava- 
 gances the great doctrine that a genuine 
 marriage must be a true companionship and 
 union of souls — a doctrine equally opposed 
 to the licentious, and to the conventional, 
 view of wedlock. This is precisely Tenny- 
 son's position. His bitterest invectives are 
 hurled against marriages of convenience and 
 avarice. He praises "that true marriage, 
 that healthful and holy family life, which 
 has its roots in mutual affection, in mutual 
 fitness, and which is guarded by a constancy 
 as strong as heaven's blue arch and yet as 
 spontaneous as the heart-beats of a happy 
 child." But in praising this, Tennyson 
 speaks of what he has possessed and known : 
 Milton could have spoken only of what he 
 had desired and missed. A world-wide dif- 
 ference, more than enough to account for 
 anything of incompleteness or harshness in 
 Milton's views of women. 
 
 What gross injustice the world has done 
 him on this point ! Married at an age when 
 a man who has preserved the lofty ideals and 
 personal purity of youth is peculiarly liable 
 to deception, to a woman far below him in 
 character and intellect, a pretty fool utterly 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 81 
 
 unfitted to take a sincere and earnest view 
 of life or to sympathize with him in his 
 studies ; deserted by her a few weeks after 
 the wedding-day; met by stubborn refusal 
 and unjust reproaches in every attempt to 
 reclaim and reconcile her ; accused by her 
 family of disloyalty in politics, and treated 
 as if he were unworthy of honourable consid- 
 eration ; what wonder that his heart experi- 
 enced a great revulsion, that he began to 
 doubt the reality of such womanhood as he 
 had described and immortalized in Comus, 
 that he sought relief in elaborating a doc- 
 trine of divorce which should free him from 
 the unworthy and irksome tie of a marriage 
 which was in truth but an empty mockery? 
 That divorce doctrine which he propounded 
 in the heat of personal indignation, dis- 
 guised even from himself beneath a mask of 
 professedly calm philosophy, was surely false, 
 and we cannot but condemn it. But can we 
 condemn his actual conduct, so nobly incon- 
 sistent with his own theory ? Can we con- 
 demn the man, as we see him forgiving and 
 welcoming his treacherous wife driven by 
 stress of poverty and danger to return to the 
 home which she had frivolously forsaken ; 
 welcoming also, and to the best of his ability 
 
82 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 sheltering, her whole family of Philistines, 
 who were glad enough, for all their pride, to 
 find a refuge from the perils of civil war in 
 the house of the despised schoolmaster and 
 Commonwealth-man ; bearing patiently, for 
 his wife's sake, with their weary presence 
 and shallow talk in his straitened dwelling- 
 place until the death of the father-in-law, 
 whose sense of honour was never strong 
 enough to make him pay one penny of his 
 daughter's promised marriage-portion, — can 
 we condemn Milton as we see him acting 
 thus ? And as we see him, after a few months 
 of happy union with a second wife, again 
 left a widower with three daughters, two of 
 whom, at least, never learned to love him ; 
 blind, poor, almost friendless ; disliked 
 and robbed by his undutiful children, who 
 did not scruple to cheat him in the market- 
 ings, sell his books to the rag-pickers, and 
 tell the servants that the best news they 
 could hear would be the news of their fa- 
 ther's death ; forced at length in very in- 
 stinct of self-protection to take as his third 
 wife a plain, honest woman who would be 
 faithful and kind in her care of him and 
 his house ; can we wonder if, after this ex- 
 perience of life, he thought somewhat doubt- 
 fully of women ? 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 83 
 
 But of woman, woman as God made her 
 and meant her to be, woman as she is in the 
 true purity and unspoiled beauty of her na- 
 ture, he never thought otherwise than nobly 
 and reverently. Eead his sonnet to his sec- 
 ond, wife, in whom for one fleeting year his 
 heart tasted the best of earthly joys, the joy 
 of a perfect companionship, but who was lost 
 to him in the birth of her first child : — 
 
 Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
 Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, 
 Whom Jove's great son to her glad hushand gave, 
 
 Rescued from death by force though pale and faint. 
 
 Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint 
 Purification in the old Law did save, 
 And such as yet once more I trust to have 
 
 FuU sight of her in Heaven, without restraint, 
 
 Came vested all in white, pure aa her mind ; 
 Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight 
 
 Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined 
 So clear as in no face with more delight. 
 
 But O, as to embrace me she inclined, 
 
 I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. 
 
 Surely there is no more beautiful and heart- 
 felt praise of perfect womanhood in all liter- 
 ature than this ; and Tennyson has never 
 written with more unfeigned worship of 
 wedded love. 
 
 It is true, indeed, that Milton declares that 
 woman is inferior to man " in the mind and 
 
84 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 inward faculties," but he follows this decla- 
 ration with the most exquisite description 
 of her peculiar excellences : 
 
 When I approach 
 Her loveliness, so absolute she seems 
 And in herself complete, so well to know 
 Her own, that what she wills to do or say 
 Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best : 
 Authority and reason on her wait 
 As one intended first, not after made 
 Occasionally ; and to consummate aU, 
 Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat 
 Build in her loyeliest, and create an awe 
 About her as a guard angelic placed. 
 
 It is true that he teaches, in accordance 
 with the explicit doctrine of the Bible, that 
 it is the wife's duty to obey her husband, to 
 lean upon, and foUow, his larger strength 
 when it is exercised in wisdom. But he 
 never places the woman below the man, 
 always at his side ; the divinely - dowered 
 consort and counterpart, not the same, but 
 equal, supplying his deficiencies and solac- 
 ing his defects, 
 
 His likeness, his fit help, his other self, 
 
 with whom he may enjoy 
 
 Union of mind or in us both one soul. 
 
 And love like this 
 
 Leads up to heayeu ; is both the way and guide. 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 85 
 
 Compare these teachings with those of 
 Tennyson in TJie Princess, where under a 
 veil of irony, jest mixed with earnest, he 
 shows the pernicious folly of the modern 
 attempt to change woman into a man in 
 petticoats, exhibits the female lecturer and 
 the sweet girl graduates in their most de- 
 lightfully absurd aspect, overthrows the vis- 
 ionary towers of the Female College with a 
 baby's touch, and closes the most good-hu- 
 moured of satires with a picture of the true 
 relationship of man and woman, so beautiful 
 and so wise that neither poetry nor philoso- 
 phy can add a word to it. 
 
 For woman is not nndevelopt man, 
 
 Bnt diverse : could we make her as the man, 
 
 Sweet Love were slain ; his dearest hond is this, 
 
 Kot like to like, but like in difference. 
 
 Yet in the long years liker mast they grow ; 
 
 The man be more of woman, she of man ; 
 
 He gain in sweetness and in moral height. 
 
 Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world ; 
 
 She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, 
 
 Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; 
 
 Till at the last she set herself to man 
 
 Xiike perfect music unto noble words. 
 
 Then comes the statelier Eden back to men : 
 Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm : 
 Then springs the crowning race of humankind. 
 May these things be I 
 
86 T3E POETSr OF TENNYSON. 
 
 A second point in which we may trace a 
 deep resemblance between Milton and Ten- 
 nyson is their intense love of country. 
 This is not always a prominent characteris- 
 tic of great poets. Indeed, we may ques- 
 tion whether there is not usually something 
 in the poetic temperament which unfits a 
 man for actual patriotism, makes him an 
 inhabitant of an ideal realm rather than a 
 citizen of a particular country ; inclines him 
 to be governed by disgusts more than he is 
 inspired by enthusiasms, and to withdraw 
 himself from a practical interest in the 
 national welfare into the vague dreams of 
 Utopian perfection. In Goethe we see the 
 cold indifiference of the self-centred artistic 
 mind, careless of his country's degradation 
 and enslavement, provided only the all-con- 
 quering Napoleon will leave him his poetic 
 leisure and freedom. In Byron we see the 
 wild rebelliousness of the poet of passion, 
 deserting, disowning, and reviling his native 
 land in the sullen fury of personal anger. 
 But Milton and Tennyson are true patriots 
 — Englishmen to the heart's core. They do 
 not say, " My country, right or wtong ! " 
 They protest in noble scorn against all 
 kinds of tyrannies and hypocrisies. They 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 87 
 
 are not bound in conscienceless servility 
 to any mere political party. They are 
 the partisans of England, and England to 
 them means freedom, justice, righteous- 
 ness, Christianity. Milton sees her " rous- 
 ing herself like a strong man after sleep, 
 and shaking her invincible locks ; " or "as 
 Ian eagle, mewing her mighty youth, and 
 kindling her undazzled eyes at the full mid- 
 day beam ; purging and scaling her long- 
 abused sight at the fountain itself of heav- 
 enly radiance ; while the whole noise of 
 timorous and flocking birds, with those also 
 that love the twilight, flutter about amazed 
 at what she means, and in their envious 
 gabble would prognosticate a year of sects 
 and schisms." Tennyson sings her praise as 
 
 the land that freemen till, 
 That sober-suited Freedom chose, 
 The land where, girt with friends or foes, 
 A man may speak the thing he will. 
 
 He honours and reveres the Queen, but it 
 is because her power is the foundation and 
 defense of liberty; because of her it may 
 be said that 
 
 Statesmen at her council met 
 
 Who knew the season when to take 
 Occasion by the hand, and make 
 
 The bounds of freedom wider yet, 
 
88 THE POETRY OF TENNYBON. 
 
 By shaping some august decree, 
 Which kept her throne unshaken still, 
 Broad-bas'd upon the people's will, 
 
 And compass'd by the iuTiolate sea. 
 
 Think you he would have written thus if 
 Charles Stuart, bribe-taker, extoi-tioner, 
 tyrant, dignified and weak betrayer of his 
 best friends, had been his sovereign ? His 
 own words teU us on which side he would 
 have stood in that great revolt. In the 
 verses written on ITie Third of February, 
 1852, he reproaches the Parliament for their 
 seeming purpose to truckle to Napoleon, 
 after the coup d 'etat, and cries : 
 
 Shall we fear him ? Our own we never feared. 
 
 From our first Charles by force we wrung our claims. 
 Pricked by the Papal spur, we reared, 
 
 We flung the burthen of the second James. 
 
 And again, in the poem entitled England 
 and America in 1782, he justifies the Amer- 
 ican Revolution as a lesson taught by Eng- 
 land herself, and summons his country to 
 -Jxult in the freedom of her children. 
 
 But thou, rejoice with liberal joy ! 
 
 Lift up thy rocky face, 
 And shatter, when the storms are black, 
 In many a streaming torrent back. 
 
 The seas that shock thy base. 
 
 Whatever harmonies of law 
 The growing world assume, 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 89 
 
 The work is thine, — the single note 
 From the deep chord that Hampden smote 
 Will Tibrate to the doom. 
 
 Here is the grand Miltonic ring, not now 
 disturbed and roughened by the harshness 
 of opposition, the bitterness of disappoint- 
 ment, the sadness of despair, but rounded 
 in the cahn fuhiess of triumph. "The 
 whirligig of Time brings in his revenges." 
 The bars of oppression are powerless to stay 
 the tide of progress. 
 
 The old order changeth, giving place to new. 
 And God fulfils Himself in many ways. 
 
 If Milton were alive to-day he would find 
 his ideals largely realized ; freedom of wor- 
 ship, freedom of the press, freedom of edu- 
 cation, no longer things to be fought for, but 
 things to be enjoyed ; the principle of pop- 
 ular representation firmly ingrained in the 
 constitution of the British monarchy (which 
 Tennyson calls " a crowned Republic " ), and 
 the spirit of " the good old cause," the peo- 
 ple's cause which seemed lost when the sec- 
 ond Charles came back, now victorious and 
 peacefully guiding the destinies of the na- 
 tion into a yet wider and more glorious 
 liberty. 
 
 But what would be the effect of such an 
 
90 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 environment upon such a character as his ? 
 What would Milton have been in this nine- 
 teenth century ? If we can trust the prophe- 
 cies of his early years ; if we can regard the 
 hints of his own preferences and plans, from 
 whose fruition a stern sense of duty, like a 
 fiery-sworded angel, barred him out, we must 
 imagine the course of his life, the develop- 
 ment of his genius, as something very differ- 
 ent from what they actually were. An age 
 of peace and prosperity, the comfort and 
 quietude of a weU-ordered home, freedom to 
 pursue his studious researches and cultivate 
 his artistic tastes to the full, an atmos- 
 phere of liberal approbation and encourage- 
 ment, — circumstances such as these would 
 have guided his life and work into a much 
 closer parallel with Tennyson, and yet they 
 never could have made him other than him- 
 self. For his was a seraphic spirit, strong, 
 indomitable, unalterable ; and even the most 
 subtile influence of surroundings could never 
 have destroyed or changed him fundamen- 
 tally. So it was true, as Macaulay has said, 
 that "from the Parliament and from the 
 court, from the conventicle and from the 
 Gothic cloister, from the gloomy and sepul- 
 chral rites of the Koundheads, and from 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 91 
 
 the Christmas revel of the hospitable cava- 
 lier, his nature selected and drew to itself 
 whatever was great and good, while it re- 
 jected all the base and pernicious ingre- 
 dients by which these finer elements were 
 defiled." And yet the very process of re- 
 jection had its effect upon him. The fierce 
 conflicts of theology and politics in which 
 for twenty years he was absorbed left their 
 marks upon him for good and for evil. They 
 tried him as by fire. They brought out all 
 his strength of action and endurance. They 
 made his wiU like steel. They gave him 
 the God-like power of one who has suffered 
 to the uttermost. But they also disturbed, 
 at least for a time, the serenity of his men- 
 tal processes. They made the flow of his 
 thought turbulent and uneven. They nar- 
 rowed, at the same time that they intensi- 
 fied, his emotions. They made him an in- 
 veterate controversialist, whose God must 
 argue and whose angels were debaters. 
 They crushed his humour and his tender- 
 ness. Himself, however, the living poet, the 
 supreme imagination, the seraphic utterance, 
 they did not crush, but rather strengthened. 
 And so it came to pass that in him we have 
 the miracle of literature, — the lost river of 
 
92 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 poetry springing suddenly, as at Divine com- 
 mand, from the bosom of the rock, no trick- 
 ling and diminished rill, but a sweeping 
 flood, laden with richest argosies of thought. 
 
 IV. 
 
 How to speak of Paradise Lost I know 
 not. To call it a master-work is superfluous. 
 To say that it stands absolutely alone and 
 supreme is both true and false. Parts of it 
 are like other poems, and yet there is no 
 poem in the world like it. The theme is 
 old ; had been treated by the author of 
 Genesis in brief, by Du Bartas and other 
 rhymers at length. The manner is old, in- 
 herited from Virgil and Dante. And yet, 
 beyond aU question. Paradise Lost is one 
 of the most unique, individual, uumistaka/- 
 ble poems in the world's literature. ' Imita- 
 tions of it have been attempted by Mont- 
 gomery, PoUok, Bickersteth, and other pious 
 versifiers, but they are no more like the 
 original than St. Peter's in Montreal is like 
 St. Peter's in Eome, or than the pile of 
 coarse-grained limestone on New York's 
 Fifth Avenue is like the Cathedral of 
 Milan, with its 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 93 
 
 Chanting quires, 
 The giant windows' blazoned fires, 
 The height, the space, the gloom, the glory, 
 A mount of marble, a hundred spires ! 
 
 Imitation may be the sincerest flattery, 
 but imitation never produces the deepest 
 resemblance. The man who imitates is con- 
 cerned with that which is outward, but 
 kinship of spirit is inward. He who is next 
 of kin to a master-mind will himself be too 
 great for the work of a copyist ; he will 
 be influenced, if at all, unconsciously ; and 
 though the intellectual relationship may be 
 expressed also in some external traits of 
 speech and manner, the true likeness will be 
 in the temper of the soul and the sameness 
 of the moral purpose. Such likeness, I 
 think, we can discern between Paradise 
 Lost and Tennyson's greatest works, The 
 Idylls of the King and In Memoriam. 
 
 I shall speak first and more briefly of the 
 Idylls, because I intend to make them the 
 subject of another study from a different 
 point of view. At present we have to con- 
 sider onlv their relations to the work of 
 Milton. And in this connection we ought 
 not to forget that he was the first to call at- 
 tention to the legend of King Arthur as a 
 
94 THE POETRY OF TENNT80N. 
 
 fit subject for a great poem. Having made 
 up his mind to write a national epic whicli 
 should do for England that which Tasso and 
 Ariosto had done for Italy, " that which the 
 greatest and choicest wits of Athens and 
 Rome, and those Hebrews of old did for 
 their country," Milton tells us that he enter- 
 tained for a long time a design to 
 
 Revoke into song the kings of onr island, 
 
 Arthur yet from his nnderground hiding stirring to -war- 
 fare, 
 
 Or to tell of those that sat round him as Knights of his 
 Tahle ; 
 
 Great-souled heroes umnatched, and (0 might the spirit 
 but aid me). 
 
 Shiver the Sazon phalanxes under the shock of the Bri- 
 tons. 
 
 The design was abandoned : but it was a 
 fortunate fate that brought it at last into the 
 hands of the one man, since Milton died, 
 who was able to carry it to completion. 
 
 Compare the Terse of the Idylls with that 
 of Paradise Lost. 
 
 Both Milton and Tennyson have been led 
 by their study of the classic poets to under- 
 stand that rhyme is the least important ele- 
 ment of good poetry ; the best music is made 
 by the concord rather than by the unison 
 of sounds, and the coincidence of final con- 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 95 
 
 sonants is but a slight matter compared with 
 the cadence of syllables and the accented 
 harmony of long vowels. Indeed it may be 
 questioned whether the inevitable recurrence 
 of the echo of rhyme does not disturb and 
 break the music more than it enhances it. 
 Certainly Milton thought so, and he frank- 
 ly took great credit to himself for setting 
 the example, "the first in English, of an- 
 cient liberty recovered to heroic poems from 
 the troublesome and modern bondage of 
 riming." 
 
 There were many to follow him in this 
 path, but for the most part with ignominious 
 and lamentable failure. They fell into the 
 mistake of thinking that because unrhymed 
 verse was more free it was less difficult, and, 
 making their liberty a cloak of poetic li- 
 cense, they poured forth floods of accurately 
 measured prose under the delusion that they 
 were writing blank-verse. The fact is that 
 this is the one form of verse which requires 
 the most delicate ear and the most patient 
 labour. In Cowper, Coleridge, Southey, 
 Wordsworth, Browning, these preconditions 
 are wanting. And with the possible excep- 
 tion of Matthew Arnold's Sohrab and Rus- 
 turn, the first English blank-verse worthy 
 
96 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 to compare with that of Paradise Lost is 
 found in Tennyson's Idylls of the King. 
 
 There is a shade of contrast in the move- 
 ment of the two poems. Each has its own 
 distinctive quality. In Milton we observe 
 a more stately and majestic march, more of 
 rhythm : in Tennyson a sweeter and more 
 perfect tone, more of melody. These quali- 
 ties correspond, in verse, to form and colour 
 in painting. We might say that Milton is 
 the greater draughtsman, as Michael An- 
 gelo; Tennyson the better colourist, as Ka- 
 phael. But the difference between the two 
 painters is always greater than that between 
 the two poets. For the methods by which 
 they produce their effects are substantially 
 the same ; and their results differ chiefly as 
 the work of a strong, but sometimes heavy, 
 hand differs from that of a hand less power- 
 ful, but better disciplined. 
 
 De Quincey has said, somewhere or other, 
 that finding fault with Milton's versification 
 is a dangerous pastime. The lines which you 
 select for criticism have a way of justifying 
 themselves at your expense. That which 
 you have condemned as a palpable blunder, 
 an unpardonable discord, is manifested in 
 the mouth of a better reader as majestically 
 
MILTON AND TENNTSON. 97 
 
 right and harmonious. And so, when you 
 attempt to take liberties with any passage 
 of his, you are apt to feel as when coming 
 upon what appears to be a dead lion in a 
 forest. You have an uncomfortable sus- 
 picion that he may not be dead, but only 
 sleeping ; or perhaps not even sleeping, but 
 only shamming. Many an unwary critic has 
 been thus unpleasantly surprised. Notably 
 Drs. Johnson and Bentley, and in a small 
 way Walter Savage Landor, roaring over 
 Milton's mistakes, have proved themselves 
 distinctly asinine. 
 
 But for all that, there are mistakes in 
 Paradise Lost. I say it with due fear, 
 and not without a feeling of gratitude that 
 the purpose of this essay does not require 
 me to specify them. But a sense of literary 
 candour forces me to confess the opinion 
 that the great epic contains passages in 
 which the heaviness of the thought has in- 
 fected the verse, passages which can be read 
 only with tiresome effort, lines in which the 
 organ-player's foot seems to have slipped 
 upon the pedals and made a ponderous dis- 
 cord. This cannot be said of the Idylls. 
 Their music is not broken or jangled. It 
 may never rise to the loftiest heights, but it 
 
98 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 never falls to the lowest depths. Tennyson 
 has written nothing so strong as the flight 
 of Satan through Chaos, nothing so sublime 
 as the invocation to Light, nothing so rich 
 as the first description of Eden ; but taking 
 the blank-verse of the Idylls through and 
 through, as a work of art, it is more finished, 
 more expressive, more perfectly musical than 
 that of Paradise Lost. 
 
 The true relationship of these poems lies, 
 as I have said, beneath the surface. It con- 
 sists in their ideal unity of theme and 
 lesson. For what is it in fact with which 
 Milton and Tennyson concern themselves? 
 Not the mere story of Adam and Eve's 
 transgression ; not the legendary wars of 
 Arthur and his knights ; but the everlasting 
 conflict of the human soul with the adver- 
 sary, the struggle against sin, the power of 
 the slightest taint of evil to infect, pollute, 
 destroy all that is fairest and best. Both poets 
 tell the story of a paradise lost, and lost 
 through sin ; first, the happy garden designed 
 by God to be the home of stainless inno- 
 cence and bliss, whose gates are closed for- 
 ever against the guilty race ; and then, the 
 glorious realm of peace and love and law 
 which the strong and noble king would 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 99 
 
 make and defend amid the world's warfares, 
 but which is secretly corrupted, undermined, 
 destroyed at last in blackening gloom. 
 
 To Arthur, as to Adam, destruction comes 
 through that which seems, and indeed is, 
 the loveliest and the dearest. The beauteous 
 mother of mankind, fairer than all her daugh- 
 ters since, drawn by her own highest desire of 
 knowledge into disobedience, yields the first 
 entrance to the fatal sin; and Guinevere, 
 the imperial-moulded queen, led by degrees 
 from a true friendship into a false love for 
 Lancelot, infects the court and the whole 
 realm with death. Vain are all safeguards 
 and defenses; vain aU high resolves and 
 noble purposes ; vain the instructions of 
 the archangel charging the possessors of 
 Eden to 
 
 Be strong, live happy, and love ! but first of all 
 Him -whoni to love is to obey ! 
 
 vain the strait vows and solemn oaths by 
 which the founder of the Table bound his 
 knights 
 
 To rererence the Eang as if he were 
 
 Their conscience, and their conscience as their King, 
 
 To break the heathen and uphold the Christ. 
 
 All in vain ! for sin comes creeping in ; and 
 sin, the slightest, the most seeming-venial, 
 
100 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the most beautiful, is the seed of shame and 
 death. This is the profound truth to which 
 the Idylls of the King and Paradise Lost 
 alike bear witness. And to teach this, to 
 teach it in forms of highest art which should 
 live forever in the imagination of the race, 
 was the moral purpose of Milton and Ten- 
 nyson. 
 
 But there is another aspect of this theme, 
 which is hardly touched in the Idylls. Sin 
 has a relation to God as well as to man, 
 since it exists in His universe. Is it stronger 
 than the Almighty ? Is His will wrath ? Is 
 His purpose destruction ? Is darkness the 
 goal of all things, and is there no other sig- 
 nificance in death ; no deliverance from its 
 gloomy power ? In Paradise Lost, Milton 
 has dealt with this problem also. Side by 
 side with the record " of man's first disobe- 
 dience " he has constructed the great argu- 
 ment whereby he would 
 
 Assert eternal ProTidence 
 And justify the ways of God to men. 
 
 The poem has, therefore, parallel with its 
 human side, a divine side, for which we shall 
 look in vain among the Idylls of the King. 
 Tennyson has approached this problem from 
 another standpoint in a different manner. 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 101 
 
 And if we wish to know his solution of it, 
 his answer to the mystety of death, we must 
 look for it in In Memoriam. 
 
 This poem is an elegy for Arthur Hallam, 
 finished throughout its seven hundred and 
 twenty-four stanzas with all that delicate 
 care which the elegiac form requires, and 
 permeated with the tone of personal grie^ 
 not passionate, hut profound and pure. But 
 it is such an elegy as the world has never 
 seen hefore, and never will see again. It is 
 the work of years, elaborated with such skiU 
 and adorned with such richness of poetic 
 imagery as other men have thought too great 
 to bestow upon an epic. It is the most ex- 
 quisite structure ever reared above a human 
 grave, more wondrous and more immortal 
 than that world-famous tomb which widowed 
 Artemisia built for the Carian Mausolus. 
 But it is also something far grander and 
 better. Beyond the narrow range of per- 
 sonal loss and loneliness, it sweeps into the 
 presence of the eternal realities, faces the 
 great questions of our mysterious existence, 
 and reaches out to lay hold of that hope 
 which is unseen but abiding, whereby alone 
 we are saved. Its motto might well be given 
 in the words of St. Paul: For our light 
 
102 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 affliction which is hut for a moment worketh 
 for us a far more exceeding and eternal 
 weight of glory ; while we look not at the 
 things which are seen, but at the things 
 which are not seen; for the things which 
 are seen are temporal, hut the things which 
 are not seen are eternal. 
 
 At first sight it may seem almost absurd 
 to compare the elegy with the epic, and im- 
 possible to discover any resemblance between 
 those long -rolling, thunderous periods of 
 blank-verse and these short swallow-flights 
 of song which " dip their wings in tears and 
 skim away." The comparison of In Memo- 
 riam with Lycidas would certainly appear 
 more easy and obvious ; so obvious, indeed, 
 that it has been made a thousand times, and 
 is fluently repeated by every critic who has 
 had occasion to speak of English elegies. 
 But this is just one of those cases in which 
 an external similarity conceals a fundamental 
 unlikeness. For, in the first place, Edward 
 King, to whose memory Lycidas was dedi- 
 cated, was far from being an intimate friend 
 of Milton, and his lament has no touch of 
 the deep heart-sorrow which throbs in In 
 Memoriam. And, in the second place, Ly- 
 cidas is in no sense a metaphysical poem. 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 103 
 
 does not descend into the depths or attempt 
 to answer the vexed questions. But In M&- 
 moriam is, in its very essence, profoundly 
 and thoroughly metaphysical; and this brings 
 it at once into close relation with Paradise 
 Lost. They are the two most famous poems 
 — with the exception of Dante's Divine 
 Comedy — which deal directly with the mys- 
 teries of faith and reason, the doctrine of 
 God and immortality. 
 
 There is a point, however, in which we 
 must acknowledge an essential and absolute 
 difference between the great epic and the 
 great elegy, something deeper and more vital 
 than any contrast of form and metre. Par- 
 adise Lost is a theological poem. In Memo- 
 riam is a religious poem. The distinction is 
 narrow, but deep. For religion differs from 
 theology as life differs from biology. Milton 
 approaches the problem from the side of 
 reason, resting, it is true, upon a supernat- 
 ural revelation, but careful to reduce all 
 its contents to a logical form, demanding a 
 clearly-formulated and closely-linked expla^ 
 nation of all things, a^nd seeking to establish 
 his system of truth upon the basis of sound 
 argument. His method is distinctly rational ; 
 Tennyson's is emotional. He has no linked 
 
104 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 chain of deductive reasoning ; no sharp-cut 
 definition of objective truths. His faith is 
 subjective, intuitive. Where proof fails him, 
 he will still believe. When the processes 
 of reason are shaken, disturbed, frustrated ; 
 when absolute demonstration appears im- 
 possible, and doubt claims a gloomy empire 
 in the mind, then the deathless fire that God 
 has kindled in the breast burns toward that 
 heaven which is its source and home, and the 
 swift answer of immortal love leaps out to 
 solve the mystery of the grave. Thus Ten- 
 nyson feels after God, and leads us by the 
 paths of faith and emotion to the same goal 
 which Milton reaches by the road of reason 
 and logic. 
 
 Each of these methods is characteristic 
 not only of the poet who uses it, but also of 
 the age in which it is employed. Paradise 
 Lost does not echo more distinctly the age 
 of the Westminster divines than In Memo- 
 riam represents the age of Maurice and 
 Kingsley and Robertson. It is a mistake to 
 think that the tendency of our day is toward 
 rationalism. That was the drift of Milton's 
 time. Our modern movement is toward 
 emotionalism, a religion of feeling, a sub- 
 jective system in which the sentiments and 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. 105 
 
 affections shall be acknowledged as lawful 
 tests of truth. This movement has undoubt- 
 edly an element of danger in it, as well as 
 an element of promise. It may be carried to 
 a false extreme. But this much is clear, — 
 it has been the strongest inspiration of the 
 men of our own time who have fought most 
 bravely against atheism and the cold nega- 
 tions of scientific despair. And the music 
 of it is voiced forever in In Memoriam. It 
 is the heart now, not the colder reason, which 
 rises to 
 
 Assert eternal ProTidenoe 
 And jnstify the ways of God to men. 
 
 But the answer is none other than that 
 which was given by the blind poet. The 
 larger meanings of In Memoriam and Par- 
 adise Lost — whatever we may say of their 
 lesser meanings — find their harmony in 
 the same 
 
 Strong Son of God. 
 
 Is Tennyson a Pantheist because he speaks 
 of 
 
 One God, one law, one element. 
 And one far-off dmne event 
 To which the whole creation moves ? 
 
 Then so is Milton a Pantheist when he 
 makes the Son say to the Father, — 
 
106 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ThoTi shalt be all in all, and I in thee 
 Forever, and in me all whom thou lovest. 
 
 Is Tennyson an Agnostic because he 
 speaks of the "truths that never can be 
 proved," and finds a final answer to the mys- 
 teries of life only in a hope which is hid- 
 den " behind the veil " ? Then so is Milton 
 an Agnostic, because he declares 
 
 Heaven is for thee too high 
 To know what passes there. Be lowly wise ; 
 Think only what concerns thee and thy being. 
 Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid ; 
 Leave them to God above. 
 
 Is Tennyson a Universalist because he says. 
 
 Oh, yet we trust that somehow good 
 Will be the final goal of ill 
 To pangs of nature, sins of will, 
 
 Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ? 
 
 Then so is Milton a Universalist when he 
 exclaims, — 
 
 0, goodness infinite, goodness immense, 
 That all this good of evil shall produce, 
 And evil turn to good ! 
 
 The faith of the two poets is one ; the 
 great lesson of In Memoriam and Paradise 
 Lost is the same. The hope of the universe 
 is in the Son of God, whom Milton and Ten- 
 nyson both call " Immortal Love." To Him 
 through mists and shadows we must look up, 
 
MILTON AND TENNYSON. ' 107 
 
 Gladly behold, though but bis utmost skirts 
 Of glory, and far-off his steps adore. 
 
 Thus our cry out of the darkness shall be 
 answered. Knowledge shall grow from more 
 to more. 
 
 Light after light well-used we shall attain. 
 And to the end persisting safe arriTe. 
 
 But this can come only through self-surren- 
 der and obedience, only through the conse- 
 cration of the free-will to God who gave it ; 
 and the highest prayer of the light-seeking, 
 upward-striving human soul is this : — 
 
 O, Ufing will that shalt endure. 
 
 When all that seems shall suffer shock, 
 Bise in the spiritual Rock, 
 
 Flow through our deeds and make them pure, 
 
 That we may lift from out the dust 
 
 A voice as unto him that hears, 
 
 A cry aboTe the conquered years, 
 To one that with us works and trust, 
 
 With faith that comes of self-control, 
 The truths that never can be proved 
 Until we close with all we love. 
 
 And all we flow from, soul in sonl. 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 
 
 It was somewhere in the forties of this 
 century that Edgar Allan Poe put forth a 
 new docti'ine of poetry, which, if I remem- 
 ber rightly, ran somewhat on this wise : 
 'The greatest poems must be short. For 
 the poetic inspiration is of the nature of a 
 flash of lightning and endures only for a 
 moment. But what a man writes between 
 the flashes is worth comparatively little. 
 All long poems are therefore, of necessity, 
 poor in proportion to their length, — or at 
 best they are but a mass of pudding in which 
 the luscious plums of poetry are embedded 
 and partially concealed.' 
 
 This ingenious theory (which has a slight 
 air of special pleading") has never been gen- 
 erally accepted. Indeed, at the very time 
 when Mr. Poe was propounding it, and using 
 the early poems of Tennyson as an illus- 
 tration, the world at large was taking for 
 granted the truth of the opposite theory, and 
 demanding that the newly discovered poet 
 
112 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 should prove his claim to greatness by writ- 
 ing something long. " We want to see," 
 said one of the best of the critics in 1842, 
 " a poem of power and sustained energy. 
 Mr. Tennyson already enjoys a high posi- 
 tion ; let him aim at one still higher ; why 
 not the highest ? " 
 
 I believe that it was, at least partly, in 
 answer to demands of this kind that The 
 Princess appeared in 1847. Mr. Poe might 
 have claimed it as an illustration of his 
 theory. For it certainly adds more to the 
 bulk of Tennyson's poems than it con- 
 tributes to the lasting fame of his poetry. 
 Its length is greater than its merit. There 
 are parts of it in which the style falls below 
 the level of poetry of the first rank ; and 
 these are the very parts where the verse 
 is most diffuse and the story moves most 
 slowly through thickets of overgrown de- 
 scription. The "flash of lightning theory " 
 of poetic inspiration, although it is very far 
 from being true and complete as a whole, 
 appears to fit this poem with peculiar nicety ; 
 for the finest things in it are quite dis- 
 tinct, and so much better than the rest that 
 they stand out as if illumined with sudden 
 light. 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 113 
 
 I know that there are some ardent ad- 
 mirers of Tennyson who will dispute this 
 opinion. They will point out the admirable 
 moral lesson of The Princess, which is evi- 
 dent, and dwell upon its great influence in 
 advancing the higher education of women, 
 which is indisputable. They will insist upon 
 its manifest superiority to other contempo- 
 rary novels in verse, like Lucile or The 
 Angel in the House. Let us grant all this. 
 Still it does not touch the point of the criti- 
 cism. For it is Tennyson himself who gives 
 the standard of comparison. If Giulio Ro- 
 mano had painted the Madonna di Foligno, 
 we migbt call it a great success — for him. 
 But beside La Sistina, or even beside the 
 little Madonna del Granduca, it suffers. 
 Enoch Arden, Dora, Aylmer''s Field, Locks- 
 ley Hall, are all shorter than The Princess, 
 but they are better. Their inspiration is 
 more sustained. The style fits the substance 
 more perfectly. The poetic life in them is 
 stronger and more enduring. One might 
 say of them that they have more soul and 
 less body. In brief, what I mean to say is 
 this: The Princess is one of the minor 
 poems of a major poet. 
 
 But there is poetry enough in it to make 
 
114 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the reputation of a man of ordinary genius. 
 And what I want to do in this little essay is 
 to value this element of genuine poetry at 
 its true worth, and to distinguish it, if I 
 can, from the lower elements which seem to 
 me to mar the beauty and weaken the force 
 of the poem. 
 
 The Princess has for its theme the eman- 
 cipation of woman, — a great question, cer- 
 tainly, but also a vexed question, and one 
 which is better adapted to prose than to 
 poetry, at least in the present stage of its 
 discussion. It has so many sides, and such 
 humorous aspects, and such tedious compli- 
 cations in this Nineteenth Century, that it is 
 difficult to lift it up into the realm of the 
 ideal ; and yet I suppose the man does not 
 live, certainly the poet can hardly be found, 
 who would venture to treat it altogether as 
 a subject for realistic comedy. That would 
 be a dangerous, perhaps a fatal experiment. 
 Tennyson appears to have felt this difficulty. 
 He calls his story of the Princess Ida, who 
 set out to be the deliverer of her sex by 
 founding a Woman's University, and ended 
 by marrying the Prince who came to woo 
 her in female disguise, "a Medley." He 
 represents the imaginary poet, who appears 
 
THE PRJNCESS AND MAUD. 115 
 
 in the Prologue, and who undertakes to 
 dress up the story in verse for the ladies 
 and gentlemen to whom it was told at a pic- 
 nic, as being in a strait betwixt two parties 
 in the audience : one party demanding a bur- 
 lesque; the other party wishing for some- 
 thing " true-heroic." And so he says, — 
 
 I moved as in a strange diagonal, 
 
 And maybe neither pleased myseK nor them. 
 
 This diagonal movement may have been 
 necessary; but it is unquestionably a little 
 confusing. One hardly knows how to take 
 the poet. At one moment he is very much in 
 earnest ; the next moment he seems to be 
 making fun of the woman's coUege. The 
 style is like a breeze which blows northwest 
 by southeast ; it may be a very lively breeze, 
 and full of sweet odours from every quarter; 
 but the trouble is that we cannot tell which 
 way to trim our sails to catch the force of 
 it, and so our craft goes jibing to and fro, 
 without making progress in any direction. 
 
 I think we feel this uncertainty most of all 
 in the characters of the Princess and the 
 Prince, — and I name the Princess first be- 
 cause she is evidently the hero of the poem. 
 Sometimes she appears very admirable and 
 lovable, in a stately kind of beauty; but 
 
116 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 again she seems like a woman from whom a 
 man with ordinary prudence and a proper 
 regard for his own sense of humour would 
 promptly and carefuUy flee away, appreciat- 
 ing the truth of the description which her 
 father, King Gama, gives of her, — 
 
 Awful odes she -wrote, 
 Too awful sure for -what they treated of, 
 But all she says and does is awful. 
 
 There is a touch of her own style, it seems 
 to me, here and there in the poem. The 
 epithets are somewhat too numerous and too 
 stately. The art is decidedly arabesque ; 
 there is a surplus of ornament; and here, 
 more than anywhere else, one finds it difficult 
 to defend Tennyson from the charge of over- 
 elaboration. For example, he says of the 
 eight " daughters of the plough," who worked 
 at the woman's college, that 
 
 Each was like a Druid rock; 
 Or Uke a spire of land that stands apart 
 Cleft from the main, and wail'd about with mews. 
 
 The image is grand, — just a little too 
 grand for a group of female servants, sum- 
 moned to eject the three masculine intruders 
 from the university. 
 
 ITie Princess was the first of Tennyson's 
 poems to become widely known in America, 
 and it is a curious fact that the most favour- 
 
TEE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 117 
 
 able, as well as the most extensive, criticisms 
 of it have come from this side of the At- 
 lantic. First, there was Professor James 
 Hadley's thoughtful review in 1849; then 
 Mr. Edmund Clarence Stedman's eloquent 
 paragraphs in " Victorian Poets ;" then Mr. 
 S. E. Dawson's admirable monograph pub- 
 lished in Montreal ; and finally Mr. William 
 J. Rolfe's scholarly " variorum " edition of 
 The Princess, with notes. Mr. Dawson's 
 excellent little book was the occasion of 
 drawing from Tennyson a letter, which 
 seems to me one of the most valuable, as it 
 is certainly one of the longest, pieces of 
 prose that he has ever given to the public. 
 It describes his manner of observing nature 
 and his practice of making a rough mental 
 note in four or five words, like an artist's 
 sketch, of whatever strikes him as pictur- 
 esque, that is to say, fit to go into a picture. 
 ITie Princess is fuU of the results of this 
 kind of work, scattered here and there like 
 flowers in a tangle of meadow-grass. For 
 example, take these two descriptions of 
 dawn: — 
 
 Notice of a change in the dark world 
 Was lispt ahont the acacias, and a bird 
 Tliat early woke to feed her little ones 
 Sent from her dewy hreast a cry for light. — 
 
118 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Mom in the white wake of the moming star 
 Came furrowing all the orient into gold. — 
 
 These are as different in feeling as possible, 
 yet each is true, and each is fitted to the 
 place in which it stands ; for the one de- 
 scribes the beginning of a day among the 
 splendours of the royal college before it was 
 broken up ; the other describes the twilight 
 of the morning in which the Princess began 
 to yield her heart to the tender touch of love. 
 Or take again these two pictures of storm : — 
 
 And standing like a stately pine 
 Set in a cataract on an island-crag, 
 When storm is on the heights, and right and left 
 Snek'd from the deirk heart of the long hilla roll 
 The torrents, dash'd to the vale. — 
 
 As one that climbs a peak to gaze 
 O'er land and main, and sees a great black cloud 
 Drag inward from the deeps, a wall of night. 
 Blot out the slope of sea from verge to shore, 
 And snck the blinding splendour from the sand, 
 And quenching lake by lake and tarn by tain, 
 Bxpunge the world. — 
 
 Tennyson says that the latter of these pas- 
 sages is a recollection of a coming tempest 
 watched from the summit of Snowdon. 
 Work like this, so clear, so powerful, so 
 exact, would go far to redeem any poem, 
 however tedious. 
 
TEE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 119 
 
 But better still is the love-scene in the 
 last canto, where the poet drops the tantal- 
 izing vein of mock-heroics, and tells us his 
 real thought of woman's place and work in 
 the world, in words which are as wise as 
 they are beautiful. I have quoted them in 
 another place and may not repeat them here. 
 But there is one passage which I cannot 
 forbear to give, because it seems to describe 
 something of Tennyson's own life. 
 
 Alooe, from ea/tUer than I know, 
 Immersed in rich f oreshadowings of the wotid, 
 I loved the woman : he that doth not, lives 
 A drowning life, hesotted in sweet self, 
 Or pines in sad experience worse than death, 
 Or keeps his wing'd afEections clipt with crime: 
 Yet was there one thro' whom I loved her, one 
 Not learned, save in gracious household ways, 
 Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants, 
 No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt 
 In angel instincts, breathing Paradise, 
 Interpreter between the gods and men, 
 Who look'd all native to her place, and yet 
 On tiptoe seemed to touch upon a sphere 
 Too gross to tread, and all male minds perforce 
 Sway'd to her from their orbits as they moved. 
 And girded her with music. Happy he 
 With such a mother ! faith in womankind 
 Beats with his blood, and trust in aU things high 
 Comes easy to him, and tho' he trip and fall 
 He shall not blind his soul with clay. 
 
 This is worthy to be put beside Words- 
 worth's — 
 
120 TBE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 " A creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food." 
 
 But the very best tilings in the poem are, 
 " Tears, idle tears," the " small, sweet Idyl," 
 and the songs which divide the cantos. Ten- 
 nyson tells us in a letter that these songs 
 were not an after-thought ; that he had de- 
 signed them from the first, but doubted 
 whether they were necessary, and did not 
 overcome his laziness to insert them until the 
 third edition in 1850. It may be that he 
 came as near as this to leaving out the jew- 
 els which are to the poem what the stained- 
 glass windows are to the confused vastness 
 of York Minster, — the light and glory of 
 the structure. It would have been a fatal 
 loss. For he has never done anything more 
 pure and perfect than these songs, clear and 
 simple and musical as the chime of silver 
 bells, deep in their power of suggestion as 
 music itself. Not a word in them can be 
 omitted or altered, neither can they be trans- 
 lated. The words are the songs. " Sweet 
 and low," " Ask me no more," and " Blow, 
 bugle, blow " will be remembered and sung, 
 as long as English hearts move to the sweet 
 melody of love and utter its secret meanings 
 in the English tongue. 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 121 
 
 I have put Maud and The Princess to- 
 gether, because it seems to me that they have 
 some things in common. They are both 
 intensely modern; both deal with the pas- 
 sion of romantic love ; in both, the story 
 is an important element of interest. But 
 these points of resemblance only serve to 
 bring out more clearly the points of contrast. 
 The one is epic ; the other is dramatic. The 
 one is complicated ; the other is simple. The 
 style of the one is narrative, diffuse, deco- 
 rated ; the style of the other is personal, di- 
 rect, condensed. In the one you see rather 
 vague characters, whose development de- 
 pends largely upon the unfolding of the plot ; 
 in the other you see the unfolding of the plot 
 controlled by the development of a single, 
 strongly-marked character. In fact, Tenny- 
 son himself has given us the only true start- 
 ing-point for the criticism of each of these 
 poems in a single word, by calling the Prirv- 
 cess " a Medley ," and Maud " a Mono- 
 drama." 
 
 I wiU confess frankly, although frank con- 
 fession is not precisely fashionable among 
 critics, that for a long time I misunderstood 
 Maud and underrated it. This came from 
 looking at it from the wrong point of view. 
 
122 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 I was enlightened by hearing the poet him- 
 self read it aloud. 
 
 Tennyson's reading is extraordinary. His 
 voice is deep, strong, masculine ; limited in 
 its range, with a tendency to monotone, 
 broadening and prolonging the vowels, and 
 rolling the r's ; it is not flexible, nor melodi- 
 ous in the common sense of the word, but it 
 is musical in a higher sense, as the voice of 
 the sea is musical. When he reads he for- 
 gets all the formal rules of elocution, raises 
 his voice a little higher than his usual tone in 
 speaking, and pours out the poem in a sus- 
 tained rhythmic chant. He is carried away 
 by it and lost in it. In the passionate pas- 
 sages his voice rises and swells like the sound 
 of the wind in the pine-trees ; in the lines 
 which express grief and loneliness it breaks 
 and falls like the throbbing and murmuring 
 of the waves on the beach. You feel the 
 profound human sympathy of the man, the 
 largeness and force of his nature. You un- 
 derstand the secret of the perfection of his 
 lyrical poems. Each one of them has been 
 composed to a distinct music of its own. He 
 has heard it in his mind before he has put it 
 into words. You see also why his character- 
 pieces are so strong. He has been absorbed 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 123 
 
 in each one of them. The living personality- 
 has been real to him, and he has entered into 
 its life. 
 
 All this came home to me as I sat in the 
 evening twilight in the study at Aldworth, 
 and listened to the poet, with his massive 
 head outlined against the pale glow of the 
 candles, his dark dreamy eyes fixed closely 
 upon the book, and lifted now and then to 
 mark the emphasis of a word or the close of 
 a forceful line, and his old voice ringing with 
 all the passion of youth, as he chanted the 
 varying cantos of the lyrical drama of 
 Maud. I understood why he loves it, and 
 what it means. I felt that although it may 
 not be ranked with his greatest work, like 
 In M&moriam, and the Idylls qf the King, 
 it is certainly one of his most original poems. 
 
 You must remember always in reading it, 
 what it is meant to be, — a lyrical drama. 
 It shows the unfolding of a lonely, morbid 
 soul, touched with inherited madness, under 
 the influence of a pure and passionate love. 
 Each lyric is meant to express a new mo- 
 ment in this process. The things which seem 
 like faults belong not so much to the poem 
 as to the character of the hero. 
 
 He is wrong, of course, in much that he 
 
124 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON: 
 
 says. If he had been always wise and just 
 he would not have been himself. He begins 
 with a false comparison, " blood-red heath." 
 There is no such thing in nature. But he 
 sees the heather tinged like blood because 
 his mind has been disordered and his sight 
 discolored by the tragedy of his youth. He 
 is wrong in thinking that war will transform 
 the cheating tradesman into a great-souled 
 hero, or that it will sweep away the dishon- 
 esties and lessen the miseries of humanity. 
 The history of the Crimea proves his error. 
 But this very delusion is natural to him ; it 
 is in keeping with his morbid, melancholy, 
 impulsive character to seek a cure for the 
 evils of peace in the horrors of war. 
 
 He is wild and excessive, of course, in his 
 railings and complainings. He takes offence 
 at fancied slights, reviles those whom he dis- 
 likes, magnifies trifles, is subject to halluci- 
 nations, hears his name called in the corners 
 of his lonely house, fancies that aU the world 
 is against him. He is not always noble even 
 in the expression of his love, at first. He 
 sometimes strikes a false note, and strains 
 the tone of passion until it is almost hysteri- 
 cal. There is at least one passage in which 
 he sings absurdly of trifles, and becomes, as 
 
THE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 125 
 
 he himself feared that he would, "fantas- 
 tically merry." But aU this is just what 
 such a man would do in such a case. The 
 _ESjcliological studyj§4)erfect, from the first 
 outburst of moody rage in the opening canto, 
 through the unconscious struggle against 
 love and the exuberant joy which follows its 
 entrance into his heart and the blank despair 
 which settles upon him when it is lost, down 
 to the wonderful picture of real madness 
 with which the second part closes. It is as 
 true as truth itself. But what is there in the 
 story to make it worth the teUing ? What 
 elements of beauty has the poet conferred 
 upon it ? What has he given to this strange 
 and wayward hero to redeem him ? Three 
 gifts. 
 
 First, he has the gift of exquisite, delicate, 
 sensitive perception. He sees and hears the 
 wonderful, beautiful things which only the 
 poet can see and hear. He knows that the 
 under-side of the English daisy is pink; and 
 when Maud passes homeward through the 
 fields, he can trace her path by the upturned 
 flowers, — 
 
 For her feet hare touch' d the meadows 
 And left the daisies rosy. 
 
 He sees how the tops of the trees, on a 
 
126 TBE POBTBT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 windy morning, are first bowed by the wind, 
 and then tossed from side to side, — 
 
 Caught and cuff'd by the gale. 
 
 He has noted the color of the red buds on 
 the lime-tree in the spring, and how the 
 green leaves burst through them, — 
 
 A million emeralds break from the mby-budded lime. 
 
 He has heard the " broad-flung shipwrecking 
 roar of the tide," and the sharp " scream " 
 of the pebbles on the beach dragged down 
 by the receding wave. He has listened to 
 the birds that seem to be calling " Maud, 
 Maud, Maud, Maud," — and he" knows per- 
 fectly well that they are not nightingales, 
 but rooks, flying to their nests in the tall 
 trees around the Hall. The poem is rich 
 in the comprehension of nature. 
 
 The second gift which is bestowed upon 
 the hero of Maud is the power of song. 
 And in bestowing this the poet has proved 
 the fineness and subtlety of his knowledge. 
 For it is precisely this gift of song which 
 sometimes descends upon a wayward, un- 
 sound life, — as it did upon Shelley's, — and 
 draws from it a few tones of ravishing sweet- 
 ness ; not harmonies, for harmony belongs to 
 the broader, saner mind, but melodies, which 
 
TBE PRINCESS AND MAUD. 127 
 
 catcli the heart and linger in the memory 
 forever. Strains of this music come to us 
 from Maud : the song of triumphant love, — 
 
 I haye led her home, my lore, my only friend. 
 There is none like her, none, — 
 
 the nocturne that rises like the breath of 
 passion from among the flowers, — 
 
 Come into the garden, Maud, — 
 
 and the lament 
 
 O that 't were possible. 
 
 These lyrics are magical, unf orgetable ; they 
 give an immortal beauty to the poem. 
 
 The third gift, and the greatest, which 
 belongs to the hero of Maud, is the capacity 
 ■ for intense, absorbing, ennobling love. It is 
 this that makes Maud love him, and saves 
 him from himself, and brings him out at 
 last from the wreck of his life, a man who 
 has awaked to the nobler mind and knows — 
 
 It is better to fight for the good than rail at the ill. 
 
 How marvellously this awakening is traced 
 through the poem. His love is tinged with 
 selfishness at first. He thinks of the smile 
 of Maud as the charm which is to make the 
 world sweet to him; he says 
 
 Then let come what come may 
 To a life that has been so sad, 
 I shall have had my day. 
 
128 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 But unconsciously it purifies itself. He looks 
 up at the stars and says — 
 
 But now shine on, and what care I, 
 
 Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl 
 
 The countercharm of space and hollow sky, 
 
 And do accept my madness, and would die 
 
 To save from some slight shame one simple girL 
 
 And at last, when his own fault has destroyed 
 his happiness and divided him from her 
 forever, his love does not perish, but triumphs 
 over the selfishness of grief. 
 
 Comfort her, comfort her, all things good, 
 
 While I am over the sea I 
 
 Let me and my passionate love go by, 
 
 But speak to her all things holy and high, 
 
 Whatever happen to me I 
 
 Me and my harmful love go by ; 
 
 But come to her waking, find her asleep. 
 
 Powers of the height. Powers of the deep. 
 
 And comfort her tho' I die. 
 
 This is the meaning of Maud. Love is the 
 power that redeems from self. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 The record of a faith sublime. 
 
 And hope, through clouds, far-off discerned ; 
 
 The incense of a lame that burned 
 Through pain and doubt defying Time: 
 
 The story of a soul at strife 
 That learned at last to kiss the rod, 
 And passed through sorrow up to God, 
 
 From living to a higher life : 
 
 A light that gleams across the wave 
 Of darkness, down the rolling years, 
 Piercing the heavy mist of tears, — 
 
 A rainbow shining o'er the grave. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 
 
 In the middle of the nineteenth century 
 three great artists set themselves at work to 
 embody their conceptions of human life and 
 destiny in the forms of art. 
 
 Victor Hugo was the first. He tells us, 
 in one of his prefaces, that it was his 
 design to describe "the threefold conflict 
 of man : in religion, against the ananke 
 of dogmas ; in society, against the ananM of 
 laws ; in nature, against the ananhe of 
 things." The results of his labours were 
 Notre Dame de Paris, Les Miserahles, 
 and Les Travailleurs de la Mer. 
 
 Eichard Wagner was the second. It was 
 in 1857 that he turned from the Nibelungen 
 legends to the Arthurian cycle, and made 
 the story of Tristan and Isolde a musical 
 vehicle for his theory, derived from Schopen- 
 hauer, that the essence of sin is the desire 
 of personal existence. This opera was fol- 
 lowed by Parsifal, in which he taught that 
 the essence of virtue is compassion for the 
 
134 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 sufferings of others. It was his intention to 
 write a third opera called Die Sieger or Die 
 Busser, in which the essence of holiness 
 should be shown as the resignation of the 
 desire for life. Thus his great trilogy was 
 meant to be the pessimistic philosophy set to 
 music.^ 
 
 The third artist was Alfred Tennyson. 
 His purpose was to depict the warfare of 
 himianity in a poem. Like Wagner, he 
 turned to the past for his material, and was 
 attracted by the mystical beauty of the Ar- 
 thurian legends. In these antique myths he 
 desired to embody his own theory of human 
 life. Tristram and Percivale become living 
 characters in his poetry as truly as in the 
 music of Wagner. The latest great picture 
 of man's conflict with sin and fate is The 
 Idylls of the King. 
 
 The methods of the three artists are as 
 wide apart as France, Germany, and Eng- 
 land. Their standpoints have nothing in 
 common. And yet, because they have all 
 recognized that the only real history, the 
 only true tragedy, is the tragic history of the 
 soul of man, they have won a common tri- 
 umph, Victor Hugo's romances, Eichard 
 
 1 Cf . the adroirable article hy Mr. William F. Apthorp 
 in Scribner's Magazine. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 135 
 
 Wagner's music-dramas, and Alfred Tenny- 
 son's Idylls are the most striking and charac- 
 teristic art-works of the nineteenth century. 
 Critics haTe hitherto failed to perceive the 
 relation between these contemporary master- 
 pieces. The difference of form has concealed 
 the identity of theme. The oppositions of 
 doctrine have hidden the sympathy of art. 
 For the present it may he impossible to 
 make a just comparison of the novelist, the 
 musician, and the poet. At all events I do 
 not propose to try it in this essay, but shall 
 confine myself to the study of the Idylls of 
 the ^ing, from a modern standpoint, as a 
 product of art and as a solution of the prob- 
 lem of life. 
 
 I. 
 
 The history of Tennyson's Idylls of the 
 King is one of the most curious and un- 
 likely things in all the annals of literature. 
 Famous novels have so often been written 
 piecemeal and produced in parts, that read- 
 ers of fiction have made a necessity of virtue, 
 and learned to add to their faith, patience. 
 Important poems, also, have come out in this 
 periodic fashion. The chief examples that 
 now occur to me are Ghilde Harold and the 
 forever unfinishable Christabel, the latter 
 
136 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 affording a sad instance of faith deceived, 
 for it is evident that Coleridge never knew 
 the end of that story, and so patience did 
 not have her perfect work. 
 
 But that a great poet should be engaged 
 with his largest theme for more than half a 
 century ; that he should touch it first with 
 a lyric ; then with an epical fragment and 
 three more lyrics ; then with a poem which 
 its suppressed as soon as it is written ; then 
 with four romantic idylls, followed, ten years 
 later, by four others, and two years later by 
 two others, and thirteen years later by yet 
 /another idyll, which is to be placed, not be- 
 fore or after the rest, but in the very centre 
 of the cycle ; that he should begin with the 
 end, and continue with the beginning, and 
 end with the middle of the story, and pro- 
 duce at last a poem which certainly has more 
 epical grandeur and completeness than any- 
 thing that has been made in English since 
 Milton died, is a thing so marvellous that 
 no man would credit it save at the sword's 
 point of fact. And yet this is the exact 
 record of Tennyson's dealing with the Ar- 
 thurian legend. TTie Lady of Shalott, that 
 dreamlike foreshadowing of the story of 
 Elaine, was published in 1832 ; 8t, Agnes 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 137 
 
 in 1837, Si/r Galahad and Sir Lancelot 
 and Queen Guinevere in 1842. Underneath 
 their smooth music and dainty form they 
 hide the deeper conceptions of character and 
 life which the poet afterwards worked out 
 more clearly and fully. They compare with 
 the Idylls as a cameo with a statue. But 
 the germ of the whole story of the fall of 
 the Eound Table lies in this description of 
 Guinevere : 
 
 She looked so lovely, as she swayed 
 
 The rein with dainty finger-tips, 
 A man had given all other bliss, 
 Atid all his worldly worth for this, 
 To waste his whole heart in one kiss 
 Upon her perfect lips. 
 
 Morte d' Arthur was printed in the 
 same volume and marks the beginning of a 
 new manner of treatment, not lyrical, but 
 epical. It is worth while to notice the pecul- 
 iar way in which it is introduced . A brief 
 prelude, in Tennyson's conversational style, 
 brings the poem before us as the fragment 
 of an Epic of King Arthur, which had 
 contained twelve cantos, but which the poet, 
 being discontented with their antiquated 
 style, and regarding them as 
 
 Faint Homeric echoes, nothing woith, 
 
 ^' 
 
133 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 bad determined to burn. This one book 
 had been picked from the hearth by a friend, 
 and was the sole relic of the conflagration. 
 Now I do not imagine that we are to inter- 
 pret this conversation so literally as to con- 
 clude that Tennyson had actually written 
 and destroyed eleven other books upon this 
 subject; for though he has exercised a larger 
 wisdom of suppression in regard to his im- 
 mature work than almost any other poet, 
 such a wholesale consumption of his offspring 
 would have an almost Saturnine touch about 
 it. But we may certainly infer that he had 
 contemplated the idea of an Arthurian epic, 
 and had abandoned it after severe labour as 
 impracticable, and that he had intended not 
 to conclude the poem with the death of Ar- 
 thur, but to f oUow it with a sequel ; for we 
 must observe the fact, which has hitherto es- 
 caped the notice of the critics, that this res- 
 cued fragment was not the twelfth but the 
 eleventh canto in the original design. We 
 cannot help wondering what the conclusion 
 would have been if this first plan had been 
 carried out. Perhaps some vision of the 
 island valley of Avilion ; perhaps some de- 
 scription of the return of the King in mod- 
 ern guise as the founder of a new order of 
 
TBB IDYLLS OF THE KING. 139 
 
 chivalry ; but whatever it might have been 
 we can hardly regret its loss, for it is evident 
 now that the Morte d' Arthur forms the true 
 and inevitable close of the story. 
 
 How long the poet held to his decision of 
 abandoning the subject, we cannot teU. The 
 first sign that he had begun to work at it 
 again was in 1857, when he printed a poem 
 called Enid and Nimue; or, The True and 
 the False. This does not seem to have 
 satisfied his fastidious taste, for it was never 
 published, though a few copies are said to 
 be extant in private hands. In June, 1858, 
 Clough " heard Tennyson read a third Ar- 
 thur poem, — the detection of Guinevere 
 and the last interview with Arthur." In 
 1859 appeared the first volume, entitled 
 Idylls of the King, with a motto from the 
 old chronicle of Joseph of Exeter, — " Flos 
 regum Arthurus." The book contained four 
 idyUs: Enid, Vivien, Elaine, and Guine- 
 vere. Enid has since been divided into The 
 Marriage of Oeraint, and Geraint and 
 Enid. This first voliune, therefore, con- 
 tained the third, fourth, sixth, seventh, and 
 eleventh idyUs. In 1862 there was a new 
 edition, dedicated to the Prince Consort. 
 In 1870, four more idylls were published : 
 
140 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 The Coming of Arthur, The Holy Grail, 
 Pdleas and Ettarre, and The Passing oj 
 Arthur, — respectively the first, the eighth, 
 the ninth, and the twelfth, in the order as it 
 stands now. Of this volume, forty thousand 
 copies were ordered in advance. In 1872, 
 Gareth and Lynette and The fjast Tourna- 
 ment were produced, — the second and the 
 tenth parts of the cycle. In 1886^ the vol- 
 ume entitled Tiresias and other Poems con- 
 tained an idyll with the name of Balin and 
 Balan, which was designated in a note as 
 " an introduction to Merlin and Vivien," 
 and thus takes the fifth place in the series. 
 
 I have been particular in tracing the order 
 of these poems thus carefuUy because it 
 seems to me that the manner of their pro- 
 duction throws light upon several important 
 points. Leaving out of view the four Arthu- 
 rian lyrics, as examples of a style of treat- 
 ment which was manifestly too light for the 
 subject ; setting aside also the first draught 
 of the Morte d' Arthur, as a fragment whose 
 full meaning and value the poet himself did 
 not recognize until later; we observe that 
 the significance of the story of Arthur and 
 the legends that clustered about it was 
 clearly seen by Tennyson somewhere about 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 141 
 
 the year 1857, and that he then began to 
 work upon it with a large and positive pur- 
 pose. For at least thirty years he has been 
 steadily labouring to give it form and sub- 
 stance; but the results of his work have 
 been presented to the world in a sequence of 
 which he alone has held the clue : the third 
 and fourth, the sixth, seventh and eleventh, 
 the first, the eighth, the ninth, the twelfth, 
 the second, the tenth, the fifth, — such has 
 been the extraordinary order of parts in 
 which this work has been published. 
 
 Now this fact will account, first of all, for 
 the failure of the public to estimate the 
 poems in their right relation and at their 
 true worth. Their beauty of imagery and 
 versification was at once acknowledged ; but 
 as long as they were regarded as separate 
 pictures, as long as their succession and the 
 connection between them were concealed, it 
 was impossible to form any complete judg- 
 ment of their meaning or value. As Wag- 
 ner said of his Siegfried : " It cannot 
 make its right and unquestionable impres- 
 sion as a single whole, until it is allotted its 
 necessary place in the complete whole. Noth- 
 ing must be left to be supplemented by 
 thought or reflection: every reader of un- 
 
142 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 prejudiced human feeling must be able to 
 comprehend the whole through his artistic 
 perceptions, because then only .■will he be 
 able rightly to Tinderstand the single inci- 
 dents." 1 
 
 In the second place, this fact makes clear 
 to us the reason and justification of the gen- 
 eral title which Tennyson has given to these 
 poems. He has been criticised very fre- 
 quently for calling them Idylls. Even so 
 sound a judge as Mr. Eichard Holt Hutton 
 has remarked upon the name as an instance 
 of " unfortunate modesty." And if we hold 
 the word to its narrower meaning, — "a 
 short, highly wrought poem of a descriptive 
 and pastoral character," — it certainly seems 
 inappropriate. But if we go back to the 
 derivation of the word, and remember that 
 it comes from «Sos, which means not merely 
 the form, the figure, the appearance of any- 
 thing, but more particularly that form which 
 is characteristic and distinctive, the ideal 
 element, corresponding to the Latin species, 
 we can see that Tennyson was justified in 
 adapting and using it for his purpose. He 
 intended to make pictures, highly wrought, 
 
 ^ Wagner's letter to Liszt, November 20, 1851. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 143 
 
 carefully finished, full of elaborate and sig- 
 nificant details. But each, one of these pic- 
 tures was to be animated with an idea, clear, 
 definite, unmistakable. It was to make a 
 form express a soul. It was to present a 
 type, not separately, but in relation to other 
 types. This was the method which he had 
 chosen. His design was not purely classical, 
 nor purely romantic, but something between 
 the two, like the Italian Gothic in architec- 
 ture. He did not propose to tell a single 
 straightforward story for the sake of the 
 story ; nor to bring together in one book a 
 mass of disconnected tales and legends, each 
 of which might just as well have stood alone. 
 He proposed to group about a central figure 
 a number of other figures, each one of which 
 should be as finished, as complete, as ex- 
 pressive, as he could make it, and yet none 
 of which could be clearly understood except 
 as it stood in its own place in the circle. 
 For this kind of work he needed to find or 
 invent a name. It may be that the word 
 " Idylls " does not perfectly express the 
 meaning. But at least there is no other 
 word in the language which comes so near 
 to it. 
 
 In the third place, now that we see the 
 
144 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Idylls all together, standing in their proper 
 order and relation, now that we perceive 
 that with all their diversity they do indeed 
 belong to the King, and revolve about him 
 as stars about a central sun, we are able to 
 appreciate the force and grandeur of the 
 poet's creative idea which could sustain and 
 guide him through such long and intricate 
 labour and produce at last, from an appar- 
 ent chaos of material, an harmonious work 
 of art of a new order. For this was the 
 defect, hitherto, of the romantic writers, 
 descending by ordinary generation from Sir 
 Walter Scott, — that their work had lacked 
 unity; it was confused, fragmentary, inor- 
 ganic. And this was the defect, hitherto, 
 of the classical writers, descending by ordi- 
 nary generation from Alexander Pope, — 
 that their work had lacked life, interest, 
 colour, detail. But Tennyson has succeeded, 
 at least better than any other English poet, 
 in fulfilling the prophecy which Victor Hugo 
 made in his criticism of Quentin Durward: 
 "Apres le roman pittoresque mais pro- 
 sai'que de Walter Scott, il restera un autre 
 roman a creer, plus beau et plus complet 
 encore selon nous. C'est le roman a la fois 
 drame et epopee, pittoresque mais po^tique, 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 145 
 
 r^el mais id^al, vrai mais grand, qui en- 
 ch^ssera Walter Scott dans Homere." 
 
 11. 
 The material whieli Tennyson has used 
 for his poem is the strange, complex, mysti- 
 cal story of King Arthur and his Round 
 Table. To trace the origin of this story 
 would lead us far afield and entangle us in 
 the thickets of controversy which are full of 
 thorns. Whether Arthur was a real king 
 who ruled in Britain after the departure of 
 the Romans, and founded a new order of 
 chivalry, and defeated the heathen in vari- 
 ous more or less bloody battles, as Nen- 
 nius and other professed historians have 
 related ; or whether he was merely " a solar 
 myth," as the Vicomte de la Villemarqu^ 
 has suggested; whether that extremely pa- 
 triotic Welshman, Geoffrey of Monmouth, 
 commonly called " the veracious Geoffrey," 
 who wrote in 1138 a full account of Arthur's 
 glorious achievements, really deserved his 
 name ; or whether his chronicle was merely, 
 as an irreverent Dutch writer has said, 
 " a great, heavy, long, thick, palpable, and 
 most impudent lie ; " whether the source of 
 the story was among the misty mountains 
 
146 TEE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 of Wales or among the castles of Brittany, 
 — all these are questions wHch. lead aside 
 from the purpose of this essay. This much 
 is certain : in the twelfth century the name 
 of King Arthur had come to stand for an 
 ideal of royal wisdom, chivalric virtue, and 
 knightly prowess which was recognized alike 
 in England and France and Germany, His 
 story was told again and again by Trou- 
 vere and Minnesinger and prose romancer. 
 In camp and court and cloister, on the banks 
 of the Loire, the Rhine, the Thames, men 
 and women listened with delight to the 
 description of his character and glorious 
 exploits. A vast undergrowth of legends 
 sprang up about him. The older story of 
 Merlin the Enchanter ; the tragic tale of Sir 
 Lancelot and his fatal love ; the adventures 
 of Sir Tristan and Sir Gawaine ; the mysti- 
 cal romance of the Saint Graal, with its twin 
 heroes of purity, Pereivale and Galahad, — 
 these and many other tales of wonder and of 
 woe, of amorous devotion and fierce conflict 
 and celestial vision, were woven into the 
 Arthurian tapestry. It extended itself in 
 every direction, like a vast forest ; the paths 
 crossing and recrossing each other ; the same 
 characters appearing and disappearing in 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 147 
 
 ever-changing disguises ; beauteous ladies 
 and valiant knights and wicked magicians 
 and pious monks coming and going as if 
 there were no end of them ; so that it is al- 
 most impossible for the modern reader to 
 trace his way through the confusion, and he 
 feels like the traveller who complained that 
 he " could not see the wood for the trees," 
 
 It was at the close of the age of chivalry, 
 in the middle of the fifteenth century, when 
 the inventions of gunpowder and printing 
 had begun to create a new order of things in 
 Europe, that an English knight, Sir Thomas 
 Mallory by name, conceived the idea of re- 
 writing the Arthurian story in his own lan- 
 guage, and gathering as many of these 
 tangled legends as he could find into one 
 complete and connected narrative. He must 
 have been a man of genius, for his book was 
 more than a mere compilation from the 
 French. He not only succeeded in bringing 
 some kind of order out of the confusion ; he 
 infused a new and vigorous life into the an- 
 cient tales, and clothed them in fine, simple, 
 sonorous prose, so that his Morte d' Arthur 
 is entitled to rank among the best things in 
 English literature. William Caxton, the 
 famous printer, was one of the first to recog- 
 
148 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 nize the merits of the book, and issued it 
 from his press at Westminster, in 1485, with 
 a delightful preface — in which he tells 
 what he thought of the story. After a naive 
 and intrepid defence of the historical reality 
 of Arthur, which he evidently thinks it 
 would be as sacrilegious to doubt as to ques- 
 tion the existence of Joshua, or king David, 
 or Judas Maccabeus, he goes on to say: 
 " Herein may be seen noble chivalry, cour- 
 tesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, 
 friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue 
 and sin. Do after the good and leave tha 
 evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and 
 renommee. And for to pass the time this 
 book shall be pleasant to read in, but for to 
 give faith and belief that all is true that is 
 contained herein, ye be at your liberty : but 
 all is written for our doctrine, and for to 
 beware that we fall not to vice nor sin, but 
 to exercise and follow virtue, by the which 
 we may come and attain to good fame and 
 renown in this life, and after this short and 
 transitory life to come into everlasting bliss 
 in heaven; the which He grant us that 
 reigneth in heaven, the blessed Trinity. 
 Amen." 
 
 This pleasant and profitable book was for 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 149 
 
 several generations the favorite reading of 
 the gentlemen of England. After falling 
 into comparative obscurity for a while, it was 
 brought back into notice and favour in the 
 early part of the present century. In 1816 
 two new editions of it were published, the 
 first since 1634 ; and in the following year 
 another edition was brought out, with an in- 
 troduction and notes by Southey. It was 
 doubtless through the pages of Mallory that 
 Tennyson made acquaintance with the story 
 of Arthur, and from these he has drawn 
 most of his materials for the Idylls. One 
 other source must be mentioned: In 1838 
 Lady Charlotte Guest published The Mdbi- 
 nogion, a translation of the ancient Welsh 
 legends contained in the " red book of Her- 
 gest," which is in the library of Jesus Col- 
 lege at Oxford. From this book Tennyson 
 has taken the story, of Geraint and Enid. 
 
 When we turn now to look at the manner- 
 in which the poet has used his materials, we 
 observe two things : first, that he has taken 
 such liberties with the outline of the story 
 as were necessary to adapt it to his own 
 purpose ; and second, that he has thrown 
 back into it the thoughts and feelings of his^ 
 own age. 
 
150 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 In speaking of the changes which he has 
 made in the story, I do not allude to the 
 omission of minor characters and details, 
 nor to the alterations in the order of the 
 narrative, but to changes of much deeper 
 significance. Take for example the legend 
 of Merlin : Mallory tells us that the great 
 Mage " fell in a dotage on a damsel that 
 hight Nimue and would let her have no rest, 
 but always he would be with her. And so 
 he followed her over land and sea. But she 
 was passing weary of him and would fain 
 have been delivered of him, for she was 
 afraid of him because he was a devil's son. 
 And so on a time it happed that Merlin 
 shewed to her in a rock, whereas was a great 
 wonder, and wrought by enchantment, that 
 went under a great stone. So by her subtle 
 working she made Merlin to go under that 
 stone, to let her into of the marvels there, but 
 she wrought so there for him that he came 
 never out for aU the craft that he could do. 
 And so she departed and left Merlin." How 
 bald and feeble is this narrative compared 
 with the version which Tennyson has given ! 
 He has created the character of Vivien, the 
 woman without a conscience, a brilliant, 
 baleful star, a feminine lago. He has made 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF TBE KING. 151 
 
 her, not the pursued, but the pursuer, — the 
 huntress, but of another train than Dian's. 
 He has painted those weird scenes in the 
 forest of Broceliande, where the earthly wis- 
 dom of the magician proves powerless to 
 resist the wil es of a subtler magic than his 
 own. He has made Merlin yield at last to 
 an appeal for protection which might have 
 deceived a nobler nature than his. He tells 
 the ancient charm in a moment of weakness ; 
 and while he sleeps, Vivien binds him fast 
 with his own enchantment. He lies there, 
 in the hollow oak, as dead, 
 
 And lost to life and use and name and fame, 
 
 while she leaps down the forest crying 
 "Fool!" and exulting in her triumph. It 
 is not a pleasant story. In some- respects it 
 is even repulsive : it was meant to be so. 
 But it has a power in it that was utterly un- 
 known to the old legend ; it is the familiar 
 tale of Sophocles' Ajax, or of Samson and 
 Delilah, told with unrivalled skill and beauty 
 of language. 
 
 There is another change, of yet greater im- 
 portance, which affects not a single idyll, but 
 the entire cycle. Mallory has made the down- 
 fall of the Round Table and the death of 
 Arthur follow, at least in part, a great wrong 
 
152 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ■whicli the King himself had committed. 
 Modred, the traitor, is represented as the 
 son of Bellicent, whom Arthur had loved 
 and betrayed in his youth, not knowing that 
 she was his own half-sister. Thus the story 
 becomes a tragedy of Nemesis. The King 
 is pursued and destroyed, like OEdipus in 
 the Greek drama, by the consequences of 
 his own unconscious, youthful sin. Tenny- 
 son has entirely eliminated this element. 
 He makes the King say of Modred, 
 
 I must strike against the man they call 
 My sister's son — no kin of mine. 
 
 He traces the ruin of the realm to other 
 causes, — the transgression of Lancelot and 
 Guinevere, the corruption of the court through' 
 the influence of Vivien, and the perversion 
 of Arthur's ideals among his own followers. 
 Mr. Swinburne — the most eloquent of 
 dogmatists — asserts that this change is a 
 fatal error, that the old story was infinitely 
 nobler and more poetic, and that Tenny- 
 son has ruined it in the telling. Lavish in 
 his praise of other portions of the Lau- 
 reate's work, he has been equally lavish in 
 his blame of the Idylls. He calls them the 
 " Morte d' Albert, or Idylls of the Prince 
 Consort ; " he pours out the vials of his 
 
TEE IDYLLS OF TEE KING. 163 
 
 contempt upon the character of " the blame- 
 less king," and declares that it presents the 
 very poorest and most pitiful standard of 
 duty or of heroism. And all this wrath, so 
 far as I can understand it, is caused chiefly 
 by the fact that Tennyson has chosen to free 
 Arthur from the taint of incest, and repre- 
 sent him, not as the victim of an inevitable 
 tragic destiny, but rather as a pure, brave 
 soul, who fights in one sense vainly, but in 
 another and a higher sense successfully, 
 against the conscious and voluntary forces 
 of evil as they exist and work in the world 
 around him. 
 
 But when we come to look more closely at 
 -Mr. Swinburne's criticism, we can see that it 
 is radically unjust because it is based upon 
 a profound and incurable ignorance. He 
 does not seem to know that the element of 
 Arthur's spiritual glory belongs to the an- 
 cient story just as much as the darker ele- 
 ment of blind sin, clinging shame, and 
 remorseless fate. At one time, the King is 
 described as the very flower of humanity, 
 the most perfect man that God had made 
 since Adam ; at another time he is exhib- 
 ited as a slayer of innocents planning to de- 
 stroy all the " children born of lords and 
 
154 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ladies, on May -day," because Merlin had 
 predicted that one of them would be his 
 own rival and destroyer. MaUory has 
 woven together these incongruous threads 
 after the strangest fashion. But no one who 
 has read his book can doubt which of the 
 two is the stronger and the more important. 
 It is the glory of Arthur, his superiority 
 to his own knights, his noble purity and 
 strength, that really control the story ; and 
 the other, darker thread sinks gradually out 
 of sight, becomes more and more obscure, 
 until finally it is lost, and Arthur's name is 
 inscribed upon his tomb as Rex quondam, 
 rexque futurus. Now it was open to Ten- 
 nyson to choose which of the threads he 
 would follow ; but it was impossible to foUow 
 both. He would have had no hero for his 
 poem, he would have been unable to present 
 any consistent picture of the King unless he 
 had exercised a liberty of selection among 
 these incoherent and at bottom contradic- 
 tory elements which MaUory had vainly tried 
 to blend. If he had intended to make a 
 tragedy after the old Greek fashion, in 
 which Fate should be the only real hero, 
 that would have been another thing: then 
 he must have retained the involuntary sin 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 155 
 
 of Arthur, his weakness, his impotence to 
 escape from its consequences, as the central 
 and dominant motive of the story. But his 
 design was diametrically the opposite of this. 
 He was writing in the modern spirit, which 
 lays the emphasis not on Fate, but on Free- 
 will. He meant to show that the soul of 
 man is not bound in inextricable toils and 
 foredoomed to hopeless struggle, but free 
 to choose between good and evil, and that 
 the issues of life, at least for the individual, 
 depend upon the nature of that choice. It 
 was for this reason that he made Arthur, as 
 the ideal of the highest manhood, pure from 
 the stains of ineradicable corruption, and 
 showed him rising, moving onward, and at 
 last passing out of sight, like a radiant star 
 which accomplishes its course in light and 
 beauty. 
 
 Mr. Swinburne has a right to find fault 
 with Arthur's character as an ideal ; he has 
 a right to say that there are serious defects'- 
 in it, that it lacks virility, that it has a touch 
 of insincerity about it, that it comes peril-" 
 ously near to self-complacency and moral • 
 priggishness. There may be a grain of truth 
 in some of these criticisms. But to condemn 
 the Idylls because they are not built upon 
 
156 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the lines of a Greek Tragedy is as super- 
 fluous and unjust as it would be to blame a 
 pine-tree for not resembling an oak, or to 
 despise a Gothic cathedral because it differs 
 from a Doric temple. 
 
 It was legitimate, then, for Tennyson to 
 select out of the mass of materials which 
 Mallory had collected such portions as were 
 adapted to form the outline of a consistent 
 story, and to omit the rest as unnecessary 
 and incapable of being brought into har- 
 mony with the design. But was it also 
 legitimate for the poet to treat his subject 
 in a manner and spirit so distinctly modern, 
 — to make his characters discuss the prob- 
 lems and express the sentiments which be- 
 long to the nineteenth century ? 
 
 It cannot be denied that he has done this. 
 Not only are many of the questions of 
 morality and philosophy which arise in the 
 course of the Idylls, questions which were 
 unknown to the Middle Ages, but the tone 
 of some of the most suggestive and im- 
 portant speeches of Merlin, of Arthur, of 
 Lancelot, of Tristram, is manifestly the tone 
 of these latter days. Take for example 
 Merlin's oracular triplets in The Coming oj 
 Arthur : 
 
TEE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 157 
 
 Rain, rain and sun ! a rainbow on the lea ! 
 And truth is this to me, and that to thee ; 
 And truth or clothed or naked let it be. 
 
 We recognize here the accents of the mod- 
 ern philosopher who holds that all knowl- 
 edge is relative and deals only with phe- 
 nomena, the reality being unknowable. Or 
 listen to Tristram as he argues with Isolt : 
 
 The vows ? 
 O ay — the wholesome madness of an hour. 
 . . . The wide world laughs at it. 
 And worldling of the wOrld am I, and know 
 The ptarmigan that whitens ere his hour 
 Woos his own end ; we are not angels here, 
 Kor shall he : vows — I am woodman of the woods 
 And hear the garnet-headed yaffingale 
 Mock them : my soul, we love hut while we may ; 
 And therefore is my love so large for thee, 
 Seeing it is not bounded save by love. 
 
 That is the modern doctrine of free love, not 
 only in its conclusion, but in its argument 
 drawn from the example of the birds, — the 
 untimely ptarmigan that invites destruction, 
 and the red-crested woodpecker that pursues 
 its amours in the liberty of nature. 
 
 Or hear the speech which Arthur makes 
 to his knights when they return from the 
 quest of the Holy Grail : — 
 
 And some among you held, that if the King 
 Had seen the sight he would have sworn the vow : 
 
158 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Not easily, seeing that the King must guard 
 That which he rules, and is but as the hind, 
 To "whom a space of land is given to plough, 
 Who may not wander from the allotted field 
 Before his work he done. 
 
 That is the modern conception of kingship, 
 the idea of responsibility as superior to 
 authority. Public office is a public trust. 
 The discharge of duty to one's fellow-men,\ 
 the work of resisting violence and maintain- 
 ing order and righting the wrongs of the op- 
 pressed, is higher and holier than the follow- 
 ing of visions. The service of man is the 
 best worship of God. It was not thus that 
 kings thought, it was not thus that warriors 
 talked in the sixth century. 
 
 But has the poet any right to transfer the 
 ideas and feelings of his own age to men 
 and women who did not and could not enter- 
 tain them, after this fashion ? The answer 
 to this question depends entirely upon the 
 view which we take of the nature and pur- 
 pose of poetry. If it is to give an exact 
 historical account of certain events, then of 
 course every modern touch in an ancient 
 story, every reflection pi the present into 
 ^he past, is a blemish. jBut if the object of 
 poetry is to bring out the meaning of human 
 life, to quicken the dead bones of narrative 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 159 
 
 with a vital spirit, to show us character and 
 action in such a way that our hearts shall 
 be moved and purified by pity and fear, 
 anger and love ; then certainly it is not only 
 lawful but incAritable that the poet should 
 throw into his work the thoughts and emo-^ 
 tions of his own age. For these are tBe 
 only ones that he has studied from the life. 
 
 There is a certain kind of realism which 
 absolutely destroys reality in a work of art. 
 It is the shabby realism of the French 
 painter who took it for granted that the 
 only way to paint a sear-beach with accuracy 
 was to sprinkle the canvas with actual sand ; 
 the shabby realism of M. Verestschagin, 
 who gives us coloured photographs of Pales- 
 tinian Jews as a representation of the life 
 of Christ ; the shabby realism of the writers 
 who are satisfied with reproducing the dia- 
 lect, the dress, the manners of the time and 
 country in which the scene of their story is 
 laid, without caring whether their dramatis 
 personce have any human nature and life in 
 them or not. Great pictures or great poems 
 have never been produced in this way. They 
 have always been full of anachronisms, — 
 intellectual and moral anachronisms, I mean, 
 — and their want of scientific accuracy is 
 
160 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the very condition of their poetic truth. 
 Every poet of the first rank has idealized 
 — or let us rather say, vitalized — his char- 
 acters by giving to them the thoughts and 
 feelings which he has himself experienced, 
 or known by living contact with men and 
 women of his own day. Homer did this 
 with Ulysses, Virgil with ^neas, Shak- 
 spere with Hamlet, Milton with Satan, Goe- 
 the with Faust. From the very beginning, 
 the Arthurian legends have been treated in 
 the same way. Poets and prose romancers 
 have made them the mirror of their own 
 chivalric ideals and aspirations. Compared 
 with the Rolands and the Aliscans of the 
 chansons de geste, Lancelot and Gawain 
 and Percivale are modern gentlemen. And 
 why ? Not because the supposed age of Ar- 
 thur was really better than the age of Char- 
 lemagne, but simply because Chretien de 
 Troyes and Wolfram von Eschenbach had 
 higher and finer conceptions of knighthood 
 and piety and courtesy and love, which they 
 embodied in their heroes of the Round 
 ""xable. No one imagines that the Morte 
 d' Arthur in any of its forms is an exact 
 reproduction of life and character in Britain 
 in the time of the Saxon invasion. It is a 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 161 
 
 reflection of the later chivalry, — the chiv- 
 alry of the Norman and Angevin kingSy, 
 If the story could be used to convey the 
 ideals of the twelfth and thirteenth cen- 
 turies, why not also the ideals of the nine- 
 teenth century? If it be said that Arthur 
 was not really a modern gentleman, it may 
 be answered that it is just ,as certain that 
 he was not a mediaeval gentleman ; perhaps 
 he was not a gentleman at all. There was 
 no more necessity that Tennyson should be 
 true to Mallory, than there was that Mallory 
 should be true to Walter Map or Robert de 
 Borron. Each of them was a poet, a maker, 
 a creator for his own age. The only condi- 
 tion upon which it was possible for Tenny- 
 son to make a poem about Arthur and his 
 knights was that he should cast his own 
 thoughts into the mould of the ancient 
 legends, and make them represent living 
 ideas and types of character. This he has 
 done so successfully that the Idylls stand as 
 the most representative poem of the present 
 age. 
 
 m. 
 
 Two things are to be considered in a 
 work of art : the style and the substance. 
 So far as the outward form of the Idylls 
 
162 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 is concerned, they belong unquestionably in 
 the very first rank of English verse. In 
 music of rhythm, in beauty of diction, in 
 richness of illustration, they are unsurpassed. 
 Even Mr. Swinburne — himself a master of 
 words — confesses a cordial admiration for 
 their " exquisite magnificence of style." The 
 phrase is well chosen ; for they combine in 
 a rare way two qualities which seem irrecon- 
 cilable, — delicacy and grandeur, the power 
 of observing the most minute details and 
 painting them with absolute truth of touch, 
 and the power of clothing large thoughts in 
 simple, vigorous, sweeping words. It would 
 be an easy matter to give examples of the 
 first of these qualities from every page of 
 the Idylls. They are full of little pictures 
 which show that Tennyson has studied Na- 
 ture at first hand, and that he understands 
 how to catch and reproduce the most fleeting 
 and delicate expressions of her face. Take, 
 for instance, some of his studies of trees. 
 He has seen the ancient yew-tree tossed by 
 the gusts of April, — 
 
 That pufi'd the swaying branches into smoke, — 
 
 little clouds of dust rising from it, as if it 
 were on fire. He has noted the resemblance 
 between a crippled, shivering beggar and 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 163 
 
 An old dwarf -elm 
 That turns its back on the salt blast ; 
 
 and the liue describes exactly the stunted, 
 suffering, patient aspect of a tree that grows 
 beside the sea and is bent landward by the 
 prevailing winds. He has felt the hush that 
 broods upon the forest when a tempest is 
 coming, — 
 
 And the dark wood grew darker toward the storm 
 In silence. 
 
 Not less exact is his knowledge of the birds 
 that haunt the forests and the fields. He 
 has seen the 
 
 Careful robins eye the delver's toil ; 
 
 and listened to 
 
 The great plover's human whistle, 
 
 and marked at sunset, in the marshes, how 
 
 The lone hern forgets his melancholy, 
 Lets down his other leg, and, stretching, dreams 
 Of goodly supper in the distant pool. 
 
 He knows, also, how the waters flow and 
 fall in the streams ; how a wild brook 
 
 Slopes o'er a little stone, 
 Running too vehemently to break upon it ; 
 
 how, in a sharper rapid, there is a place 
 
 Where the crisping white 
 Plays ever back upon the sloping ware ; 
 
164 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 how one 
 
 That listens near a torrent mountain-brook 
 All thro' the crash of the near cataract, heara 
 The drumming thunder of the huger fall 
 At distance. 
 
 Most wonderful of all is his knowledge of 
 the sea, and his power to describe it. He 
 has looked at it from every standpoint and 
 caught every phase of its changing aspect. 
 Take these four pictures. First, you stand 
 upon the cliffs of Cornwall and watch the 
 huge Atlantic billows, blue as sapphire and 
 bright with sunlight, and you understand 
 how Isolt could say, 
 
 O sweeter than all memories of thee, 
 Deeper than any yearnings after thee, 
 Seem'd those far-rolling, westviard-smiling seas. 
 
 Then, you lie upon the smooth level of some 
 broad beach, on a summer afternoon. 
 
 And watch the curled white of the coming wave 
 Glass'd in the slippery sand before it breaks. 
 
 Then, you go into a dark cavern like that of 
 Staffa, and see the dumb billows rolling in, 
 one after another, groping their way into the 
 farthest recesses as if they were seeking to 
 find something that they had lost, and you 
 know how it was with Merlin when 
 
THE IDYLLS OF TBE KING. 165 
 
 So dark a forethought roll'd about his brain, 
 As on a dull day in an ocean cave 
 TAe blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall 
 In silence. 
 
 Then, you stand on the deck of a vessel in a 
 gale, — not on the blue Atlantic, but on the 
 turbid German Ocean, — and you behold 
 how 
 
 A wild wave in the wide North-sea, 
 Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears with all 
 Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, 
 Down on a hark, and overhears the bark 
 And him that helms it. 
 
 I think it is safe to say that these four wave- 
 pictures have never been surpassed, either in 
 truth or in power, by any artist in words or 
 colours. 
 
 But if it should be asserted that lines 
 like these prove the fineness of Tennyson's 
 art rather than the greatness of his poetry, 
 the assertion might be granted, and stiU we 
 should be able to support the larger claim 
 by pointing to passages in the Idylls which 
 are unquestionably magnificent, — great not 
 only in expression but great also in thought. 
 There are single lines which have the feli- 
 city and force of epigrams : 
 
 Obedience is the courtesy due to kings. 
 He makes uo friend who never made a foe. 
 
166 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Man dreams of fame while woman wakes to love. 
 A doxibtful throne ia ice on summei' seas. 
 Mockery is the fume of little hearts. 
 
 There are longer passages in which the very 
 highest truths are uttered without effort, and 
 in language so natural and inevitable that 
 we have to look twice before we realize its 
 grandeur. Take for example the description 
 of human error in Geraint and Enid : 
 
 O purblind race of miserable men, 
 How many among us even at this hour 
 Do forge a life-long trouble for ourselves 
 By taking true for false, or false for true ; 
 Here, thro' the feeble twilight of this world, 
 Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
 That other, where we see as we are seen. 
 
 Or take Arthur's speech to Lancelot in the 
 Holy Grail: 
 
 Never yet 
 Could aU of true and noble in knight and man 
 Twine round one sin, whatever it might be. 
 With such a closeness, but apart there grew 
 
 Some root of knighthood and pure nobleness : 
 Whereto see thou, that it may bear its flower. 
 
 Or, best of all, take that splendid description 
 of Lancelot's disloyal loyalty to Guinevere, 
 in Elaine : — 
 
 The shackles of an old love straitened him : 
 His honour rooted in dishonour stood, 
 And faith unfaithful kept him falsely true. 
 
TEE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 167 
 
 Shakspere himself has nothing more perfect 
 than this. It is an admirable example of 
 what has been called " the grand style," — 
 terse yet spacious, vigorous yet musical, 
 clear yet suggestive ; not a word too little 
 or too much, and withal a sense of some- 
 thing larger and more mysterious in the 
 thought, which words cannot fully reveal. 
 
 It would be superfluous to quote at length 
 such a familiar passage as the parting of 
 Arthur and Guinevere at Almesbury. But 
 let any reader take this up and study it care- 
 fully ; mark the fluency and strength of the 
 verse ; the absence of all sensationalism, and 
 yet the thrill in the far-off sound of the 
 solitary trumpet that blows while Guinevere 
 lies in the dark at Arthur's feet ; the purity 
 and dignity of the imagery, the steady on- 
 ward and upward movement of the thought, 
 the absolute simplicity of the language as 
 it is taken word by word, and yet the rich- 
 ness and splendour of the effect which it 
 produces, — and if he is candid, I think he 
 must admit that there is no other poet liv- 
 ing who is master of such a grand style as 
 this. 
 
 But of course the style alone does not 
 make a masterpiece, nor will any number 
 
168 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 of eloquent fragments redeem a poem from 
 failure if it lacks the soul of greatness. The 
 subject of it must belong to poetry ; that is 
 to say, it must be adapted to move the feel- 
 ings as well as to arouse the intellect, it 
 must have the element of mystery as well 
 as the element of clearness. Whether the 
 form be lyric or epic, dramatic or idyllic, the 
 poet must make us feel that he has some- 
 thing to say that is not only worth saying, 
 but also fitted to give us pleasure through 
 the quickening of the emotions. The cen- 
 tral idea of the poem must be vital and 
 creative ; it must have power to sustain it- 
 self in our minds while we read ; it must be 
 worked out coherently and yet it must sug- 
 gest that it belongs to a larger truth whose 
 depths are unexplored and inaccessible. It 
 seems to me that these are the conditions of 
 a great poem. We have now to consider 
 whether or not they are fulfilled in the 
 Idylls of the King. In other words, it re- 
 mains for us to turn from the criticism of 
 their form to the study of their substance. 
 
 The meaning of the Idylls has been dis- 
 tinctly stated by the poet himself, and we 
 are bound to take his words as the clue to 
 their interpretation. In the " Dedication to 
 the Queen " he says, — 
 
I 
 
 THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 169 
 
 Accept this old imperfect tale 
 New-old, and shadowing Sense at war with Soul, 
 Rather than that gray king, whose name, a ghost, 
 Streams like a cloud, man-shaped, from mountain-peak, 
 And cleaves to cairn and cromlech still : or him 
 Of Geoffrey's book, or him of MaUeor's, one 
 Touched by the adulterous finger of a time 
 That hover'd between war and wantonness, 
 And crownings and dethronements. 
 
 This is a clear disavowal of an historical 
 purpose in the Idylls. But does it amount 
 to the confession that they are an allegory 
 pure and simple ? It is in this sense that the 
 critics have commonly taken the statement. 
 But I venture to think and to affirm that 
 they are mistaken, and that the mistake has 
 been a barrier to the thorough comprehension 
 of the poem and a fertile source of errors 
 and absurdities in some of the best essays 
 which have been written about it. 
 
 Let us understand precisely what an alle- 
 gory is. It is not merely a representation 
 of one thing by another which resembles it 
 in its properties or circumstances, a picture 
 where the outward form conveys a hidden 
 meaning, a story 
 
 " Where more is meant than meets the ear." 
 
 It is a work in which the figures and char- 
 acters are confessedly unreal, a masquerade 
 
170 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 in which the actors are not men and women, 
 but virtues and vices dressed up in human 
 costume. The distinguishing mark of it is 
 personification. It does not deal with actual 
 persons but with abstract qualities which are 
 treated as if they were persons, and made to 
 speak and act as if they were alive. It 
 moves, therefore, altogether in a dream- 
 world : it is not only improbable but impos- 
 sible ; at a touch its figures dissolve into 
 thin air. I will illustrate my meaning by 
 examples. Diirer's picture of Death and 
 the Knight has allegorical features in it, but 
 it is not an allegory because the Knight is 
 an actual man of flesh and blood, — or per- 
 haps one ought to say (remembering that 
 grim figure), of bone and nerve. Melanco- 
 lia, on the contrary, is an allegory of the 
 purest type. Goethe's Faust is not an alle- 
 gory, although it is full of symbolism and 
 contains a hidden meaning. Spenser's Fairy 
 Queen is an allegory, because its characters 
 are only attributes in disguise, and its plot is 
 altogether arbitrary and artificial. 
 
 /The defect of strict allegory is that it 
 always disappoints us. A valiant knight 
 comes riding in, and we prepare to follow his 
 adventures with wonder and delight. Then 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 171 
 
 the poet informs us that it is not a knight 
 at all, but only Courage or Temperance or 
 Patience in armour, and straightway we lose 
 our interest ; we know exactly what he is 
 going to do, and we care not what becomes 
 of him. A fair damsel appears upon the 
 scene, and we are ready to be moved to pity 
 by her distress, and to love by her surpassing 
 beauty, until presently we are reminded that 
 it is not a damsel at all, but only Purity or 
 Faith or Moral Disinterestedness, running 
 about in woman's clothes ; and forthwith we 
 are disenchanted. There is no speculation 
 in her eyes. Her hand is like a stuffed 
 glove. She has no more power to stir our 
 feelings than a proposition in Euclid. We 
 would not shed a drop of blood to win her 
 ghostly favour, or to rescue her from all the 
 giants that ever lived. But if the method" 
 were reversed ; if instead of a virtue repre- 
 senting a person, the poet gave us a person 
 embodying and representing a virtue ; if in- 
 stead of the oppositions and attractions of 
 abstract qualities, we had the trials and con- 
 flicts and loves of real men and women in 
 whom these qualities were living and work- 
 ing, — then the poet might remind us as often 
 as he pleased of the deeper significance of 
 
172 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 his story ; we should still be able to follow it 
 with interest. 
 
 This is the point which I desire to make 
 in regard to the Idylls of the King. It is 
 a distinction which, so far I know, has 
 never been clearly drawn. The poem is not 
 an allegory, but a parable. 
 ^ Of course there are a great many purely 
 allegorical figures and passages in it. The 
 Lady of thejjake, for-,esaLnipleiJs_a-peracHi= 
 fication of Religion. She dwells in a deep 
 calm7 far IBelow the surface of the waters, 
 and when they are tossed and troubled by 
 storms. 
 
 Hath power to walk the water like onr Lord. 
 
 She gives to the King his sword Excalibur, 
 to represent either the spiritual weapon 
 with which the soul wars against its enemies, 
 or, as seems to me more probable, the tem- 
 poral power of the church. For it bears the 
 double inscription : — 
 
 On one side, 
 Graven in the oldest tongue of all this world, 
 ' Take me,' hut turn the blade and ye shall see, 
 And written in the speech ye speak yourselves, 
 ' Cast me away.' And sad was Arthur's face 
 Taking it, but old Merlin connsell'd him 
 ' Take then and strike ! ' the time to cast away 
 Is yet far-off. So this great brand the King 
 Took, and by this will beat his foemen down. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF TBE KING. 173 
 
 The necessity of actual flesh-and-blood war- 
 fare against the heathen is proclaimed in 
 the ancient language; the uselessness of 
 such weapons under the new order, in the 
 modern conflict, is predicted in the language 
 of to-day. 
 
 The Lady of the Lake is described as 
 standing on the keystone of the gate of 
 Camelot : — 
 
 AH her dress 
 Wept from her sides, as water flowing away : 
 But, like the cross, her great and goodly arms 
 Stretch'd tmder all the cornice, and upheld ; 
 And drops of water fell from either hand : 
 And down from one a sword was hung, from one 
 A censer, either worn with wind and storm ; 
 And o'er her hreast floated the sacred fish ; 
 
 and over all, 
 
 High on the top, were those three Queens, the friends 
 Of Arthur, who should help him at his need. 
 
 This is a picture of the power of religion in 
 sustaining the fabric of society. The forms 
 of the church are forever changing and flow- 
 ing like water, but her great arms are- 
 stretched out immovable, like the cross. The 
 sword is the symbol of her justice, the censer 
 is the symbol of her adoration, and both 
 bear the marks of time and strife. The 
 drops that fall from her hands are the water 
 of baptism, and the fish is the ancient sign 
 of the name of Christ. 
 
174 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 The three Queens who sit up aloft are 
 the theological virtues of Faith, Hope, and 
 Charity. 
 
 It is a fine piece of work from the mysti- 
 cal standpoint ; elaborate, spiritual, sugges- 
 tive, and full of true philosophy; Ambro- 
 gio Lorenzetti might have painted it. But 
 after all, it has little or nothing to do with 
 the substance of the poem. The watery 
 Lady stands like a painted figure on the 
 wall, and the three Queens play no real part 
 in the life of Arthur. Apparently they con- 
 tinue to sit upon the cornice in ornamental 
 idleness while the King loves and toils and 
 fights and " drees his weird " ; and we are 
 almost surprised at their unwonted activity 
 when they appear at last in the black barge 
 and carry him away to the island-valley of 
 Avilion. 
 
 There is another passage of the same char- 
 acter in The Holy Grail, which describes the 
 temptations of Percivale. He is allured from 
 his quest, first by appetite under the figure 
 of an orchard full of pleasant fruits, then 
 by domestic love under the figure of a fair 
 woman spinning at a cottage door, then by 
 wealth under the figure of a knight clad in 
 gold and jewels, then by fame under the 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 175 
 
 figure of a mighty city filled with shouts of 
 welcome and applause ; but all these are 
 only visions, and when they vanish at Perci- 
 vale's approach we cannot feel that there' 
 was any reality in his trials, or that he de- 
 serves any great credit for resisting them. 
 
 The most distinct example of this kind 
 of work is found in Gareth and Lynette, in 
 the description of the carving on the rock. 
 There are five figures of armed men, Phos- 
 phorus, Meridies, Hesperus, Nox, and Mors, 
 all chasing the human soul, 
 
 A shape that fled 
 With broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair, 
 For help and shelter to the hermit's cave. 
 
 This is definitely called an allegory, and its 
 significance is explained as 
 
 The war of Time against the sonl of man. 
 
 But there is all the difference in the world 
 between these graven images and the brave 
 boy Gareth riding through the forest with 
 the bright, petulant, audacious maiden Ly- 
 nette. If the former are properly called al- 
 legorical, the latter must certainly be de- 
 scribed by some other adjective. Gareth is 
 alive, — very much alive indeed, in his am- 
 bition to become a knight, in his quarrel 
 with Sir Kay the crabbed seneschal, in Ms 
 
176 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 sturdy courtship of the damsel with "the 
 cheek of apple-blossom," in his conflict with 
 the four caitiffs who kept Lyonors shut up 
 in her castle. We follow his adventures 
 with such interest that we are fairly vexed 
 with the poet for refusing to tell us at the 
 end whether this cheerful companion and 
 good fighter married Lynette or her elder 
 sister. 
 
 We must distinguish, then, between the 
 allegorical fragments which Tennyson has 
 woven into his work and the substance of 
 the Idylls ; between the scenery and mechani- 
 cal appliances and the actors who move upon 
 the stage. The attempt to interpret the 
 poem as a strict allegory breaks down at 
 once and spoils the story. Suppose you say 
 that Arthur is the Conscience, and Guine- 
 vere is the Flesh, and Merlin is the Intel- 
 lect ; then pray what is Lancelot, and what 
 is Geraint, and what is Vivien ? What busi- 
 ness has the Conscience to fall in love with 
 the Flesh ? What attraction has Vivien for 
 the Intellect without any passions ? If Mer- 
 lin is not a man, " Que diable allait-il faire 
 dans cetfe galere f " The whole affair be- 
 comes absurd, unreal, incomprehensible, un- 
 interesting./ 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 177 
 
 But when we take the King and his peo- 
 ple as actual men and women, when we 
 throw ourselves into the story and let it 
 carry us along, then we understand that it 
 is a parable ; that is to say, it "throws be- 
 side " itself an image, a reflection, of some- 
 thing spiritual, just as a man walking in the 
 sunlight is followed by his shadow. Xlt is a 
 tale of human life, and therefore, being told 
 with a purpose, it 
 
 Shadows Sense at war with Soul. 
 
 Now take up this idea of the conflict be- 
 tween sense and soul and carry it out through 
 the Idylls. 
 
 Arthur is intended to be a man in whom 
 the spirit has already conquered and reigns 
 supreme. It is upon this that his kingship 
 rests. His task is to bring his realm into 
 harmony with himself, to build up a spirit- 
 ual and social order upon which his own 
 character, as the best and highest, shall be 
 impressed. In other words, he works for 
 the uplifting and purification of humanity. 
 It is the problem of civilization. His great 
 enemies in this task are not outward and 
 visible, — the heathen, — for these he over- 
 comes and expels. But the real foes that 
 oppose him to the end are the evil passions 
 
178 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ~ in the hearts of men and women about him. 
 So long as ' these exist and dominate human 
 lives, the dream of a perfected society must 
 remain unrealized; and when they get the 
 upper hand, even its beginnings will be de- 
 stroyed. But the conflict is not an airy/* 
 abstract strife ; it lies in the opposition be-^ 
 tween those in whom the sensual principle 
 is regnant and those in whom the spiritual 
 principle is regnant, and in the inward 
 struggle of the noble heart against the evil, 
 and of the sinful heart against the good. 
 
 This contest may be traced through its 
 different phases in the successive stories 
 which make up the poem. 
 
 In The Coming of Arthur, doubt, which 
 judges by the senses, is matched against 
 faith, which follows the spirit. The question 
 is whether Arthur is a pretender and the 
 child of shamefulness, or the true King. 
 Against him stand the base-minded lords 
 and barons who are ready to accept any evil 
 story of his origin rather than accept him as 
 their ruler. For him stand such knights as 
 Bedivere, — 
 
 For told in heart and act and word was he 
 Whenever slander breathed against the King. 
 
 Between the two classes stands Leodogran, 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 179 
 
 the father of Guinevere, uncertain whether 
 to believe or doubt. The arguments of the 
 clever Queen Bellicent do not convince him. 
 But at last he has a dream in which he sees 
 the King standing out in heaven, crowned, 
 — and faith conquers. Guinevere is given 
 to Arthur as his wife. His throne is se- 
 curely established, and his reign begins pros- 
 perously. 
 
 Then comes Gareih and Lynette. Here 
 the conflict is between a true ambition and 
 a false pride. Gareth is an honest, ardent 
 fellow who longs for " good fame and re- 
 nommee." He wishes to rise in the world, but 
 he is willing to work and fight his way up- 
 ward ; yes, even to serve as a kitchen-knave 
 if so he may win his spurs at last and ride 
 among the noble knights of the Round Ta- 
 ble. His conception of nobility grasps the 
 essence of it without caring much for the 
 outward form. Lynette is a society girl, a 
 worshipper of rank and station ; brave, high- 
 spirited, lovable, but narrow-minded, and 
 scornful of every one who lacks the visible 
 marks of distinction. She judges by the 
 senses. She cannot imagine that a man who 
 comes from among the lower classes can 
 possibly be a knight, and despises Gareth's 
 
180 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 proffered services. But his pride, being true, 
 is stronger than hers, being false. He will 
 not be rebuffed ; follows her, fights her bat- 
 tles, wins first her admiration, then her love, 
 and brings her at last to see that true knight- 
 hood lies not in the name but in the deed. 
 
 The atmosphere of this Idyll is altogether 
 pure and clear. There is as yet no shadow 
 of the storm that is coming to disturb Ar- 
 thur's realm. The chivalry of the spirit 
 overcomes the chivalry of the sense in a nat- 
 ural, straightforward, joyous way, and all 
 goes weU with the world. 
 
 But in Oeraint and Enid there is a cloud 
 upon the sky, a trouble in the air. The fatal 
 love of Lancelot and Guinevere has already 
 begun to poison the court with suspicions 
 and scandals. It is in this brooding and 
 electrical atmosphere that jealousy, in the 
 person of Geraint, comes into conflict with 
 loyalty, in the person of Enid. The story 
 is the same that Boccaccio has told so ex- 
 quisitely in the tale of Oriselda, and Shak- 
 spere so tragically in Othello, — the story 
 of a woman, sweet and true and steadfast 
 down to the very bottom of her heart, joined 
 to a man who is exacting and suspicious. 
 Geraint wakens in the morning to find his 
 
THE IDTLLS OF THE KING. 181 
 
 wife weeping, and leaps at once to the con- 
 elusion that she is false. He judges by the 
 sense and not by the soul. But Enid loves 
 him too well even to defend herself against 
 him. She obeys his harsh commands and 
 submits to his heavy, stupid tests. Yet even 
 in her obedience she distinguishes between 
 the sense and the spirit. As long as there 
 is no danger she rides before him in silence 
 as he told her to do ; but when she sees the 
 robbers waiting in ambush she turns back to 
 warn him : — 
 
 I needs must disobey him for his good : 
 How should I dare obey liim for his harm ? 
 Needs must I speak ; and tho' he kUl me for it, 
 I save a life dearer to me than mine. 
 
 So they ride onward through many perils and 
 adventures, she like a bright, clear, steady 
 star, he like a dull, smouldering, smoky fire, 
 until at last her loyalty conquers his jealousy, 
 and he sees that it is better to trust than to 
 doubt, and that a pure woman's love has the 
 power to vindicate its own honour against the 
 world, and the right to claim an absolute 
 and unquestioning confidence. The soul is 
 once more victorious over the sense. 
 
 In Balin and Balan the cloud has grown 
 larger and darker, the hostile influences in 
 
182 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the realm begin to make themselves more 
 deeply felt. The tributary court of Pel- 
 lam, in which the hypocritical old king has 
 taken to holy things in rivalry of Arthur, 
 
 And finds himself descended from the Saint 
 Arimathean Joseph, 
 
 and collects sacred relics, and drives out all 
 women from his palace lest he should be pol- 
 luted, while his son and heir, Garlon, is a 
 secret libertine and murderer, — is a picture 
 of religion corrupted by asceticism. Balin 
 and Balan are two brothers, alike in daring, 
 in strength, in simplicity, but differing in 
 this : Balin is called " the savage," swift in 
 impulse, fierce in anger, unable to restrain or 
 guide himself; Balan is master of his pas- 
 sion, clear-hearted and self-controlled, his 
 brother's better angel. Both men represent^ 
 force ; but one is force under dominion of 
 soul, the other is force under dominion of 
 sense. By the falsehood of Vivien, who 
 now appears on the scene, they are involved 
 in conflict and ignorantly give each other 
 mortal wounds. It would seem as if vio- 
 lence had conquered. And yet, in truth not 
 so. Balin's last words are — 
 
 Goodnight ! for we shall never bid again 
 Goodmorrow. Dark my doom was here, and dark 
 It will he there. 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 183 
 
 But Balan replies with a diviner faith, draw- 
 ing his brother upward in death even as he 
 had done in life, — j 
 
 Goodnight, true brother here! goodmorrow there ! y 
 
 Thus far the higher principle has been^ 
 victorious, though in the last instance the 
 victory is won only in the moment of an 
 apparent defeat. But now, in Merlin and 
 Vivien, sense becomes the victor. The old 
 magician is a man in whom the intellect ap- 
 pears to be supreme. One might think him 
 almost impregnable to temptation. But the 
 lissome snake Vivien, also a type of keen 
 and subtle intelligence, though without learn- 
 ing, finds the weak point in his armour, over- 
 comes him and degrades him to her helpless 
 thrall. 
 
 The conflict, in Lancelot and Elaine is 
 between a pure, virgin love and a guilty pas- 
 sion. The maid of Astolat is the lily of 
 womanhood. The Queen is the rose, full- 
 blown and heavy with fragrance. Never 
 has a stronger contrast been drawn than 
 this : Elaine in her innocent simplicity and 
 singleness of heart ; Guinevere in her opu- 
 lence of charms, her intensity, her jealous 
 devotion. Between the two stands the great 
 Sir Lancelot, a noble heart though erring. 
 
f. 
 
 184 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 If he were free he would turn to the pure 
 love. But he is not free ; he is bound by 
 ties which are interwoven with aU that seems 
 most precious in his life. He cannot break 
 them if he would. And so the guilty pas- 
 sion conquers and he turns back to the fatal 
 sweetness of his old allegiance. 
 
 The Holy Orail shows us the strife be- 
 tween superstition, which is a sensual reli- 
 gion, and true faith, which is spiritual. This 
 is in some respects the richest and most 
 splendid of the Idylls, but it is also, by 
 reason of its theme, the most confused. 
 Out of the mystical twilight which envelops 
 the action this truth emerges : that those 
 knights who thought of the Grail only as an 
 external wonder, a miracle which they fain 
 would see because others had seen it, " fol- 
 lowed wandering fires " ; while those to 
 whom it became a symbol of inward purity 
 and grace, like Galahad and Percivale and 
 even the duU, honest, simple-minded Bors 
 and the sin-tormented Lancelot, finally at- 
 tained unto the vision. But the King, who 
 remained at home and kept the plain path 
 of daily duty, is the real hero of the Idyll, 
 though he bore no part in the quest. 
 
 In Pelleas and Ettarre the victory falls 
 
TEE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 185 
 
 bank to the side of sense. Pelleas is the 
 twin-brother of Elaine, a fair soul who has no 
 thought of evil. Amid the increasing dark- 
 ness of the court he sees nothing but light. 
 He dreams that the old ideals of chivalry 
 are still unbroken; to him all ladies are 
 perfect, and all knights loyal. He is in love 
 with loving, — amans amare, as St. Augus- 
 tine put it, — and when Ettarre crosses his 
 track he worships her as a star. But she — 
 " of the earth, earthy " — despises him as a 
 child, mocks him, and casts him off. Ga- 
 wain, the flower of courtesy, betrays him 
 basely. Driven mad by scorn and treason, 
 he rushes away at last into the gloom, — a 
 gallant bark wrecked by the perfidy of a 
 wicked world. 
 
 The fool is the hero of The Last Tourna- 
 vnent. He knows that Arthur's dream will 
 never be fulfilled, knows that the Queen is 
 false, and the Knights are plotting treason, 
 and the whole realm is on the verge of ruin ; 
 but still he holds fast to his master, and be- 
 lieves in him, and will not break his alle- 
 giance to follow the downward path of the 
 court. Arthur has lifted him out of the 
 baseness of his old life and made him a man. 
 Maimed wits and crippled body, yet he has 
 
186 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 a soiil, — this little, loyal jester, — and ne 
 will not lose it. 
 
 I have had my day and my philosophies, — 
 And thank the Lord I am King Arthur's fool. 
 
 In sharpest contrast to him stands Sir 
 Tristram, the most brilliant and powerful of 
 the new knights who followed the King only 
 for glory, and despised him in their hearts, 
 and broke his vows as if they had never 
 sworn them. Poet, musician, huntsman, 
 warrior, perfect in face and form, victor in 
 love and war, Tristram is one to whom faith 
 is foolishness and the higher life an idle 
 delusion. He denies his soul, mocks at it, 
 flings it away from him. 
 
 New leaf, new life, the days of f lost are o'er : 
 New life, new love to suit the newer day ; 
 New loves are sweet as those that went hef ore ; 
 Free love — free field — we love but while we may. 
 
 In him the triumph of the senses is com- 
 plete. He wins the prize in the " Tourna- 
 ment of the Dead Innocence," and the 
 shouts of the people hail him as their fa- 
 vourite. He clasps the jewels around the 
 neck of Isolt as she sits with him in her 
 tower of Tintagil by the sea, lightly glorying 
 in his conquests. But out of the darkness 
 the battle-axe of the craven King Mark 
 
TEE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 187 
 
 strikes him dead, and his star vanishes. 
 Meanwhile, at Camelot, Arthur comes home-, 
 Guinevere has fled ; — 
 
 And while he elimh'd, 
 All in a death-dumb autumn-dripping gloom, 
 The stairway to the hall, and look'd and saw 
 The great Queen's bower was dark, — about his feet 
 A Toice clung sobbing till he question'd it, 
 ' What art thou ? ' and the voice about his feet 
 Sent up an answer, sobbing, ' I am thy fool, 
 And I shall never make thee smile again.' 
 
 Yes, a fool, but also a soul, and faithful 
 even unto death, and therefore shining stead- 
 fastly like a star in heaven when the false 
 meteor of sense has dropt into endless night. 
 
 The next IdyU should he called Arthur 
 and Guinevere. The conflict now draws to 
 its sharpest issue. It lies between these 
 two : one the victim of a great sin, a crime 
 of sense which chose the lower rather than 
 the higher love ; the other the hero of a 
 great faith, which knows that pardon fol- 
 lows penitence, and seeks to find some light 
 of hope for the fallen. Is Guinevere to be 
 separated from Arthur forever? — that is 
 the question whose answer hangs upon the 
 close of this struggle. And the Queen her- 
 self tells us the result, when she says, — 
 
188 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 Ah great and gentle lord, 
 Who wast as is the conscience of a saint 
 Ajnong his warring senses to thy knights, — 
 . . . Now I see thee what thou art, 
 Thou art the highest and most human too. 
 Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none 
 Will teU the King I love him tho' so late ? 
 Now ' — ere he goes to that great Battle ? none : 
 Myself must tell hitn in that purer life. 
 But now it were too daring. 
 
 In The Passing of Arthur we have a pic- 
 ture of the brave man facing death. All 
 the imagery of the poem is dark and 
 shadowy. The great battle has been fought ; 
 the Round Table has been shattered ; the 
 bodies of the slain lie upon the field, friends 
 and foes mingled together, and not a voice 
 to stir the silence. 
 
 Only the wan wave 
 Brake in among dead faces, to and fro 
 Swaying the helpless hands, and up and down 
 Tumbling the hollow helmets of the fallen, 
 And shiver'd brands that once had fought with Borne, 
 And rolling far along the gloomy shores 
 The Toice of days of old and days to be. 
 
 This is the tide of Time which engulfs all 
 things mortal. Arthur's hour has come : he 
 has lived his life and must pass away. To 
 Sir Bedivere, valiant, simple-hearted knight, 
 but still unable to look beyond the outward 
 appearance of death, this seems a fatal end 
 
THE IDYLLS OF TEE KING. 189 
 
 of all his hopes. He cannot bear to cast 
 away his master's sword, but would fain 
 keep it as a relic. He cries, — 
 
 Ah ! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I. go ? 
 Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes ? 
 For now I see the true old times are dead ; 
 
 But now the whole Bound Table is dissolved 
 Which was an image of the mighty world, 
 And I, the last, go forth companionless, 
 And the days darken round me, and the years, 
 Among new men, strange faces, other minds. 
 
 But the soul of Arthur is stronger, clearer- 
 sighted. In this last conflict with the senses 
 he is victorious. He answers Bedivere, with 
 heroic confidence, that death does not end 
 aU. 
 
 The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
 
 And God fulfils himself in many ways 
 
 Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
 
 He believes that by prayer 
 
 the whole round earth is every way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 
 
 He enters fearlessly upon the mysterious 
 voyage into the future. And as the barge 
 floats with him out of sight, from beyond 
 the light of the horizon there come 
 
 Sounds as if some fair city were one voice 
 Around a king returning from his wars. 
 
190 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Thus the conflict is ended, and the victor- 
 soul enters its rest. 
 
 What shall we say now of this picture of 
 life which Tennyson has given us in his 
 greatest poem ? Is it true ? Does it grasp 
 the facts and draw from them their real 
 lesson ? 
 
 First of all, I think we must admit that 
 there is a serious defect in the very place 
 where it is most to be regretted, — in the 
 character of Arthur. He is t oo perfect for 
 perfection. Tennyson either meant to painF 
 a man who never had any conflict with him- 
 self, which is impossible ; or he intended to 
 exhibit a man in whom the conflict had been 
 fought out, in which case Arthur surely 
 would have borne some of the scars of con- 
 test, shown some sense of personal imperfec- 
 tion, manifested a deeper feeling of compre- 
 hension and compassion for others in their, 
 temptations. But he appears to regard his 
 own character and conduct as absolutely 
 flawless. Even in that glorious parting in- 
 terview with Guinevere — one of the most 
 superb passages in aU literature — his bear- 
 ing verges perilously on Pharisaic self-com- 
 placency. He shows no consciousness of 
 any fault on his own part. He acts and 
 
TBE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 191 
 
 speaks as if he were far above reproach. 
 But was that possible? Was it true? 
 Could such a catastrophe have come without 
 blame on both sides ? Guinevere was but a 
 girl when she left her father's court. It 
 was natural — yes, and it was right — that 
 she shoidd desire warmth and colour in her 
 life. She rode among the flowers in May 
 with Lancelot. Is it any wonder that she 
 found delight in the journey? She was 
 married to the solemn King before the 
 stateliest of Britain's altar-shrines with 
 pompous ceremonies. Is it any wonder that 
 she was oppressed and made her vows with 
 drooping eyes? And then, at once, the 
 King began his state-banquets and negotia^ 
 tions with the Homan ambassadors. He 
 was absorbed in the affairs of his kingdom. 
 He left the young Queen to herself, — and 
 to Lancelot. He seemed to be "dreaming 
 of fame while woman woke to love." Is it 
 strange that she thought him cold, neglect- 
 ful, irresponsive, and said to herseK, " He 
 cares not for me " ? Is it to be marvelled 
 at that she found an outlet for her glowing, 
 passionate heart in her companionship with 
 Lancelot? Perhaps Arthur's conduct was 
 inevitable for one immersed as he was in the 
 
192 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 cares of state ; perhaps he was unconscious 
 that he was exposing his wife, defenceless 
 and alone, to a peril from which he only 
 could have protected her ; but when at last 
 the consequence was discovered, he was 
 bound to confess that he had a share in the 
 transgression and the guilt. It is the want 
 of this note that mars the harmony of his 
 parting speech. A little more humanity 
 woidd have compensated for a little less 
 piety. Had Arthur been a truer husband, 
 Guinevere might have been a more faithful 
 wife. / Th e: excess of virtue is a vice. The 
 person who feels no consciousness of sin 
 must be either more or less than mani This 
 is the worst defect of the Idylls, — that the 
 central character comes so near to being 
 
 " - Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null. 
 
 But this defect is outweighed and can- 
 celled by the fact that the poem, after all, 
 does recognize, and bring out in luminous 
 splendour, the great truths of human life. 
 
 The first of these truths is that Sin is the 
 cause of disorder and misery, and until it 
 is extirpated the perfect society cannot be 
 securely established. And by sin Tennyson 
 does not mean the desire of existence, but 
 the transgression of law. The right to live 
 
THE tDYLLB OF THE KING. 193 
 
 — the right to desire to live — is not denied 
 for a moment. It is in fact distinctly as- 
 serted, and the idea of the immortality of 
 the soul underlies the whole poem. But life 
 must be according to righteousness, if it is 
 to be harmonious and happy; and right- 
 eousness consists in conformity to law. 
 ■ Love is the motive force of tha -poem. The 
 King himself acknowledges its dominion, 
 and says, — 
 
 For saTJng I be join'd 
 To her that is the fairest under heaven, 
 I seem as nothing in the mighty world, 
 And cannot will my will, nor work my work 
 Wholly, nor make myself, in mine own realm, 
 Victor and lord. 
 
 But love also must move within the bounds 
 of law, must be true to its vows. Not even 
 the strongest and most beautiful soul may 
 follow the guidance of passion without re- 
 straint ; for the greater the genius, the 
 beauty, the power, of those who transgress, 
 the more fatal will be the influence of their ' 
 sin upon other lives. 
 
 This indeed is the lesson of the fall of^ 
 Lancelot and Ghiinevere. It was because 
 they stood so high, because they were so 
 glorious in their manhood and womanhood, 
 that their example had power to infect the 
 
194 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 court. Sin is the principle of disintegration 
 and death. It is this that corrupts societies, 
 and brings about the decline and fall of na- 
 tions ; and so long as sin dwells in the heart 
 of man all efforts to create a perfect state, 
 or even to establish an order like the Eound 
 Table in self-perpetuating security, must 
 fail. The redemption and purification of 
 the earth is a long task, beyond human 
 strength ; as Tennyson has said in Locksley 
 Hall, Sixty Years After, — 
 
 Ere she reach her heaTenly-hest a God must mingle wiili 
 the game. 
 
 But side by side with this truth, and in 
 perfect harmony with it, Tennyson teaches 
 that the soul of man has power to resist and 
 conquer sin within its own domain, to tri- 
 umph over sense by steadfast loyalty to the 
 higher nature, and thus to achieve peace and 
 final glory. When I say he teaches this, I 
 do not mean that he sets it forth in any 
 formal way as a doctrine. I mean that he 
 shows it in the life of Arthur as a fact. 
 The King chooses his ideal, and follows it, 
 and it lifts him up and sets him on his 
 course like a star. His life is not a failure,) 
 as it has been called, but a glorious sue-/ 
 cess, for it demonstrates the freedom of ther 
 
THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. 195 
 
 will and the strength of the soul, against the 
 powers of evil and the fate of sin. Its 
 motto might be taken from that same poem 
 from which we have just quoted, — a poem 
 which was foolishly interpreted at first as an 
 avowal of pessimism, but which is in fact a 
 splendid assertion of meliorism, — 
 
 Follow you the star that lights a desert pathway yours 
 
 or mine, 
 Follow till you see the highest human nature is Divine ; 
 
 Follow light and do the right, — for man can half con- 
 trol his doom, — 
 
 Follow till you see the deathless angel seated in the 
 vacant tomh ! 
 
 Einally, the Idylls bring out the profound 
 truth that there is a vicarious element in 
 human life, and that no man liveth to him- 
 self alone. The characters are individu- 
 alized but they are not isolated. They are 
 parts of a vast organism, all bound together, 
 all influencing each other. The victory of 
 sense over soul is not a solitary triumph ; it 
 has far-reaching results. The evil lives of 
 Modred, of Vivien, of Tristram, spread like 
 a poison through the court. But no less 
 fruitful, no less far-reaching, is the victory 
 of soul over sense. Gareth, and Enid, and 
 Balan, and Bors, and Bedivere, and Gala- 
 
196 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 had, Bave power to help and uplift others 
 out of the lower life. Their lives are not 
 wasted : nor does Arthur himself live in 
 vain, though his Round Table is dissolved : 
 for he is " joined to her that is the fairest 
 under heaven," not for a time only, but for- 
 ever. His faith triumphs over her sin. 
 Guinevere is not lost ; she is redeemed by 
 his love. From the darkness of the convent 
 at Almesbury, where she lies weeping in the 
 dust, we hear a voice like that which thrills 
 through the prison of Marguerite in Fau&t. 
 The fiend mutters, Sie ist gerichtet ! But 
 the angel cries, 8ie ist gerettet ! 
 
THE HISTOEIC TRILOGY. 
 
THE HISTOEIC TRILOGY. 
 
 The appearance of Tennyson, in 1875, as 
 a dramatic poet was a surprise. It is true 
 that he had already shown that his genius 
 was versatile and disposed to explore new 
 methods of expression. True, also, that 
 from the year 1842 a strong dramatic ten- 
 dency had been manifest in his works. 
 Ulysses, St. Simeon Stylites, Love and 
 Duty, Locksley Hall, Lucretius, The North- 
 ern Farmer, The Grandmother, different 
 as they are in style, are all essentially 
 dramatic monologues. Maud is rightly en- 
 titled, in the late editions, a Monodrama. 
 The Princess has been put upon the ama- 
 teur stage in very pretty fashion; and the 
 success of Mr. George Parsons Lathrop's 
 fine acting version of Elaine proved not 
 only his own ability, but also the high dra- 
 matic quality of that splendid Idyll. 
 
 But not even these hints that Tennyson 
 had a creative impulse not yet fully satisfied 
 were clear enough to prepare the world for 
 his attempt to conquer another form of art. 
 
200 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 He was acknowledged as a consummate mas- 
 ter of lyric and idyllic poetry. People were 
 not ready to see Mm come out in the seventh 
 decade of his life in a new character, and 
 take the stage as a dramatist. It seemed like 
 a rash attempt to become the rival of his 
 own fame. 
 
 The first feeling of the public at the pro- 
 duction of Queen Mary was undisguised 
 astonishment. And with this a good deal 
 of displeasure was mingled. For the public, 
 after all, is not fond of surprises. Having 
 formed its opinion of a great man, and 
 labelled him once for all as a sweet singer, 
 or a sound moralist, or a brilliant word- 
 painter, or an interesting story-teller, it 
 loves not to consider him in any other 
 light. It is confused and puzzled. The 
 commonplaces of easy criticism become un- 
 available for further use. People shrink 
 from the effort which is required for a new 
 and candid judgment ; and so they fall back 
 upon stale and unreasonable comparisons. 
 They say, " Why d«es the excellent cobbler 
 go beyond his last? The old songs were 
 admirable. Why does not the poet give us 
 more of them, instead of trying us with a 
 new play ? " 
 
TBE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 201 
 
 Thus it came to pass that Queen Mary 
 was received with general dissatisfaction; 
 respectful, of course, because it was the work 
 of a famous man; but upon the whole the 
 public was largely indifferent, and said in a 
 tone of polite authority that it was not nearly 
 so powerful as Hamlet or Macbeth, nor so 
 melodious even as CETiom and The Lotos- 
 Eaters. A like fate befell Harold in 1877, 
 except that a few critics began to feel the 
 scruples of literary conscience, and made an 
 honest effort to judge the drama on its own 
 merits. 
 
 The Falcon, a play founded upon Boccac- 
 cio's well-known story, was produced in 
 1879, and the accomplished Mrs. Kendal, as 
 the heroine, made it at least a partial suc- 
 cess. In 1881 The Cup, a dramatization of 
 an incident narrated in Plutarch's treatise 
 De Mulierum Virtutibus, was brought out at 
 the Lyceum with Mr. Henry Irving and 
 Miss Ellen Terry in the principal roles. It 
 received hearty and general applause, and 
 was by far the most popular of Tennyson's 
 dramas. But its effect upon his fame as a 
 playwright was more than counterbalanced 
 by the grievous failure of The Promise of 
 May in 1882. This piece was intended to 
 
202 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 be an exposure of the pernicious influences 
 of modern secularism. It was upon the 
 whole a most dismal bit of work ; and not 
 even the eccentric conduct of the infidel 
 Marquis of Queensbury, who rose from his 
 seat at one of the performances and violently 
 protested against the play as a libel upon 
 the free-thinkers of England, availed to give 
 it more than a momentary notoriety. At 
 the close of the year 1884 Tennyson pub- 
 lished the longest and most ambitious of his 
 dramas, Beckett with a distinct avowal that 
 it was " not intended in its present form to 
 meet the exigencies of the modern stage." 
 
 The wisdom of this limitation is evident. 
 It contains also a shrewd hint of criticism 
 on the present taste of the average British 
 play-goer. There is a demand for pungent 
 realism, for startling effect, for exaggerated 
 action easy to be followed, and for a sharp 
 climax in a striking tableau, — in short, for 
 a play which stings the nerves without tax- 
 ing the mind. Even Shakspere has to be 
 revised to meet these exigencies. To win 
 success nowadays he must take the stage- 
 manager into partnership. I suppose, when 
 Becket is acted, it must submit to these con- 
 ditions. But meantime there is a higher 
 
THE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 203 
 
 standard. We may consider Qiteen Mary, 
 Harold, and Becket, from another point of 
 view, as dramas not for acting, but for reading. 
 
 It seems to me that this consideration is a 
 debt of honour which we owe to the poet. 
 These tragedies are not to be dismissed as 
 the mistakes and follies of an over-confident 
 and fatally fluent genius. A poet like Ten- 
 nyson does not make three such mistakes in 
 succession. They are not the idle recrea- 
 tions of one who has finished his life-work 
 and retired. They are not the feeble and 
 mechanical productions of a man in his 
 dotage. On the contrary, they are full of 
 fire and force ; and if they err at all it is 
 on the side of exuberance. Their intensity 
 of passion and overflow of feeling make 
 them sometimes turbulent and harsh and 
 incoherent. They would do more if they 
 attempted less. And yet in spite of their 
 occasional overloading and confusion they 
 have a clear and strong purpose which 
 makes them worthy of careful study. The 
 judgment of a critic so intelligent as George 
 Eliot is not to be disregarded, and she has 
 expressed her opinion that " Tennyson's 
 plays run Shakspere's close." 
 
 The point of view from which they must 
 
204 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 be regarded is that of historical tragedy. By 
 this I mean a tragedy which involves not 
 only individuals, but political parties and 
 warring classes of society. Its object is to 
 trace the fate of individuals as it affects the 
 fate of nations ; to exhibit the conflict of op- 
 posing characters not for themselves alone, 
 but as the exponents of those great popular 
 forces and movements which play beneath the 
 surface ; to throw the vivid colours of life 
 into the black and white outlines on the 
 screen of history and show that the figures 
 are not mere shadows but human beings of 
 like passions with ourselves. 
 
 Tennyson's dramatic trilogy is a picture 
 of the Making of England. The three 
 periods of action are chosen with the design 
 of touching the most critical points of the 
 long struggle. The three plots are so de- 
 veloped as to bring into prominence the 
 vital issues of the strife. And the different 
 characters, almost without exception, are ex- 
 hibited as the representatives of the different 
 races and classes and faiths which were con- 
 tending for supremacy. Let us take up the 
 plays in their historical order. 
 
 In Harold we see the close of that fierce 
 triangular duel between the Saxons, the 
 
THE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 205 
 
 Danes, and the Normans, which resulted in 
 the Norman conquest and the binding of 
 England, still Saxon at heart, to the civili- 
 zation of the Continent. The crisis of the 
 drama is the second scene of the second act, 
 ■where Harold, a prisoner in the Palace of 
 Bayeux, is cajoled and threatened and de- 
 ceived by WiUiam to swear an oath to help 
 him to the crown of England. The fierce 
 subtlety of the Norman is matched against 
 the heroic simplicity and frankness of the 
 Saxon. Craft triumphs. Harold discovers 
 that he has sworn, not merely by the jewel 
 of St. Pancratius, on which his hand was laid, 
 but by the sacred bones of all the saints con- 
 cealed beneath it, — an oath which admits 
 of no evasion, the breaking of which after- 
 wards breaks his faith in himself and makes 
 him fight the battle of Senlac as a man fore- 
 doomed to death. Both William and Har- 
 old are superstitious. But William's super- 
 stition is of a kind which enables him to use 
 religion as his tool ; Harold's goes only far 
 enough to weaken his heart and make him 
 tremble before the monk even while he de- 
 fies him. Harold is the better man ; Wil- 
 liam is the wiser ruler. His words over the 
 body of his fallen rival on the battlefield 
 
206 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 are prophetic of the result of the Norman 
 conquest : — 
 
 Since I knew tattle, 
 And that was from my boyhood, never yet — 
 No, by the splendour of God — have I fought men 
 Like Harold and his brethren and his guard 
 Of English. Every man about his king 
 Fell -where he stood. They loved him : and pray God 
 My Normans may but move as true with me 
 To the door of death. Of one self -stock at first, 
 Make them again one people — Norman, English ; 
 And English, Norman ; — we should have a hand 
 To grasp the world with, and a foot to stamp it . . , 
 Flat. Praise the Saints. It is over. No more blood ! 
 I am king of England, so they thwart me not. 
 And I will rule according to their laws. 
 
 It is worth while to remember, in this con- 
 nection, that Tennyson himself is of Nor- 
 man descent. Yet surely there never was 
 a man more thoroughly English than he. 
 
 In Becket we are made spectators of a 
 conflict less familiar, but more interesting 
 and important, — the conflict between the 
 church and the crown, between the ecclesias- 
 tical and the royal prerogatives, which shook 
 England to the centre for many years, and 
 out of the issues of which her present consti- 
 tution has grown. 
 
 In this conflict the Papacy played a much 
 smaller part than we usually imagine ; and 
 
THE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 207 
 
 religion, until the closing scenes, played 
 practically no part at aU. It was in fact a 
 struggle for supreme authority in temporal 
 affairs. First the king was contending 
 against the nobility, and the church took 
 sides with the king. Then the king at- 
 tempted to subjugate the people, and the 
 church, having become profoundly English, 
 took sides with the people. Then the nobles 
 combined against the king, and the church 
 took sides with the nobles. Then the king 
 revolted from the foreign domination of the 
 church, and the people took sides with the 
 king. Then the king endeavoured to use 
 the church to crush the people, and the peo- 
 ple under Cromwell rose against church and 
 king and broke the double yoke. Then the 
 people brought back the king, and he tried 
 to reinstate the church as an instrument of 
 royal absolutism. But the day for that was 
 past. After another struggle, prolonged and 
 bitter, but in the main bloodless, the Eng- 
 lish church lost almost the last vestige of 
 temporal authority, and the English king- 
 dom became simply " a crowned republic." 
 
 Now the point at which Becket touches 
 this long conflict is the second stage. King 
 Henry II., Count of Anjou, surnamed 
 
208 T3E POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 " Plantagenet," owed his throne to the 
 church. It was the influence of the English 
 bishops, especially of Theobald, Anselm's 
 great successor in the See of Canterbury, 
 which secured Henry's succession to the 
 crown of his uncle and enemy. King 
 Stephen. But the wild, wicked blood of 
 Anjou was too strong in Henry for him to 
 remain faithful to such an alliance. He 
 was a thoroughly irreligious man : not only 
 dissolute in life and cruel in temper, but 
 also destitute of the sense of reverence, 
 which sometimes exists even in immoral 
 men. He spent his time at church in look- 
 ing at picture-books and whispering with 
 his friends. He despised and neglected the 
 confessional. He broke out, in his passion- 
 ate fits, with the wildest imprecations against 
 God. The fellowship of the church was dis- 
 tasteful to him ; and even the bond of grati- 
 tude to so good a man as Archbishop Theo- 
 bald was too irksome to be borne. 
 
 Moreover he had gotten from the church 
 all that he wanted. He was now the most 
 mighty monarch in Christendom. His foot 
 was on the neck of the nobles. The royal 
 power had broken down the feudal, and 
 stood face to face with the ecclesiastical, as 
 
TBE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 209 
 
 its only rival. The English Church, whose 
 prerogative made her in effect the supreme 
 judge and ruler over all the educated classes 
 (that is to say over all who could read and 
 write and were thus entitled to claim " the 
 benefit of the clergy "), was the only barrier 
 in Henry's path to an unlimited monarchy. 
 He resolved that this obstacle must be re- 
 moved. He would brook no rivalry in Eng- 
 land, not even in the name of God. And 
 therefore he thrust his bosom-friend, his 
 boon - companion, his splendid chancellor, 
 Thomas Becket, into the Archbishopric of 
 Canterbury, hoping to find in him a willing 
 and skilful ally in the subjugation of the 
 church to the throne. Becket's rebellion 
 and Henry's wrath form the plot of Tenny- 
 son's longest and greatest drama. 
 
 The character of Becket is one of the 
 standing riddles of history. He compels our 
 admiration by his strength, his audacity, his 
 success in everything that he undertook. He 
 is one of those men who are so intensely 
 virile that they remain alive after they are 
 dead : we cannot be indifferent to him : we 
 are for him or against him. At the same 
 time he perplexes us and stimulates our 
 wonder to the highest pitch by the consistent 
 
210 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 inconsistencies and harmonious contradic- 
 tions of his character. The son of an ob- 
 scure London merchant ; the proudest and 
 most accomplished of England's chivalrous 
 youth ; a student of theology in the Univer- 
 sity of Paris ; the favourite pupil of the good 
 Archbishop Theobald ; the boon-companion 
 of the riotous King Henry ; a skilful diploma- 
 tist ; the best horseman and boldest knight 
 of the court ; the hatred of the nobles, and 
 the delight of the peasantry ; the most lavish 
 and luxurious, the most chaste and laborious, 
 of English grandees ; the most devout and 
 ascetic, the most ambitious and the least self- 
 ish, of English bishops ; as unwearied in 
 lashing his own back with the scourge as he 
 had been in smiting his country's enemies 
 with the sword ; as much at home in sack- 
 cloth as in purple and fine linen ; the prince 
 of dandies and of devotees ; the king's most 
 faithful servant and most daring rival, most 
 darling friend and most relentless foe, — 
 what was this Becket? hero or villain? 
 martyr or criminal? true man or traitor? 
 worldling or saint ? 
 
 Tennyson gives us the key to the riddle in 
 the opening scene of the drama. The King 
 and Becket are playing at chess. The King's 
 
THE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 211 
 
 fancy is wandering ; lie is thinking and 
 talking of a hundred different things. But 
 Becket is intent upon the game ; he cannot 
 bear to do anything which he does not do 
 well ; he pushes steadily forward and wins. 
 
 I think this scene gives us the secret of 
 Becket's personality. An eager desire to be 
 perfect in whatever part he played, an im- 
 pulse to lead and conquer in every sphere 
 that he entered, — this was what Henry 
 failed to understand. He did not see that 
 in transforming this intense and absolute 
 man from a chancellor into an archbishop, 
 he was thrusting him into a new part in 
 which his passion for thoroughness would 
 make him live up to all its requirements 
 and become the most inflexible defender of 
 the church against the encroachment of the 
 throne. 
 
 But Becket understood himself and fore- 
 saw the conflict into which the King's plan 
 would plunge him. He knew that for him 
 a change of relations meant a change of 
 character. He resisted the promotion. Ten- 
 nyson depicts most graphically the struggle 
 in his mind. When Henry first broaches 
 the subject, Becket answers : 
 
212 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Mock me not. I am not even a monk. 
 
 Thy jest — no more ! Why, look, is this a sleeve 
 
 For an archbishop ? 
 
 But Henry lays Ms hand on the richly em- 
 broidered garment, and says : 
 
 But the arm within 
 Is Beoket's who hath heaten down my foes. 
 I lack a spiritual soldier, Thomas, 
 A man of this world and the next to hoot. 
 
 Now this is just what Thomas can never be. 
 To either world he can belong, but not to 
 both. He can change, but he cannot com- 
 promise. While he is the defender of the 
 throne he is serviceable and devoted to the 
 King ; when he becomes the leader of the 
 Church he will be equally absorbed in her 
 service. 
 
 The drama exhibits this strange transfor- 
 mation and its consequences. Forced by the 
 urgency of the headstrong King, and per- 
 suaded by a message from the death-bed of 
 his former friend and master Theobald, 
 Becket yields at last and accepts the mitre. 
 From this moment he is another man. With 
 all his doubts as to his fitness for the sacred 
 office, he has now given himself up to it, 
 heart and soul. The tremendous mediaeval 
 idea of the Catholic Church as the visible 
 kingdom of God upon earth takes possession 
 
THE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 213 
 
 of him. He sees also that the Issue of the 
 political conflict in England depends upon 
 the church, which is the people's " tower of 
 strength, their bulwark against Throne and 
 Baronage." He feels that he is called to be 
 the champion of the cause of God and the 
 people. 
 
 I am the man. 
 And yet I seem appall'd, — on such a sudden 
 At such an eagle height I stand, and see 
 The rift that runs between me and the king. 
 I serv'd our Theobald well when I was with him; 
 I serv'd King Henry well when I was Chancellor ; 
 I am his no more, and I must serre the church. 
 And all my doubts I £ing from me like dust, 
 Winnow and scatter all scruples to the wind. 
 And all the puissance of the warrior, 
 And all the wisdom of the Chancellor, 
 And all the heap'd experiences of life, 
 I cast upon the side of Canterbury, — 
 Our holy mother Canterbury, who sits 
 With tatter' d robes. 
 
 Here 
 I gash myself asunder from the king, 
 Though leaving each a wound : mine own, a grief 
 To show the soar forever — his, a hate 
 Not ever to be healed. 
 
 Both of these predictions are fulfilled : and 
 herein lies the interest of the drama. All 
 through the conflict between the monarch 
 and the prelate, Becket's inflexible resist- 
 
214 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ance to the royal commands is maintained 
 only at the cost of a perpetual struggle 
 with his great personal love for Henry, 
 and Henry's resolve to conquer the stub- 
 born archbishop is inflamed and embittered 
 by the thought that Becket was once his 
 dearest comrade. It is a tragic situation. 
 Tennyson has never shown a deeper insight 
 into human nature, than by making this 
 single combat between divided friends the 
 turning-point of his drama. 
 
 The tragedy is enhanced by the introduc- 
 tion of Rosamund de Clifford — the King's 
 
 One sweet rose of the world. 
 
 Her beauty, her innocence, the childlike con- 
 fidence of her affection for the fierce mon- 
 arch, who is gentle only with her and whom 
 she loves as her true husband, her songs and 
 merry games with her little boy in the hid- 
 den bower, fall like gleams of summer sun- 
 light into the stormy gloom of the play. 
 
 Becket becomes her guardian and protec- 
 tor against the cruel, murderous jealousy of 
 Queen Eleanor. A most perilous position : 
 a priest charged by the King whom he is re- 
 sisting with the duty of defending and guard- 
 ing the loveliest of women, and keeping her 
 safe and secret for a master whom he cannot 
 
TEE EJSTOBIC TRILOGY. 215 
 
 but condemn. What a conflict of duty and 
 desire, of conscience and loyalty, of passion 
 and friendship ! How did Becket meet it ? 
 Did he love Kosamund? Would he have 
 loved her if he had not been bound by 
 straiter vows ? Was there anything of dis- 
 loyalty in his persuading her to flee from 
 her bower and take refuge with the nuns at 
 Godstow ? Tennyson thinks not. He paints 
 his hero as a man true to his duty even in 
 this sharpest trial ; upright, steadfast, fear- 
 less, seeking only to save the woman whom 
 his former master loved, and to serve the 
 King even while seeming to disobey him. 
 But Henry cannot believe it. When he 
 hears of Rosamund's flight, his anger against 
 Becket is poisoned with the madness of jeal- 
 ousy. He breaks out with a cry of fierce 
 desire for his death. And at this hint, four 
 of the Barons, who have long hated Becket, 
 set out to assassinate him. 
 
 The final scene in the Cathedral is full of 
 strength and splendour. Even here a ray 
 of sweetness falls into the gloom, in the 
 presence of Rosamund, praying for Becket 
 in his perils : — 
 
 Save that dear head which now is Canterbury, 
 Save him, he saved my life, he saved my child. 
 
216 THE POETRY OF TENNT80N. 
 
 Save him, his blood would darken Henry's name, 
 Save him, till all as saintly as thyself. 
 He miss the searching flame of Pnrgatory, 
 And pass at once to perfect Paradise. 
 
 But the end is inevitable. Becket meets it 
 as fearlessly as lie has lived, crying as the 
 blows of the assassins fall upon him before 
 the altar, — 
 
 At the right hand of Power — 
 Power and great glory — for thy chmch, Lord — 
 Into thy hands, Lord — into thy hands — 
 
 Two years afterwards, he was canonized as 
 a saint. His tomb became the richest and 
 most popular of English shrines. King 
 Henry himself came to it as a pilgrim, and 
 submitted to public penance at the grave of 
 the man who was too strong for him, even in 
 death. The homage of the nation may not 
 prove that Becket was a holy martyr, but at 
 least it proves that he was one of the first 
 of those great Englishmen " who taught the 
 people to struggle for their liberties," and 
 that Tennyson was right in choosing this 
 man as the hero of his noblest historic 
 drama. 
 
 In Queen Mary, we are called to watch 
 the third great conflict of England. Church 
 and people have triumphed. It has already 
 
TEE BISTOlilC TRILOGY. 217 
 
 become clear that the English throne must 
 be 
 
 Broad-bas'd upon the people's will, 
 
 and that religion will be a controlling influ- 
 ence in the life of the nation. But what 
 type of religion? The Papacy and the 
 Reformation have crossed swords and are 
 struggling together for the possession of the 
 sea-girt island. How sharp was the contest, 
 how near the friends of Spain and Italy 
 came to winning the victory over the friends 
 of Germany and Holland and Switzerland, 
 Tennyson has shown in his vivid picture of 
 Mary's reign. 
 
 The characters are sharply drawn. Philip, 
 with his icy sensuality and gigantic egotism ; 
 Gardiner with his coarse ferocity. 
 
 His big baldness, 
 That irritable forelock which he rubs. 
 His buzzard beak, and deep incavem'd eyes ; 
 
 Reginald Pole, the suave, timorous, selfish 
 ecclesiastic; Sir Thomas Wyatt and Sir 
 Ralph Bagenhall, brave, steadfast, honest 
 men, English to the core ; Cranmer with 
 his moments of weakness and faltering, well 
 atoned for by his deep faith and humble pen- 
 itence and heroic martyrdom ; all these stand 
 out before us like living figures against the 
 
218 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 background of diplomatic intrigue and popu- 
 lar tumult. And Mary herself, — never has 
 that unhappy queen, the victim of her own 
 intense, passionate delusions, had such jus- 
 tice done to her. She came near to wreck- 
 ing England. Tennyson does not let us 
 forget that ; but he softens our hatred and 
 our horror with a touch of human pity for 
 her own self-wreck as he shows her sitting 
 upon the ground, desolate and desperate, 
 moaning for the treacherous Philip in 
 
 A low voice 
 Lost in a wilderness where none can hear ! 
 A voice of shipwreck on a shoreless sea ! 
 A low voice from the dust and from the grave. 
 
 The drama which most naturally invites 
 comparison with Queen Mary is Shak- 
 spere's Henry VIII. And it seems to me 
 that if we lay the two works side by side, 
 Tennyson's does not suffer even by this 
 hazardous propinquity. Take the song of 
 Queen Catherine: 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees 
 And the mountain-tops that freeze 
 
 Bow themselves when he did sing : 
 To his music plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung ; as Sun and showers 
 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 
 Everything that heard him play- 
 Even the billows of the sea 
 
 Hung their heads and then lay by. 
 
TBE HISTORIC TRILOGY. 219 
 
 In sweet music is such art, 
 Killing cajre and grief of heart 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 And then read Queen Mary's song : — 
 
 Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing ! 
 Beauty passes like a breath and love is lost in loathing : 
 Low, my lute : speak low, my lute, but say the world 
 is nothing — 
 Low, lute, low! 
 
 LoTe will hover round the flowers when they £rst 
 
 awaken ; 
 Love will fly die fallen leaf and not be overtaken : 
 Low, my lute I oh low, my lute ! we fade and are 
 
 forsaken — 
 Low, dear lute, low I 
 
 Surely it is not too much to say that this 
 is infinitely more pathetic as well as more 
 musical than Shakspere's stiff little lyric. 
 
 Or if this comparison seem unfair, then 
 try the two dramas by their strength of 
 character-painting. Is not Tennyson's Philip 
 as vivid and as consistent as Shakspere's 
 Henry ? Does not the later Gardiner stand 
 out more clearly than the earlier, and the 
 younger Howard surpass the elder ? Is not 
 the legate Pole more lifelike than the legate 
 Campeius? Is not Cecil's description of 
 Elizabeth more true and sharp, though less 
 high-flown, than Cranmer's ? We must ad- 
 mit that there are " purple patches " of elo- 
 
220 TEE PQETRT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 quence, like Wolsey's famous speech upon 
 ambition, in Shakspere's work, wliich are 
 unrivalled. But taken altogether, as an 
 historic drama. Queen Mary must rank not 
 below, perhaps even above, Henry VIII. 
 
 The systematic undervaluation of Tenny- 
 son's dramatic work is a reproach to the in- 
 telligence of our critics. J. R. Green, the 
 late historian of The English People, said 
 that " all his researches into the annals of the 
 twelfth century had not given him so vivid 
 a conception of the character of Henry II. 
 and his court as was embodied in Tenny- 
 son's SecJcet." Backed by an authority like 
 this it is not too daring to predict that the 
 day is coming when the study of Shak- 
 spere's historical plays wiU be reckoned no 
 more important to an understanding of Eng- 
 lish history than the study of Tennyson's 
 Trilogy. 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 
 
 It is safe to say that there is no other 
 book which has had so great an influence 
 upon the literature of the world as the Bible. 
 And it is almost as safe — at least with no 
 greater danger than that of starting an in- 
 structive discussion — to say that there is 
 no other literature which has felt this influ- 
 ence so deeply or shown it so clearly as the 
 English. 
 
 The cause of this latter fact is not far to 
 seek. It may be, as a discontented French 
 critic suggests, that it is partly due to the 
 inborn and incorrigible tendency of the An- 
 glo-Saxon mind to drag religion and morality 
 into everything. But certainly this tendency 
 would never have taken such a distinctly 
 Biblical form had it not been for the beauty 
 and vigour of our common English version 
 of the Scriptures. These qualities were felt 
 by the people even before they were praised 
 by the critics. Apart from all religious 
 prepossessions, men and women and children 
 
224 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 were fascinated by the native power and 
 grace of the book. The English Bible was 
 popular, in the broadest sense, long before it 
 was recognized as one of our noblest English 
 classics. It has coloured the talk of the 
 household and the street, as well as moulded 
 the language of scholars. It has been some- 
 thing more than a " weU. of English unde- 
 filed ; " it has become a part of the spiritual 
 atmosphere. We hear the echoes of its 
 speech everywhere; and the music of its 
 familiar phrases haunts all the fields and 
 groves of our fine literature. 
 
 It is not only to the theologians and the 
 sermon-makers that we look for Biblical 
 allusions and quotations. We often find the 
 very best and most vivid of them in writ- 
 ers professedly secular. Poets like Shak- 
 spere, Milton, and Wordsworth; novelists 
 like Scott and romancers like Hawthorne; 
 essayists like Bacon, Steele, and Addison ; 
 critics of life, unsystematic philosophers, like 
 Carlyle and Euskin, — all draw upon the 
 Bible as a treasury of illustrations, and use 
 it as a book equally familiar to themselves 
 and to their readers. It is impossible to 
 put too high a value upon such a universal 
 volume, even as a mere literary possession. 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 225 
 
 It forms a bond of sympathy between the 
 most cultivated and the simplest of the peo- 
 ple. The same book lies upon the desk of 
 the scholar and in the cupboard of the peas- 
 ant. If you touch upon one of its narra- 
 tives, every one knows what you mean. If 
 you allude to one of its characters or scenes, 
 your reader's memory supplies an instant 
 picture to illuminate your point. And so 
 long as its words are studied by little chil- 
 dren at their mothers' knees and recognized 
 by high critics as the model of pure English, 
 we may be sure that neither the jargon of 
 science nor the slang of ignorance wiU be 
 able to create a Shibboleth to divide the 
 people of our common race. There will be 
 a medium of communication in the language 
 and imagery of the English Bible. 
 
 This much, by way of introduction, I have 
 felt it necessary to say, in order to mark the 
 spirit of this essay. For the poet whose 
 works we are to study is at once one of the 
 most scholarly and one of the most widely ^' 
 popular of English writers. At least one 
 cause of his popularity is that there is so 
 much of the Bible in Tennyson. How much, 
 few even of his most ardent lovers begin 
 to understand. 
 
226 THE POETRY OF TENNTaON. 
 
 I do not know that the attempt has ever 
 been made before to collect and collate all 
 the Scriptural allusions and quotations in 
 his works, and to trace the golden threads 
 which he has woven from that source into 
 the woof of his poetry. The delight of 
 " fresh woods and pastures new " — so rare 
 in this over-explored age — has thus been 
 mine. I have found nearly three hundred 
 direct references to the Bible in the poems 
 of Tennyson ; and have given a list of them 
 in the appendix to this book. This may 
 have some value for professed Tennysonians, 
 and for them alone it is given. The general 
 reader would find it rather dry pasturage. 
 But there is an aspect of the subject which 
 has a wider interest. And in this essay I 
 want to show how closely Tennyson has read 
 the Bible, how well he understands it, how 
 much he owes to it, and how clearly he 
 stands out as, in the best sense, a defender 
 of the faith. 
 
 On my table lies the first publication 
 which bears the name of Alfred Tennyson : 
 a thin pamphlet, in faded gray paper, con- 
 taining the Prolusiones Academicce, recited 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 227 
 
 at the University of Cambridge in 1829. 
 Among them is one with the title : Timbtic- 
 too ; A Poem which bbtained the Chancel- 
 lor's Medal, etc., by A. Tennyson, of Trinity 
 College.' 
 
 On the eleventh page, in a passage de- 
 scribing the spirit of poetry which fills the 
 branches of the " great vine of Fable," we 
 find these lines : — 
 
 There is no mightier Spirit than I to sway 
 The heart of man : and teach Mm to attain 
 Sy shadowing forth the Unattainable; 
 And step by step to scale the mighty stair 
 Whose landing place is wrapped ahont with clonds 
 Of glory of Heaven. 
 
 And at the bottom of the page stands this 
 foot-note : J5e ye perfect even as your JFaiher 
 in Heaven is perfect. 
 
 This is the earliest Biblical allusion that 
 we can identify in the writings of Tennyson. 
 Even the most superficial glance will detect 
 its beauty and power. There are few who 
 have not felt the lofty attraction of the 
 teachings of Christ, in which the ideal of 
 holiness shines so far above our reach, while 
 we are continually impelled to climb to- 
 wards it. Especially these very words about 
 perfection, which He spoke in the Sermon 
 
228 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 on the Mount, have often lifted us upward 
 just because they point our aspirations to a 
 goal so high that it seems inaccessible. The 
 young poet who sets a jewel like this in his 
 earliest work shows not only that he has 
 understood the moral sublimity of the doc- 
 trine of Christ, but also that he has rightly 
 conceived the mission of noble poetry, — to 
 idealize human life. Once and again in his 
 later writings we see the same picture of 
 the soul rising step by step 
 
 To higher things ; 
 
 and catch a glimpse of those vast altar-stairs 
 
 That slope through darkness up to God. 
 
 In the poem entitled Isabel — one of the 
 best in the slender volume of 1830 — there 
 is a line which reminds us that Tennyson 
 must have known his New Testament in the 
 original language. He says that all the 
 fairest forms of nature are types of the 
 noble woman whom he is describing, — 
 
 And thou of God in thy great charity. 
 
 No one who was not familiar with the Greek _ 
 of St. Paul and St. John would have been 
 bold enough to speak of the "charity of 
 God." It is a phrase which throws a golden 
 light upon the thirteenth chapter of the 
 
TBE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 229 
 
 First Epistle to the Corinthians, and brings 
 the human love into harmony and union 
 with the divine. 
 
 JTie May Queen is a poem which has 
 sung itself into the hearts of the people 
 everywhere. The tenderness of its senti' 
 ment and the exquisite cadence of its music 
 have made it beloved in spite of its many 
 faults. Yet I suppose that the majority of 
 readers have read it again and again, with- 
 out recognizing that one of its most melo- 
 dious verses is a direct quotation from the 
 third chapter of Jbh. 
 
 And the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are 
 at rest. 
 
 This is one of the instances — by no means 
 rare — in which the translators of our Eng- 
 lish Bible have fallen unconsciously into the 
 rhythm of the most perfect poetry ; and it is 
 perhaps the best illustration of Tennyson's 
 felicitous use of the very words of Scripture. 
 There are others, hardly less perfect, in 
 the wonderful sermon which the Rector 
 in Aylmer's Field delivers after the death 
 of Edith and Leolin. It is a mosaic of 
 Bible language, most curiously wrought, and 
 fused into one living whole by the heat of 
 an intense sorrow. How like a heavy, dull 
 
230 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 refrain of prophetic grief and indignation 
 recurs the dreadful text, 
 
 Your honse is left unto yon desolate. 
 
 The solemn association of the words lends the 
 force of a superhuman and unimpassioned 
 wrath to the preacher's language, and the 
 passage stands as a monumental denuncia- 
 tion of 
 
 The social wants that sin against the strength of youth. 
 
 Enoch Arden's parting words to his wife 
 contain some heautiful fragments of Scrip- 
 ture embedded in the verse : 
 
 Cast all your cares on God ; that anchor holds. 
 Is He not yonder in the uttermost 
 Farts of the morning ? If I flee to these 
 Can I go from Him ? and the sea is His, 
 The sea is His : He made it. 
 
 The Idylls of the King are full of deli- 
 cate and suggestive allusions to the Bible. 
 Take for instance the lines from the JBoly 
 Grail : — 
 
 When the Lord of all things made Himself 
 Naked of glory for TTig mortal change. 
 
 Here is a commentary most illuminative, on 
 the fifth and sixth verses of the second chap- 
 ter of Philippians. Or again, in the same 
 Idyll, where the hermit says to Sir Perci- 
 vale, after his unsuccessful quest, — 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 231 
 
 Thou hast not lost thyself to find thyself, 
 
 we are reminded of the words of Christ and 
 the secret of all victory in spiritual things : 
 He that loseth his life shall find it. 
 
 In The Coming of Arthur, while the 
 trumpet blows and the city seems on fire 
 with sunlight dazzling on cloth of gold, the 
 long procession of knights pass before the 
 King, singing their great song of allegiance. 
 It is full of warrior's pride and delight 
 of battle, clanging battle-axe and flashing 
 brand, — a true song for the heavy fighters 
 of the days of chivalry. But it has also a 
 higher touch, a strain of spiritual grandeur, 
 which although it may have no justification 
 in an historical picture of the Round Table, 
 yet serves to lift these knights of the poet's 
 imagination up into an ideal realm and set 
 them marching as ghostly heroes of faith 
 and loyalty through all ages. 
 
 The King will follow Christ, and we the King. 
 
 Compare this line with the words of St. 
 Paul: Be ye followers of me even as I also 
 am of Christ. They teach us that the last- 
 ing devotion of men is rendered not to the 
 human, but to the divine, in their heroes. 
 He who would lead others must first learn 
 
232 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 to follow One who is higher than himself. 
 Without faith it is not only impossible to 
 please God, but also impossible to rule men. 
 King Arthur is the ideal of one who has 
 heard a secret word of promise and seen a 
 vision of more than earthly glory, by virtue 
 of which he becomes the leader and master 
 of his knights, able to inspire their hopes 
 and unite their aspirations and bind their 
 service to himself in the fellowship of the 
 Eound Table. 
 
 And now turn to one of the latest poems 
 that Tennyson has given us : Locksley Hally 
 Sixty Years After. Sad enough is its la- 
 ment for broken dreams, dark with the 
 gloom of declining years, when the grass- 
 hopper has become a burden and desire has 
 failed and the weary heart has grown afraid 
 of that which is high ; but at the close the 
 old man rises again to the sacred strain : — 
 
 Follow you the star that lights a desert pathway, yours 
 
 or mine, 
 Forward, till you see the highest Human Nature is 
 
 divine. 
 
 Follow Light and do the Eight — for man can haU con- 
 trol his doom — 
 Till you see the deathless angel seated in the vacant tomh 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 233 
 
 n. 
 
 When we come to speak of the Biblical 
 scenes and characters to which Tennyson 
 refers, we find so many that the difficulty is 
 to choose. He has recognized the fact that 
 an allusion wins half its power from its con- 
 nection with the reader's memory and pre- 
 vious thought. In order to be forcible and 
 effective it must be at least so familiar as to 
 awaken a train of associations. An allusion 
 to something which is entirely strange and 
 unknown may make an author appear more 
 learned, but it does not make him seem more 
 delightful. Curiosity may be a good atmos- 
 phere for the man of science to speak in, but 
 the poet requires a sympathetic medium. 
 He should endeavour to touch the first notes 
 of well-known airs, and then memory will 
 supply the accompaniment to enrich his 
 music. This is what Tennyson has done, 
 with the instinct of genius, in his references 
 to the stories and personages of the Bible. 
 
 His favourite allusion is to Eden and the 
 mystical story of Adam and Eve. This 
 occurs again and again, in The Day-Dream, 
 Maud, In Memoriam, The Gardener's 
 Daughter, TTie Princess, Milton, Enid, 
 
234 THE POETBT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 and Ladp Clara Vere de Vere. The last 
 instance is perhaps the most interesting, on 
 account of a double change which has been 
 made in the form of the allusion. In the 
 edition of 1842 (the first in which the poem 
 appeared) the self-assertive peasant who re- 
 fuses to become a lover says to the lady of 
 high degree, — 
 
 Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 From yon blue heavens above us bent, 
 
 The gardener Adam and his wife 
 SmUe at the claims of long descent. 
 
 In later editions this was altered to "the 
 grand old gardener and his wife." But in 
 this form the reference was open to misun- 
 derstanding. I remember a charming young 
 woman, who once told me she had always 
 thought the lines referred to some particu- 
 larly pious old man who had formerly taken 
 care of Lady Clara's flower-beds, and who 
 now smiled from heaven at the foolish pride 
 of his mistress. So perhaps it is just as 
 well that Tennyson restored the line, in 
 1875, to its original form, and gave us " the 
 gardener Adam " again, to remind us of the 
 quaint distich — 
 
 When Adam delved and Eve span, 
 Who was then the gentleman ? 
 
TEE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 235 
 
 The story of Jephtha's daughter is another 
 of the Old Testament narratives for which 
 the poet seems to have a predilection. It is 
 told with great beauty and freedom in the 
 Dream of Fair Women; Aylmer's Field 
 touches upon it; and it recurs in The 
 Flight. 
 
 In The Princess we find the Queen of 
 Sheba, Vashti, Mirip,m, Jael, Lot's wife, 
 Jonah's gourd, and the Tower of Babel. 
 And if your copy of the Bible has the Apoc- 
 rypha in it, you may add the story of Judith 
 and Holofernes. 
 
 Esther appears in Enid, and Rahab in 
 Queen Mary. In Godiva we read of the 
 Earl's heart, — 
 
 As rough as Esau's hand ; 
 
 and in Locksley Hall we see the picture of 
 the earth standing 
 
 At gaze, like Joshua's moon in Ajalon. 
 The Sonnet to Buonaparte recalls to our 
 memory 
 
 Those -whom Oideon sohool'd with biiers. 
 
 In the Palace of Art we behold the hand- 
 writing on the wall at Belshazzar's Feast. 
 
 It would be impossible even to enumerate 
 Tennyson's allusions to the life of Christ, 
 
236 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 from the visit of the Magi, which appears in 
 Morte cf Arthur and The Holy Grail, down 
 to the line in Balin and Balan which tells 
 of 
 
 That same spear 
 Wherewith the Konum pierced the aide of Christ. 
 
 But to my mind the most beautiful of aU 
 the references to the New Testament is the 
 passage in In Memoriam which describes the 
 reunion of Mary and Lazarus after his re- 
 turn from the grave. With what a human 
 interest does the poet clothe the familiar 
 story ! How reverently and yet with what 
 natural and simple pathos does he touch 
 upon the more intimate relations of the three 
 persons who are the chief actors ! The ques- 
 tion which has come a thousand times to 
 every one that has lost a dear friend, — the 
 question whether love survives in the other 
 world, whether those who have gone before 
 miss those who are left behind and have any 
 knowledge of their grief, — this is the sug- 
 gestion which brings the story home to us 
 and makes it seem real and living. 
 
 When Lazarus left his chamel-cave, 
 And home to Mary's house return' d, 
 Was this demanded, — if he yearn' d 
 
 To hear her weeping hy his grave ? 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 237 
 
 "Where wert thou brother those four days ? " 
 There lives no record of reply, 
 Which telling what it is to die, 
 Had surely added praise to praise. 
 
 From every house the neighbours met, 
 The streets "were fill'd with joyful sound, 
 A solemn gladness even crown'd 
 
 The purple brows of Olivet. 
 
 Behold a man raised up by Christ ! 
 
 The rest remaineth unreveal'd ; 
 
 He told it not; or something seal'd 
 The lips of that Evangelist. 
 
 Then follows that marvellous description 
 of Mary, — a passage which seems to me to 
 prove the superiority of poetry, as an art, 
 over painting and sculpture. For surely 
 neither marble nor canvas ever held such a 
 beautiful figure of devotion as that which 
 breathes in these verses : — 
 
 Her eyes are homes of silent prayer, 
 No other thought her mind admits 
 But, he was dead, and there he sits. 
 
 And He that brought bim back is there. 
 
 Then one deep love doth supersede 
 All other, when her ardent gaze 
 Roves from the living brother's face 
 
 And rests upon the Life indeed. 
 
 All subtle thought, aU curious fears, 
 Borne down by gladness so complete. 
 She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet 
 
 With costly spikenard and with tears. 
 
238 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Thrice West whose lives are faithful prayers, 
 Whose loves in higher love endure ;. 
 What sonls possess themselves so pnre, 
 
 Or is there blessedness like theirs ? 
 
 It does not seem possible that the chang- 
 ing fashions of poetic art should ever make 
 verses like these seem less exquisite, or that 
 Time should ever outwear the sweet and 
 simple power of this conception, of religion. 
 
 There is no passage in the range of litera- 
 ture which expresses more grandly the mys- 
 tery of death, or shows more attractively the 
 happiness of an unquestioning personal faith 
 in Him who, alone of men, has solved it and 
 knows the answer. I cannot bear to add 
 anything to it by way of comment, except 
 perhaps these words of Emerson : " Of im- 
 mortality, the soul, when well employed, is 
 incurious. It is so well that it is sure it 
 will be well. It asks no questions of the 
 Supreme Being." 
 
 The poem of Eizpah, which was first pub- 
 lished in the volume of Ballads in 1880, is 
 an illustration of dramatic paraphrase from 
 the Bible. The story of the Hebrew mother 
 watching beside the dead bodies of her sons 
 whom the Gibeonites had hanged upon the 
 hill, and defending them night and day for 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYBON. 239 
 
 six months from the wild beasts and birds of 
 prey, is transformed into the story of an 
 English mother, whose son has been executed 
 for robbery and hung in chains upon the gib- 
 bet. She is driven wild by her grief ; hears 
 her boy's voice wailing through the wind, " O 
 mother, come out to me ; " creeps through the 
 rain and the darkness to the place where the 
 chains are creaking and groaning with their 
 burden ; gropes and gathers all that is left 
 of what was once her child and carries him 
 home to bury him beside the churchyard 
 wall. And then, when she is accused of 
 theft, she breaks out in a passion of defence. 
 It is a mother's love justifying itself against 
 a cruel law. Those poor fragments which 
 the wind and the rain had spared were hers, 
 by a right divine, — bone of her bone, — 
 she had nursed and cradled her baby, and all 
 that was left belonged to her ; justice had 
 no claim which could stand against hers. 
 
 Theirs ? O no ! they are mine, — not theiis, — they had 
 moved in my side ! 
 
 A famous writer has said of this passage, 
 "Nothing more piteous, more passionate, 
 more adorable for intensity of beauty was 
 ever before this wrought by human cunning 
 into the likeness of such words as words are 
 powerless to praise." 
 
240 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 III. 
 
 In trying to estimate the general influ- 
 ence of the Bible upon the thought and feel- 
 ing of Tennyson we have a more delicate 
 and difficult task. For the teachings of 
 Christianity have become a part of the moral 
 atmosphere of the age ; and it is hard for 
 us to tell just what any man would have been 
 without them, or just how far they have 
 made him what he is, while we are looking 
 at him through the very same medium in 
 which we ourselves are breathing. If we 
 could get out of ourselves, if we could divest 
 ourselves of aU those views of God and 
 duty and human life which we have learned 
 so early that they seem to us natural and in- 
 evitable, we might perhaps be able to arrive 
 at a more exact discrimination. But this 
 would be to sacrifice a position of vital sym- 
 pathy for one of critical judgment. The 
 loss would be greater than the gain. It is 
 just as well for the critic to recognize that 
 he is hardly able 
 
 To sit as God, holding no f onn of creed, 
 But contemplating all. 
 
 Tennyson himself has described the mental 
 paralysis, the spiritual distress, which follow 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 241 
 
 that attempt. A critic ought to be free from 
 prejudices, but surely not even for the sake 
 of liberty should he make himself naked of 
 convictions. To float ou wings above the 
 earth ■will give one a bird's-eye view; but 
 for a man's-eye view we must have a stand- 
 ing-place on the earth. And after all the 
 latter may be quite as true, even though it 
 is not absolutely colourless. 
 
 The effect of Christianity upon the poetry 
 of Tennyson may be felt, first of aU, in its 
 general moral quality. By this it is not 
 meant that he is always or often preaching, 
 or drawing pictures 
 
 " To point a moral or adorn a tale." 
 
 Didactic art sometimes misses its own end 
 by being too instructive. We find in Ten- 
 nyson's poems many narratives of action and 
 descriptions of character which are simply 
 left to speak for themselves and teach their* 
 own lessons. In this they are like the his- 
 tories in the BooJc of Judges or the Books 
 of the Kings. The writer takes it for granted 
 that the reader has a heart and a conscience. 
 Compare in this respect, the perfect sim- 
 plicity of the domestic idyll of Dora with 
 the Booh of Ruth. 
 
 But at the same time the poet can hardly 
 
242 TEE POETRY OF TENNIS ON. 
 
 help rerealing, more by tone and accent than 
 by definite words, his moral sympathies. 
 Tennyson always speaks from the side of 
 virtue ; and not of that new and strange vir- 
 tue which some of our later poets have ex- 
 alted, and which when it is stripped of its 
 fine garments turns out to be nothing else 
 than the unrestrained indulgence of every 
 natural impulse; but rather of that old- 
 fashioned virtue whose laws are " Self -rever- 
 ence, self-knowledge, self-control," and which 
 finds its highest embodiment in the morality 
 of the New Testament. Head, for example, 
 his poems which deal directly with the sub- 
 ject of marriage: The Miller's Daughter, 
 Isabel, Lady Clare, The Lord of Burleigh, 
 Locksley Hall, Love and Duty, The Wreck, 
 Aylmer's Field, Erboeh Arden, the latter 
 part of The Princess, and many different 
 ■passages of the Idylls. From whatever side 
 he approaches the subject, whether he is 
 painting with delicate, felicitous touches the 
 happiness of truly-wedded hearts, or de- 
 nouncing the sins of avarice and pride which 
 corrupt the modem marriage-mart of society, 
 or tracing the secret evil which poisoned the 
 court of Arthur and shamed the golden head 
 of Guinevere, his ideal is always the perfect 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 243 
 
 and deathless union of two lives in one, 
 " wlucli is commended of St. Paul to be hon- 
 ourable among all men." To him woman 
 seems loveliest when she has 
 
 The laws of marriage character'd in gold 
 Upon tile blanched tahlets of her heart, 
 
 and man strongest when he has learned 
 
 To love one maiden only, oleaTe to her. 
 And worship her hy years of noble deeds. 
 
 The theology of Tennyson has been ac- 
 cused of a pantheistic tendency ; and it can- 
 not be denied that there are expressions in 
 his poems which seem to look in that direc- 
 tion, or at least to look decidedly away from 
 the conception of the universe as a vast 
 .machine and its Maker as a supernatural 
 machinist who has constructed the big watch 
 and left it to run on by itself until it wears 
 out. But surely this latter view, which 
 fairly puts God out of the world, is not the 
 view of the Bible. The New Testament 
 teaches us, undoubtedly, to distinguish be- 
 tween Him and His works; but it also 
 teaches that He is in His works, or rather 
 that aU His works are in Him, — in Sim, 
 says St. Paul, we live and move and have our 
 being. Light is His garment. Life is His 
 breath. 
 
244 TEE POETRY OF TENNTBON. 
 
 God is law say the wise ; Sonl, and let us rejoice, 
 For if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet His voice. 
 
 But if I wished to prove, against those 
 who doubted, Tennyson's belief in a living, 
 personal, spiritual God, immanent in the 
 universe, yet not confused with it, I should 
 turn to his doctrine of prayer. There are 
 many places in his poems where prayer is, 
 not explained, but simply justified, as the 
 highest activity of a human soul and a real 
 bond between God and man. In these very 
 lines on The Higher Pantheism, from which 
 I have just quoted, there is a verse which 
 can only be interpreted as the description of 
 a personal intercourse between the divine 
 and the human : — 
 
 Speak to Him, thou, for He heats, and Spirit with Spirit, 
 
 can meet, — 
 Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and 
 
 feet. 
 
 Of Enoch Arden in the dreadful loneliness 
 of that rich island where he was cast away 
 it is said that 
 
 Had not his poor heart 
 Spoken with That, which being everywhere 
 Lets none, who speaks with Him, seem all alone, 
 Surely the man had died of solitude. 
 
 When he comes back, after the weary years 
 of absence, to find his wife wedded to an- 
 
TSk BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 245 
 
 other, and his home no longer his, it is by- 
 prayer that he obtains strength to keep his 
 generous resolve 
 
 Not to tell her, never to let her know, 
 
 and to bear the burden of his secret to the 
 lonely end. Edith, in the drama of Harold, 
 when her last hope breaks and the shadow 
 of gloom begins to darken over her, cries, — 
 
 No help but prayer, 
 A breath that fleets beyond this iron world 
 And touches Him that made it. 
 
 King Arthur, bidding farewell to the last of 
 his faithful knights, says to him, — 
 
 Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
 Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice 
 Kise like a fountain for me night and day. 
 For what are men better than sheep or goats 
 That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
 If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
 Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? 
 For so the whole round earth is every way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. 
 
 But lest any one should say that these pas- 
 sages are merely dramatic, and do not ex- 
 press the personal faith of the poet, turn to 
 the solemn invocation in which he has struck 
 the keynote of his deepest and most personal 
 poem, — 
 
 Strong Son of God, immortal Love { 
 
246 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 It is the poet's own prayer. No man could 
 have written it save one who believed that 
 God is Love, and that Love is incarnate in 
 the person of Jesus Christ. 
 
 Next to the question of the reality of 
 God, comes the problem of human life and 
 destiny. And this has a twofold aspect. 
 First, in regard to the present world, is 
 man moving upward or downward ; is good 
 stronger than evil or evil stronger than good ; 
 is life worth living, or is it a cheat and a 
 failure? Second, in regard to the future, 
 is there any hope of personal continuance 
 beyond death ? To both of these inquiries 
 Tennyson gives an answer which is in har- 
 mony with the teachings of the Bible. 
 
 He finds the same difficulties and doubts 
 in the continual conflict between good and 
 evil which are expressed in Job and Eccle- 
 siastes. Indeed so high an authority as 
 Professor Plumptre has said that " the 
 most suggestive of all commentaries " on the 
 latter book are Tennyson's poems. The Vis- 
 ion of Sin, The Palace of Art, and Two 
 Voices. In the last of these he draws out 
 in the form of a dialogue the strife between 
 hope and despair in the breast of a man who 
 has grown weary of life and yet is not ready 
 
THE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 247 
 
 to embrace death. For, after all, the sum 
 of the reasons which the first voice urges in 
 favour of suicide is that nothing is worth 
 very much, no man is of any real value to 
 the world, il n'y pas d'homme necessaire, no 
 effort produces any lasting result, all things 
 are moving round and round in a tedious 
 circle, — vanity of vanities, — if you are 
 tired why not depart from the play ? The 
 tempted man — tempted to yield to the 
 devil's own philosophy of pessimism — uses 
 all argument to combat the enemy, but in 
 vain, or at least with only half -success ; imtil 
 at last the night is worn away; he flings 
 open his window and looks out upon the 
 Sabbath morn. 
 
 The sweet church bellg began to peal. 
 
 Onto God's honse the people prest; 
 Passing the place where each must rest, 
 Each entered like a welcome guest. 
 
 One walked between his wife and child, 
 With measured footfall firm and mild, 
 And now and then he gravely smiled. 
 
 The prudent partner of his blood 
 Leaned on him, faithful, gentle, good, 
 Wearing the rose of womanhood. 
 
 And in their double love secure, 
 The little maiden walked demure. 
 Pacing with downward eyelids pure. 
 
248 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 These three made unity so sweet, 
 My frozen heart began to heat, 
 BememheTing its ancient heat. 
 
 I hlest them, and they wandered on : 
 I spoke, hut answer came there none ; 
 The dnll and hitter Toiee was gone. 
 
 And then comes another voice whispering of 
 a secret hope, and bidding the soul "Ke- 
 joice ! Rejoice ! " If we hear in the first 
 part of the poem the echo of the saddest 
 book of the Old Testament, we hear also in 
 the last part the tones of Him who said: 
 Let not your heart he troubled, in my 
 Father'' s house are many mansions ; if it 
 were not so I would have told you. 
 
 There are many places in the poems of 
 Tennyson where he speaks with bitterness of 
 the falsehood and evU that are in the world, 
 the corruptions of society, the downward 
 tendencies in human nature. He is in no 
 sense a rose-water optimist. But he is in 
 the truest sense a meliorist. He doubts not 
 that 
 
 Thro' the ages one increasing purpose nms, 
 And the thoughts of men aie widened with the process of 
 the suns. 
 
 He believes that good 
 
 Shall he the final goal of ill. 
 
 He rests his faith upon the uplifting power 
 of Christianity ; — 
 
TBE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 249 
 
 For I count the gray barbarian lower than the Christian 
 child. 
 
 He hears the bells at midnight tolling the 
 death of the old year, and he calls them to 
 
 Ring in the valiant man and free, 
 The larger heart, the kindlier hand ; 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be I 
 
 In regard to the life beyond the grave, 
 he asserts with new force and beauty the 
 old faith in a personal immortality. The 
 dim conception of an unconscious survival 
 through the influence of our thoughts and 
 deeds, which George Eliot has expressed in 
 her poem of "the choir invisible," Tenny- 
 son finds to be 
 
 A faith as vague as all unstreet. 
 Eternal form shall still divide 
 The eternal soul from all beside ; 
 
 And I shall know him when we meet. 
 
 The Christian doctrine of a personal recog- 
 nition of :friends in the other world has 
 never been more distinctly uttered than in 
 these words. It is not, indeed, supported 
 by any metaphysical arguments ; nor are we 
 concerned thus to justify it. Our only 
 purpose now is to show — and after these 
 verses who can doubt it — that the poet 
 
250 THE POETBT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 has kept the faith which he learned in his 
 father's house and at his mother's knee. 
 
 On many other points I fain would touch, 
 but must forbear. There is one more, how- 
 ever, on which the orthodoxy of the poet 
 has been questioned, and by some critics 
 positively denied. It is said that he has 
 accepted the teachings of Universalism. A 
 phrase from In Memoriam, 
 
 The larger hope, — 
 
 has been made a watchword by those who 
 defend the doctrine of a second probation, 
 and a sign to be spoken against by those 
 who reject it. Into this controversy I have 
 no desire to enter. Nor is it necessary ; for, 
 whatever the poet's expectation may be, 
 there is not a line in all his works that con- 
 tradicts or questions the teachings of Christ, 
 nor even a line that runs beyond the limit 
 of human thought into the mysteries of the 
 unknown and the unknowable. The wages 
 of sin is death ; the wages of virtue is to go 
 on and not to die. This is the truth which 
 he teaches on higher authority than his own. 
 " The rest," as Hamlet says, " is silence." 
 But what is the end of all these conflicts, 
 these struggles, these probations? What 
 the final result of this strife between sin and 
 
TBE BIBLE IN TENNTBON. 251 
 
 virtue ? What the consummation of oppug- 
 nancies and interworkings ? The poet looks 
 onward through the mists and shadows and 
 sees only God ; — 
 
 That God, wHoh ever lives and lovea, 
 
 One God, one law, one element. 
 
 And one far-off divine event. 
 To "wliioli the whole creation moves. 
 
 And if any one shall ask what this far-off 
 divine event is, we may answer in the words 
 of St. Paul:— 
 
 For he must reign until he hath put all 
 enemies under his feet. The last enemy 
 that shall he abolished is death. For, he 
 •put all things in subjection under his feet. 
 But when he saith, all things are put in 
 subjection, it is evident that he is excepted 
 who did subject all things unto him. And 
 when all things have been subjected unto 
 him, then shall the Son also himself be 
 subjected to him that did subject all things 
 unto him, that God may be all in all. 
 
 And now, as we bring to a close this brief 
 study of a subject which I trust has proved 
 larger than it promised at first to those who 
 had never looked into it, what are our con- 
 clusions ? Or if this word seem too exact 
 
252 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 and formal, what are our impressions in re- 
 gard to the relations between Tennyson and 
 the Bible ? 
 
 It seems to me that we cannot help seeing 
 that the poet owes a large debt to the Chris- 
 tian Scriptures, not only for their formative 
 influence upon his mind and for the purely 
 literary material in the way of illustrations 
 and allusions which they have given him, 
 but also, and more particularly, for the crea- 
 tion of a moral atmosphere, a medium of 
 thought and feeling, in which he can speak 
 freely and with assurance of sympathy to a 
 very wide circle of readers. He does not 
 need to be always explaining and defining. 
 There is much that is taken for granted, 
 much that goes without saying. What a 
 world of unspoken convictions lies behind 
 such poems as Dora and Enoch Arden. 
 Their beauty is not in themselves alone, but 
 in the air that breathes around them, in the 
 light that falls upon them from the faith 
 of the centuries. Christianity is something 
 more than a system of doctrines ; it is a life, 
 a tone, a spirit, a great current of memories, 
 beliefs and hopes flowing through millions 
 of hearts. And he who launches his words 
 upon this current finds that they are carried 
 
TBE BIBLE IN TENNYSON. 253 
 
 with a strength beyond his own, and 
 freighted often with a meaning which he 
 himself has not fully understood as it flashed 
 through him. 
 
 But, on the other hand, we cannot help 
 seeing that the Bible gains a wider influence 
 and a new power over men as it flows 
 through the poet's mind upon the world. Its 
 narratiTCS and its teachings clothe them- 
 selves in modern forms of speech, and find 
 entrance into many places which otherwise 
 were closed against them. I do not mean 
 by this that poetry is better than the Bible, 
 but only that poetry lends wings to Chris- 
 tian truth. People who would not read a 
 sermon will read a poem. And though its 
 moral and religious teachings may be indi- 
 rect, though they may proceed by silent 
 assumption rather than by formal assertion, 
 they exercise an influence which is perhaps 
 the more powerful because it is unconscious. 
 The Bible is in continual danger of being 
 desiccated by an exhaustive (and exhaust- 
 ing) scientific treatment. When it comes 
 to be regarded chiefly as a compendium of 
 exact statements of metaphysical doctrine, 
 the day of its life wiU be over, and it will 
 be ready for a place in the museum of anti- 
 
254 TBE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 quities. It must be a power in literature if 
 it is to be a force in society. For literature, 
 as a wise critic has defined it, is just " the 
 best that has been thought and said in the 
 world." And if this be true, literature is 
 certain, not only to direct culture but also to 
 mould conduct. 
 
 Is it possible, then, for wise and earnest 
 men to look with indifference upon the course 
 of what is often called, with a slighting 
 accent, " mere belles lettres " ? We might 
 as well be careless about the air we breathe 
 or the water we drink. Malaria is no less 
 fatal than pestilence. The chief peril which 
 threatens the permanence of Christian faith 
 and morals is none other than the malaria of 
 modem letters, — an atmosphere of duU, 
 heavy, faithless materialism. Into this nar- 
 cotic air the poetry of Tennyson blows like 
 a pure wind from a loftier and serener 
 height, bringing life and joy. His face 
 looks out upon these darkening days, — 
 grave, strong, purified by conflict, lighted 
 by the inward glow of faith. He is become 
 as one of the prophets, — a witness for God 
 and for immortality. 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREK 
 
FKUIT FEOM AN OLD TKEE. 
 
 In the quiet garden of Christ's College, 
 at Cambridge, there is a mulberry-tree of 
 which tradition tells that it was planted by 
 John Milton, in his student days. I remem- 
 ber sitting on the green turf beneath it, a few 
 years ago, and looking up at the branches, 
 heavy with age, and propped on crutches, 
 and wondering to see that the old tree still 
 brought forth fruit. It was not the size nor 
 the quality of the fruit that impressed me. 
 I hardly thought of that. The strange thing, 
 the beautiful thing, was that, after so many 
 years, the tree was yet bearing. 
 
 It is this feeling that comes to us when we 
 see the productive power of a poet continued 
 beyond the common term of human life. The 
 thing is so rare that it appears almost mirac- 
 ulous. "Whom the gods love die young" 
 seems to be the law for poets ; or at least, if 
 they chance to live long, the gods, and chiefly 
 Apollo, cease to love them. How few are 
 the instances in which poetic fertility has 
 lasted beyond the threescore years ! Words- 
 
258 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 worth, Landor, Victor Hugo, Robert Brown- 
 ing, — among our American singers: Bry- 
 ant, Longfellow, Whittier, and Lowell, — 
 truly they are not many to whom has been 
 given the double portion of long life and 
 unfailing song. English literature has no 
 parallel, in this respect, to the career of Ten- 
 nyson. Sixty-five years of poetry, and stUl 
 the silver cord is not loosed, nor the golden 
 bowl broken. 
 
 I want to say a word or two in this essay 
 about the fruitage of his later life. It has 
 a value of its own, apart from the wonder of 
 its production at such an advanced age. I 
 am quite sure that there is a great deal which 
 belongs to the real and enduring poetry of 
 Tennyson, in the two volumes which he gave 
 to the world in 1886 and 1889. A few only 
 of the best critics (among whom Professor T. 
 R. Lounsbury must be named with honour), 
 have recognized the meaning and worth of 
 Locksley Hall Sixty Years After; and there 
 still remains something to be said by way of 
 appreciation of Demeter and Other Poems. 
 
 The first Locksley Hall was beyond a doubt 
 the strongest and most immediately success- 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 259 
 
 ful thing in the two volumes of 1842, whicli 
 gave Tennyson his place as a popular poet. 
 The billowy rush of the verse, the romantic 
 interest of the story, the vigorous spirit of 
 hope and enthusiasm which throbbed through 
 the poem and made it seem alive with the 
 breath of a new age, at once captivated aU 
 readers. It was this poem, more than any 
 other, which lifted Tennyson beyond the 
 admiration of a narrow circle and opened to 
 him the heart of the world. And it is worthy 
 of notice that, even in its outward form, this 
 poem is one of the few which his habit of 
 self -correction has left almost unchanged. 
 There are but four slight verbal variations 
 between the first and the last editions. 
 
 Forty-four years had passed when the poet 
 took up the thread of his youthful dream once 
 more, and followed it to the end. There was 
 a prophetic hint of this sequel in the earlier 
 poem. We heard the eager young soldier 
 complaining the loss of the " harvest of his 
 youthful joys," and dimly forecasting his 
 own feelings in old age : — 
 
 Knowledge comes, but -wisdom lingers, and he bears a 
 
 laden breast, 
 Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his 
 
 rest. 
 
260 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 But that picture could not be filled out 
 until the experience had really come. The 
 result of the bitter personal disappointment 
 which then seemed to have shattered his life 
 forever, the value of the glowing hopes for 
 the future of his country and the world in 
 which he sought a refuge from himself, 
 could not be fairly estimated until they had 
 been tested by time, until he knew what life 
 was in its entirety. Not until he was old 
 was it possible for Tennyson to complete the 
 life-drama of Locksley Hall. 
 
 The dramatic nature of the poem must 
 not be forgotten, for it is this which gives 
 unity to the two parts. They are not dis- 
 connected strings of brUliant metaphors and 
 comparisons, or trochaic remarks upon hu- 
 man life and progress. They are the ex- 
 pression of a character, the lyric history of 
 a life; they form a complete and rounded 
 whole. They are two acts in the same play. 
 The hero, the scene, remain the same. Only 
 the time is changed by half a century. 
 
 It seems quite evident that Tennyson was 
 not willing to leave his hero as he stood in 
 the first act. For with all his attractive, not 
 to say " magnetic," qualities, there was some- 
 thing about him that was unlovely and repel- 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 261 
 
 lent, almost absurd. He made too much of 
 himself, talked too loudly and recklessly, was 
 too much inclined to rave and exaggerate. 
 Tennyson doubtless wished to do for him 
 what time really does for every man whose 
 heart is of true metal, — make him wiser and 
 kinder, and more worthy to be loved. The 
 touches by which this change has been 
 accomplished are most delicate, marvellous, 
 admirable. Compare the rejected lover's 
 jealousy of the baby rival whose lips should 
 laugh him down, and whose hands should 
 push him from the mother's heart, vsdth the 
 old man's prayer beside the marble image of 
 Amy, 
 
 Looking still as if she smiled, 
 
 sleeping quietly with her little child upon 
 her breast. Or turn from the young man's 
 scornful and unjust description of the richer 
 suitor who had carried off his sweetheart, to 
 the generous tribute which he laf s at last 
 upon the grave of him who / 
 
 StrOTe for sixty widow'd years to help j his homelier 
 brother-man. 
 
 Or put his first wild complaint of the worth- 
 lessness and desolation of his life beside his 
 later acknowledgment of the joy and strength 
 
262 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 which had come to him through the larger, 
 deeper love of Edith. Surely, if words have 
 any meaning, the poet means to teach us by 
 these things that not only youthful jealousy, 
 but also youthful despair, is false, and that, 
 for every one who will receive its moral dis- 
 cipline and hold fast to its eternal hopes, life 
 is worth the living. 
 
 So far, then, as the story of the two poems 
 is concerned, so far as they present to us a 
 picture of an individual human character, 
 and trace its development through the expe- 
 rience of joy and sorrow, their lesson is sweet 
 and sound and full of encouragement. It 
 shows the frailty of exaggerated feelings of 
 passion, born in an atmosphere of tropical 
 heat and unable to endure the cooler air of 
 reality. But it shows also that the garden 
 of life has better and more lasting blossoms, 
 affections which survive aU shock and change, 
 a man's love which is stronger than a boy's 
 fancy, a man's reverence for honest worth 
 which can overcome a boy's resentment for 
 imagined wrongs, 
 
 A sober certainty of waking bliss 
 
 which makes divine amends for the vanished 
 dreams of boyhood. It reminds us of the 
 
FBUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 263 
 
 story of the " child-wife," Dora, and the 
 woman-wife, Agnes, which Dickens has told 
 in David Copperfield, or of Thackeray's his- 
 tory of Henry Esmond. 
 
 But when we come to consider the sequel 
 of the poem in its other aspect, as a com- 
 mentary on modern England, as an estimate 
 of the result of those buoyant, bounding 
 hopes which seemed to swing the earlier 
 verses onward in the f uU tide of exultation 
 toward a near millennium, we shall find a 
 difference of opinion. There were some who 
 regarded the second Locksley Hall as a ver- 
 itable palinode, a complete recantation of 
 the poet's youthful creed, a shameful deser- 
 tion from the army of progress to the army 
 of reaction, a betrayal of the standard of 
 hope into the hands of despair. There were 
 others, among them Mr. Gladstone, who 
 thought that, though the poet had not really 
 deserted the good cause, he had at least 
 yielded too far to despondency, and that he 
 was in danger of marring the jubilee of 
 Queen Victoria's reign with unnecessarily 
 " tragic tones." It seems to me that both of 
 these views are unjust, because they both 
 fail to go far enough beneath the surface. 
 They leave out of sight several things which 
 
264 THE POETRT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 are necessary to a fair judgment of the 
 poem. 
 
 First of all is the fact that the poet does 
 not speak for himself, but through the lips 
 of a persona, a mask; and what he says 
 must be in character. Mr. Gladstone has, 
 indeed, noted this fact; but he has failed 
 to take fully into account the peculiar and 
 distinctive qualities of the character which 
 the poet has chosen. The hero of Lochsley 
 Hall is a man in whom emotion is stronger 
 than thought ; impulsive, high-strung, super- 
 sensitive ; one to whom everything that he 
 sees must loom larger than life, through the 
 mist of his own overwrought feelings. This 
 is his nature. And if in youth he took too 
 bright a view of the future, it is quite as 
 inevitable that in age he should take too 
 dark a view of the present. If there be any 
 exaggeration in his complaints about the evils 
 of our times, it is but fair to set them down 
 to the idiosyncrasy of the character, and not 
 to the sober conviction of the poet. 
 
 But suppose we put this plea of dramatic 
 propriety aside, and make Tennyson answer- 
 able for all that his hero says. We shall 
 find that there were some things in the first 
 rhapsody quite as hard and bitter as any in 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 265 
 
 the second. Take the vigorous imprecations 
 against the social wants, the social lies, the 
 sickly forms, by which the young man is 
 oppressed and infuriated. Hear him cry : — 
 
 What is that -which I should turn to, lighting upon days 
 
 like these 1 
 Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden 
 
 keys. 
 
 See his picture of the hungry people, creep- 
 ing, like a lion toward the slothful watcher 
 beside a dying fire. Here, at least, even in 
 the first outflow of hopeful music, are the 
 warning notes. And though there may be 
 more severity in the old man's condemnation 
 of the Iniquities and follies of society, in one 
 point at least he has grown milder. He 
 does not indulge in any more " cursing." 
 
 Observe, also, if we must hold Tennyson 
 responsible for a retraction in the second 
 poem of anything that he taught in the first, 
 just what is the point to which that retraction 
 applies. He does not deny his early hope 
 for the future of England and the world ; he 
 denies only the two false grounds on which 
 that hope was based. 
 
 One of these grounds was the swift and 
 wonderful march of what is called modern 
 improvement; meaning thereby the steam- 
 
266 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 ship, the railway, the telegraph, and the 
 advance of aU the industrial arts. Of these 
 he says now : — 
 
 Half the marvels of my morning, triumphs over time and 
 
 ipace, 
 Staled by frequence, shnmk by usage into commonest 
 
 commonplace. 
 
 And is not this true ? Have we not all felt 
 the shrinkage of the much vaunted miracles 
 of science into the veriest kitchen utensils 
 of a comfort- worshipping society ? Physical 
 powers have heen multiplied by an unknown 
 quantity, but it is a serious question whether 
 moral powers have not had their square root 
 extracted. A man can go from New York 
 to London now in six days. But when he 
 arrives we find him no better man than if 
 it had taken him a month. He can talk 
 across three thousand miles of ocean, but he 
 has nothing more, nothing wiser, to say than 
 when he sent his letter by a sailing-packet. 
 All the inventions in the world will not 
 change man's heart, or 
 
 Lift him nearer godlike state. 
 
 The other ground of hope in the old 
 Locksley Hall was the advance of modern 
 politics, through the freedom of speech and 
 the extension of suffrage, which seemed to 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 267 
 
 promise at no distant date a sort of universal 
 "Parliament of Man," a "Federation of the 
 World." In the new Locksley Hall the 
 poet confesses that this ground also has 
 failed him. He no longer thinks so highly 
 of Parliament that he desires to see it repro- 
 duced on a larger scale. The virtues of talk 
 as a panacea for human iUs appear to him 
 more than dubious. He hazards the conjec- 
 ture that 
 
 Old England may go down in baliUe at last. 
 
 And he breaks out in fierce indignation 
 against the " rivals of realm-ruining party," 
 who care more for votes than for truth, and 
 speak more for the preservation of their 
 own power than for the preservation of the 
 Empire. 
 
 Now, what is all this but the acknowledg- 
 ment of the truth which most sober men 
 are beginning to feel ? Fifty years ago 
 material science and political theory prom- 
 ised large things. The promise has been 
 kept to the ear and broken to the hope. The 
 world has gone forward — a little — but it 
 has not arrived at a complete millennium, 
 nor even swept at once into a brighter day ; 
 far from it. There are heavy clouds upon 
 
268 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 the sky. The moral condition of humanity 
 in general, and of England in particular, is 
 certainly not free from elements of degrada/- 
 tion and threats of danger. Let me quote 
 two sentences from writers who deserve at 
 least an attentive hearing : — 
 
 "British industrial existence seems fast 
 becoming one huge poison-swamp of reeking 
 pestilence, physical and moral ; a living 
 Golgotha of souls and bodies buried alive ; 
 such a Curtius' gulf communicating with the 
 nether deeps as the sun never saw tiU. now." 
 Thus spoke the Sage of Chelsea. And, after 
 the same fashion, Ruskin says: "Remem- 
 ber, for the last twenty years, England and 
 all foreign nations, either tempting her or 
 following her, have blasphemed the name of 
 God deliberately and openly ; and have done 
 iniquity by proclamation, every man doing 
 as much injustice to his brother as it is in 
 his power to do." 
 
 These utterances, like the darker verses in 
 Tennyson's poem, are not meant to be taken 
 as complete pictures of the present time. 
 They are only earnest and vigorous warn- 
 ings against the easy-going, self-complacent 
 optimism which talks as if the millennium 
 had already dawned. To reply to them by 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 269 
 
 an enumeration of the inventions which have 
 been made, and the political measures which 
 have been passed, during the last half-cen- 
 tury, is quite beside the point. The question 
 remains, Is human life really higher, holier, 
 happier ? 
 
 The answer, if it is thoughtful as well 
 as hopeful, must be, A little. But still the 
 strife, the shame, the suffering, endure. 
 StiU 
 
 City children soak and Slacken soul and sense in city 
 slime ; 
 
 There among the glooming allies Progress halts on palsied 
 
 feet, 
 Crime and hnnger cast our maidens hy the thousand on 
 
 the street. 
 
 If we ask when and how these things shall 
 cease, the reply comes, not from the fairy- 
 tales of science nor from the blue-books of 
 politics, but from the heart of Christian char- 
 ity and from the promise of Christian faith. 
 And this is the reply which Tennyson has 
 given, in words as pure and clear and musical 
 as he has ever uttered : — 
 
 Follow you the Star that lights a desert pathway, yours 
 
 or mine, 
 Forward, till you learn the highest Human Nature is 
 
 divine. 
 
270 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Follow Light and do the Bight — for man can half con- 
 trol his doom — 
 
 Till yon aee the deathless Angel seated in the vacant 
 Tomb. 
 
 Forward, let the stormy moment fly and mingle with the 
 
 Past. 
 I that loathed have come to love him. Love will conquer 
 
 at the last. 
 
 The last line recalls ns once more to the 
 personal interest of the poem, which, aiter 
 all, is the strongest. The hero of Lochsley 
 Hall is bidding us farewell. He has played 
 his part through. The drama of liEe is 
 ended. In the first act we saw the youth 
 seeking to forget his private sorrow in the 
 largest public hopes ; turning from the lost 
 embraces of his " faithless Amy," to lay his 
 head upon the vast bosom of the age, and 
 listen to the deep throbbing of cosmic hopes. 
 In the second act we see the old man seek- 
 ing to forget his public disappointments in 
 his private affections; turning back from 
 that hard and unrestful world-bosom, where 
 he has heard nothing better than the clank 
 of machinery and the words of windy ora- 
 tory, to find rest in the tender memories of 
 Amy and Edith, and the man whom time 
 had changed from his enemy into his friend ; 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 271 
 
 and looking forward to the promise of Chris- 
 tianity for the fulfilment of his hopes in an 
 age not yet revealed. 
 
 Who that understands anything of a young 
 man's, or an old man's, heart can question the 
 truth of these two pictures ? And who will 
 venture to say that the true philosophy of 
 life does not lie somewhere between optimism 
 and pessimism, in that steadfast and chas- 
 tened meliorism to which the Gospel of the 
 Incarnation makes its appeal and gives its 
 promise ? 
 
 n. 
 
 The volume entitled Demeter and Other 
 Poems, which appeared at the close of the 
 year 1889, does not contain any one poem 
 of equal interest with the second Lochsley 
 Hall; but it contains several of more perfect 
 workmanship, and in its wide range of sub- 
 ject and style it shows some of the finest 
 qualities of Tennyson's poetry. 
 
 Take, first, his sympathetic interpretation 
 of Nature. Wordsworth was the leader 
 here ; he was the first to lift Nature to the 
 level of man, and utter in human language 
 her most intimate meanings ; but Tennyson 
 has added something to the scope and beauty 
 
272 TBB POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 of this kind of poetry. He has caught more 
 of the throbbing and passionate and joyous 
 voices of the world ; he has not entered so 
 deeply into the silence and solemnity of 
 guardian mountains and sleeping lakes and 
 broad, bare skies; but he has felt more 
 keenly the thrills and flushes of Nature — 
 the strange, sudden, perplexed, triumphant 
 impulses of that eager seeking and tremulous 
 welcoming of love which flows like life-blood 
 through all animate things. And so he is 
 at his best with Nature when he comes to 
 the springtime. The lines on T%e Oak are 
 Wordsworthian in their simplicity ; the last 
 stanza is a model of austere expression : — 
 
 All his leares 
 
 Fall'n at length, 
 Look, he stands. 
 Trunk and hongh. 
 
 Naked strength. 
 
 But in TTie Throstle we have something 
 that none but Tennyson could have written. 
 Immortal youth throbs and pulses in this 
 old man's song. The simple music of joy, 
 so swift and free that its cadences break 
 through and through each other and over- 
 flow the edges of the verse, — 
 
 Snmmer is coming, summer is coming, 
 I know it, I know it, I know it. 
 
FUVIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 273 
 
 Light again, leaf again, life again, love again, 
 Yes, my wild little poet. 
 
 That sings itself. 
 
 The poem of Demeter, which gives name 
 to the volume, is valuable for several qual- 
 ities. It is an example of that opulent, 
 stately, and musical blank verse in -which 
 Tennyson is the greatest master since Milton 
 died. It shows also his power of re-animat- 
 ing an old-world legend with the vivid feel- 
 ing of present life. The ancient myth of 
 the earth-goddess, whose daughter has been 
 snatched away into the shadowy under- 
 world, is quickened by the poet's genius into 
 an impassioned utterance of the sharp con- 
 trast between the spectral existence of 
 Hades and the "sweet, homely familiarities of 
 the earth, the clinging of the heart to simple 
 mortal life, and the preference of its joys 
 and sorrows to aU the " hard eternities " of 
 passionless gods. But to my apprehension, 
 the best quality in this poem, and the most 
 vital, strange as it may seem, is its revelation 
 of the depth and power of the poet's human 
 sympathy. 
 
 Somehow or other Demeter's divinity is 
 forgotten and lost in her motherhood. Take 
 that strong, sweet, simple passage which 
 begins, — 
 
274 TEE POETRY OF TENNT30N. 
 
 Child, -when thou wert gone 
 I envied human mves and nested birds. 
 
 It would be impossible to express more 
 directly and vividly the dependence of the 
 mother upon the babe who is dependent upon 
 her, the yearning of the maternal breast 
 toward the child who has been taken from it. 
 It is the same generous love which is set to 
 music in the song in Romney's Remorse; 
 but there the love is not robbed and disap- 
 pointed, but satisfied in the outpouring of its 
 riches : — 
 
 Beat, little heart, I give yon this and this. 
 
 That is the fragrance, the melody, the mys- 
 tery of the passion of motherhood — pro- 
 found, simple, elemental. And when a poet 
 can feel and interpret that for us, and at the 
 same time express the rude and massive 
 gratitude of the stolid peasant in a poem 
 like Owd Rod, and the troubled, sensitive 
 penitence of a vain, weak artist in a poem 
 like Romney^s Remorse, he proves that 
 nothing human is foreign to him. 
 
 Tennyson's most distinctive trait — that 
 by which he is best known to those who know 
 him best — is the power of uttering a deli- 
 cate, vague, yet potent emotion, one of those 
 feelings which belong to the twilight of the 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 275 
 
 heart where the light of love and the shadow 
 of regret are mingled, in an exquisite lyric 
 which defines nothing and yet makes every- 
 thing clear. To this class belong such songs 
 as " Tears, idle tears" " Blow, hugle, blow," 
 and " Break, break, break." And this vol- 
 ume gives us another lyric with the same 
 mystical and musical charm, " Far — far 
 — away." This is a melody that haunts 
 youth and age : the attraction of distance, 
 the strange magic of the dim horizon, the 
 enchantment of evening bells sounding from 
 beyond the bounds of sight ; these are things 
 so aerial and evanescent that they seem to 
 elude words; but Tennyson has somehow 
 caught them in his song. 
 
 But there is something still nobler and 
 greater in his poetry than any of these quali- 
 ties which we have noted. There is a spirit- 
 ual courage in his work, a force of faith 
 which conquers doubt and darkness, a light 
 of inward hope which burns dauntless under 
 the shadow of death. Tennyson is the poet 
 of faith; faith as distinguished from cold 
 dogmatism and the acceptance of traditional 
 creeds; faith which does not ignore doubt 
 and mystery, but triumphs over them and 
 faces the unknown with fearless heart. The 
 
276 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 poem entitled Vastness is an expression of 
 this faith. It was published nearly five 
 years ago in MacmillarCs Magazine, and 
 those who know its impassioned force are 
 glad to see it placed at length among the 
 poet's acknowledged work in this volume. 
 But there is even a finer quality, a loftier, 
 because a serener, power in the poem with 
 which the book closes. Nothing that Tenny- 
 son has ever written is more beautiful in 
 body and soul than Crossing the Mar. 
 
 Sniiset and evening star, 
 
 And one clear call for me I 
 And may there be no moaning of the har, 
 
 When I put out to sea, 
 
 But such a tide as moving seems asleep, 
 
 Too full for sound and foam. 
 When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
 
 Turns again home. 
 
 Twilight and evening bell. 
 
 And after that the dark ! 
 And may there be no sadness of farewell, 
 
 When I embark ; 
 
 For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 
 
 The flood may bear me far, 
 I hope to see my Pilot face to face. 
 
 When I have crossed the bar. 
 
 That is perfect poetry — simple even to 
 
FRUIT FROM AN OLD TREE. 2,11 
 
 the verge of austerity, yet rich with all the 
 suggestions of wide ocean and waning light 
 and vesper bells; easy to understand and 
 full of music, yet opening inward to a truth 
 which has no words, and pointing onward to 
 a vision which transcends all forms ; it is a 
 delight and a consolation, a song for mortal 
 ears, and a prelude to the larger music of 
 immortality. 
 
 Men say that faith and art have parted 
 company, that faith is dead, and art must 
 live for itself alone. But while they say this 
 in melancholy essays and trivial verses which 
 perish at birth, our two greatest artists. 
 Browning and Tennyson, face to face with 
 death, are singing a song that will never die, 
 because it is a prophecy of eternal life. And 
 one has crossed the bar with music ; and the 
 other waits with music for the call and the 
 voyage, without fear, not silent nor despair- 
 ing, according as it is written : I believe, and 
 therefore sing. 
 
ON THE STUDY OF TENNYSO 
 
ON THE STUDY OF TENNYSON: 
 
 To Miss Grace Newlight, in Oldport, near 
 Boston. 
 
 My dear Miss Newlight, — It is very- 
 good of you to begin your letter by saying 
 that you have read my book on The Poetry 
 of Tennyson. Almost every candid author 
 (except, perhaps, a few who have written, 
 but not published, in or near your native 
 place) will acknowledge that he has what 
 the precise French call a foible, for the per- 
 sons who have voluntarily become his read- 
 ers, and that he inclines to form a high esti- 
 mate of their wisdom, taste, and personal 
 character. In this weakness I share, and 
 take no shame in confessing it. Whether 
 the opening of your letter was dictated by the 
 natural goodness of your heart, or whether 
 you have added a gentle diplomacy to your 
 many other accomplishments, you have cer- 
 tainly put your request for "advice about 
 the best way to study Tennyson " in such a 
 form as to make me sincerely desirous of 
 offering you my poor best. 
 
282 THE POETRY OF TENNTBON. 
 
 Candidly, then, and after serious reflec- 
 tion, upon my literary honour and con- 
 science I believe that the very best way to 
 study any poet is to read his poems. 
 
 There are other ways, of course, perhaps 
 easier, unquestionably more in vogue. You 
 remember those profound lectures which Pro- 
 fessor Boreham gave last Lent on " The Pes- 
 simism of Petrarch," and how many young 
 women were stimulated by them to wear the 
 Laura hat and enter a higher life. You 
 know also the charming Mrs. Lucy Liebig, 
 in whose " Class for General Information " 
 it is possible to get the extractum carnis of 
 several modern poets in an hour, so that one 
 can thereafter speak of aU their principal 
 characters with familiarity, and even with 
 accuracy. You have been a member of the 
 " Society for the Elucidation of the Minor 
 Moral Problems in Sordello," and a sub- 
 scriber to The Literary Peptone, whose ac- 
 complished reviewers have made the task of 
 digesting a book for one's self seem like an 
 obsolete superfluity. With all of these de- 
 vices for poetical study, so entertaining and 
 in their way so useful, you are familiar. 
 But, after all, if you really care to know and 
 love a poet, I must commend you to the sim- 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 283 
 
 pie and old-fashioned plan of reading him. 
 Nothing can take the place of that. 
 
 And with Tennyson, believe me, you will 
 not find this plan difficult. It is not an 
 adventure for which you will need great 
 preparation or many confederates. You 
 may safely undertake it alone, and for plea- 
 sure. Here and there, especially in The 
 Princess, there are hard places where good 
 notes will help you. And perhaps with a 
 few poems, notably with In Memoriam, one 
 wants an analysis or commentary. But in 
 the main Tennyson is a clear poet, and there- 
 fore a delightful one. The only book which 
 is indispensable for understanding him is 
 that thick, gi-een volume which bears on its 
 back the title The Works of Tennyson. 
 Get a copy of this book for your very own ; 
 
 — and if you are wise, you will get one that 
 is not too fine for you to mark on the mar- 
 gin, and if you have a tender conscience, 
 you will get one that has not been pirated ; 
 
 — take it with you into a quiet place, among 
 the mountains, or on the seashore, or by 
 your fireside, and read it with a free mind 
 and a fresh heart. Read, not as if you were 
 preparing for an examination or getting 
 ready to make an index, — but read for the 
 
284 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 sake of seeing what the poet has seen, and 
 feeling what he has felt, and knowing what 
 he has thought, — read the book not for idle 
 pastime, but for noble pleasure ; not for dry- 
 knowledge, but for living wisdom; and if 
 you read thus, I am sure it will do for you 
 what Dr. Johnson said that every good, 
 great book ought to do, — it wiU help you 
 to enjoy life and teach you to endure it. 
 
 Now I am perfectly sure that you are not 
 a member of the tribe of the Philistines, and 
 therefore you wiU not think of reading such 
 a book as you would read a treatise on logic, 
 straight through, from the first page to the 
 last. You will want a plan, a principle of 
 order to direct your reading. The first 
 question you wiU ask is. Where to begin 
 among the poems, and how to continue ? Is 
 it possible to classify them ? Can we " get a 
 line through Tennyson," which may help us 
 to understand the meaning of his works, and 
 their relation to each other ? 
 
 Well, as to classification, I am not inclined 
 to set a very high value upon it in the study 
 of poetry. There are certain broad divisions 
 which can be made, — none better, after all, 
 than the old Grreek trichometry of epic, lyric, 
 and dramatic, corresponding to the intellect, 
 
TEE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 285 
 
 the emotions, and the will. But unless you 
 use this division in a strictly formal and me- 
 chanical fashion, it will not be possible to 
 make the works of Tennyson, or of any other 
 modem poet, fit into it exactly. You will 
 find that some of the poems do not belong 
 to any one of the three divisions, and others 
 plainly belong to several. You will not 
 know at all what to do with Maud, or Locks- 
 ley Hall, or The Palace of Art, or Ulysses, 
 unless you put them into a border land. 
 And when it comes to more minute classifi- 
 cation, on the lines of psychology, — Poems 
 of Reflection, Poems of Imagination, Poems 
 of Fancy, Poems of Sentiment, and the like, 
 — I doubt whether even a great poet can 
 accomplish such a thing with his own works 
 successfully. Wordsworth tried it, you know ; 
 and Matthew Arnold, an avowed Words- 
 worthian, confessed that it was not worth 
 much. The first of Browning's commenta- 
 tors, Mr. Nettleship, made an even more 
 elaborate analysis of that master's poems in 
 the first edition of Essays and Thoughts. 
 Here is a specimen of it : — 
 
 " H. A. Poems not strictly dramatic in form, 
 but which deal with the history, or some incident 
 in the history, of the souls of two or more individ- 
 
286 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 uals mutually acting on each other towards (1) 
 progress, or (2) arrest, in development." 
 
 But in his second edition Mr. Nettleship, 
 with amiable frankness, makes fun of his 
 own analysis. I would rather not attempt 
 anything of the kind with Tennyson's poems, 
 even for the pleasure of ridiculing my own 
 failure afterwards. 
 
 But though an exact classification may be 
 useless or impossible, a general order, a 
 broad grouping of the poems for the purpose 
 of comprehending them as a whole, might 
 be helpful, and not too difficult to make it 
 worth trying. It would serve, at least, as a 
 guide to your reading, and bring together 
 the poems which are most closely related in 
 spirit and manner. I beg you, then, to 
 accept what follows, not as a classification, 
 but simply as 
 
 AN AEEANGEMENT OF TENNYSON'S POEMS. 
 
 I. MELODIES AND PIOTUKES. 
 
 Claribel. 
 
 Leonine Elegiacs. 
 
 Nothing will Die. 
 
 All Things will Die. 
 
 " The winds as at their hour of birth." 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 287 
 
 The Owl. 
 
 The Dying Swan. 
 
 The Blackbird. 
 
 The Throslle. 
 
 The Snowdrop. 
 
 Early Spring. 
 
 Far — Far — Away. 
 
 " Move eastward, happy Earth." 
 
 " A Spirit haunts the year's last hours." 
 
 The Death of the Old Year. 
 
 A Farewell. 
 
 A Dirge. 
 
 The Merman. 
 
 The Mermaid. 
 
 The Sea-Fairies. 
 
 The Lotos-Eaters. 
 
 ChUd-Songs. 
 
 The Song of the "Wrens. 
 
 The Kraken. 
 
 The Eagle. 
 
 The Oak. 
 
 Becollections of the Arabian Nights. 
 
 Ode to Memory. 
 
 The Progress of Spring. 
 
 The Daisy. 
 
 Mariana. 
 
 Mariana in the South. 
 
 A Dream of Fair Women. 
 
 The Day-Dream. 
 
288 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 The Beggar-Maid. 
 
 Isabel. 
 
 Lilian. 
 
 Madeline. 
 
 Adeline. 
 
 Margaret. 
 
 Rosalind. 
 
 Elea;nore. 
 
 Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 n. STOKIES AND POETEAITS. 
 
 Ballads. 
 
 1. Orlana. 
 The Sisters. 
 The May-Queen. 
 In the Children's Hospital. 
 Edward Gray. 
 The Letters. 
 Lady Clare. 
 The Lord of Burleigh. 
 The Captain. 
 The Victim. 
 The Revenge. 
 The Defence of Lucknow. 
 The Voyage of Maeldune. 
 The First QuarreL 
 Forlorn. 
 Happy. 
 The Bandit's Death, 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 289 
 
 Idylls. 
 
 2. Audley Court. 
 "Walking to the Mail. 
 Edwin Morris. 
 
 The Golden Tear. 
 
 The Brook. 
 
 Sea Dreams. 
 
 The Lover's Tale. 
 
 The Sisters. 
 
 The Eing. 
 
 The Miller's Daughter. 
 
 The Talking Oak. 
 
 The Gardener's Daughter. 
 
 Crodiva. 
 
 CEnone. 
 
 The Death of CEnone. 
 
 Dora. 
 
 Enoch Arden. 
 
 Aylmer's Field. 
 
 Character-Pieces. 
 
 3. A Character. 
 Love and Duty. 
 Tithonus. ] 
 Teiresias. K Classical. 
 Demeter. J 
 Lucretius. I 
 Ulysses. )■ Historical. 
 Columbus. J 
 
290 
 
 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Akbar's Dream. 
 
 St. Telemachus. 
 
 St. Simeon Stylites. ynistmical. 
 
 Sir John Oldcastle. 
 
 Romney's Remorse. . 
 
 Fatima. \ 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve. I 
 
 
 Mystical. 
 
 Sir Galahad. 
 
 Amphion. 
 
 Will Waterproof. 
 
 The Northern Farmer. Old Style. 
 
 The Northern Farmer. New Style. 
 
 The Churchwarden and the Curate. 
 
 The Northern Cobbler. 
 
 The Village Wife. 
 
 The Spinster's Sweet-Arts. 
 
 Owd Roa. 
 
 To-morrow. 
 
 The Grandmother. 
 
 Rizpah. 
 
 Despair. 
 
 The Wreck. 
 
 The F%ht. 
 
 Charity. 
 
 Locksley Hall. 
 
 Locksley Hall, Sixty Years After. 
 
 Lady Clara Vere de Vere. 
 
 Maud. 
 
 Humorooi 
 
 and 
 Dialect. 
 
 m. EPICS. 
 
 The Princess. 
 Idylls of the King. 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 291 
 
 lY. DBAHAS. 
 
 Queen Mary. I 
 
 Harold. V The Trilogy. 
 
 Becket. J 
 
 The Cup. 
 
 The Falcon. 
 
 The Promise of May. 
 
 The Foresters. 
 
 V. PATRIOTIC AUD PEBSONAL. 
 
 " Tou ask me why, tho' ill at ease." 
 " Love thou thy land." 
 " Of old sat Freedom on the heights." 
 Freedom. 
 
 England and America in 1782. 
 The Third of February, 1852. 
 Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. 
 Hands aU Round. 
 The Charge of the Light Brigade. 
 Prologue to General Hamley. 
 The Charge of the Heavy Brigade. 
 Epilogue. 
 
 To the Queen. " Eevered, beloved." 
 To the Queen. " loyal to the royal in thy- 
 self." 
 Dedication to Prince Albert. 
 A Welcome to Alexandra. 
 A Welcome to Alexandrovna. 
 
292 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 Dedication to the Princess Alice. 
 To the Marquis of Dufferin. 
 To the Duke of Argyll. 
 To the Princess Beatrice. 
 To the Princess Frederica of Hanover. 
 Politics. 
 Beautiful City. 
 
 To one who ran down the English. 
 Ode for the International Exhibition. 
 Opening of the Indian and Colonial Exhibi- 
 tion. 
 On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria. 
 The Fleet. 
 On the Death of the Duke of Clarence. 
 
 To " Clear-headed friend." 
 
 To J. S. (James Spedding.) 
 
 To E. L., on his Travels in Greece. (Ed- 
 mund Lear.) 
 
 To the Rev. F. D. Maurice. 
 
 A Dedication. (To his wife.) 
 
 In the Garden of Swainston. (Sir John 
 •Simeon.) 
 
 To E. Fitzgerald. 
 
 To Alfred Tennyson, my Grandson. 
 
 Prefatory to my Brother's Sonnets. 
 Sir John Franklin, 
 
 Epitaphs on i ^'""'^ StratfoM de RedclifBe, 
 General Gordon. 
 Caston. 
 
 To Ulysses. (W. G. Palgrave.) 
 
THE STUDY OF' TENNYSON. 293 
 
 The Boses on the Terrace. 
 
 To Mary Boyle. 
 
 To Professor Jebb. 
 
 In Memoriam — William George Ward. 
 
 TI. POEMS OF THE INNER LITE. 
 
 Of Art. 
 1. The Poet. 
 
 The Poet's Mind. 
 The Poet's Song. 
 The Palace of Art. 
 Merlin and the Gleam. 
 The Flower. 
 The Spiteful Letter. 
 Literary Squabbles. 
 
 " You might have won the Poet's name." 
 
 The Dead Prophet. 
 
 Poets and their Bibliographies. 
 
 Frater Ave atque Vale. 
 
 Parnassus. 
 
 To VirgU. 
 
 To Milton. 
 
 To Dante. 
 
 To Victor Hugo. 
 
 Of Life, Love, and Death. 
 2. The Deserted House. 
 Love and Death. 
 Circumstance. 
 The Voyage. 
 
294 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 The Islet. 
 
 The SaUor-Boy. 
 
 The Vision of Sin. 
 
 The Voice and the Peak. 
 
 WiU. 
 
 Wages. 
 
 " Flower in the crannied wall." 
 
 " My life is full of weary days." 
 
 " Come not, when I am dead." 
 
 Bequiescat. 
 
 On a .Mourner. 
 
 " Break, break, break." 
 
 In the Valley of Cauteretz. 
 
 Of Doruht and Faith. 
 
 3. Supposed Confessions. 
 The Two Voices. 
 The Ancient Sage. 
 By an Evolutionist. 
 In Memoriam. 
 The Higher Pantheism. 
 De Profundis. 
 Vastness. 
 Crossing the Bar. 
 Faith. 
 
 The Silent Voices. 
 God and the Universe. 
 Doubt and Prayer. 
 
 This arrangemenfr may be imperfect, but I 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNtSON. 295 
 
 think, at least, that it omits nothing of 
 importance, that it is constructed on the 
 lines of poetic development, and that it will 
 be easy to discover the inward relationship 
 and coherence of the principal groups, so 
 that you can follow a clue from poem to 
 poem. 
 
 You will do well to begin with the Melo- 
 dies and Pictures, because Tennyson began 
 with them, and because they belong to the 
 lowest form of his art, although it is the form 
 in which he has done some of his most ex- 
 quisite work. There are many people — and 
 not altogether illiterate people — who still 
 think of him chiefly as a " maker of musical 
 phrases." Well, he is that ; and he meant 
 to be that, in order that he might be some- 
 thing more. At the very outset, he sought 
 to win the power of expressing sensuous 
 beauty in melodious language. The things 
 seen and heard, the rhythm, the colour, the 
 harmony of the outward world, — these were 
 the things that haunted him, and these, first 
 of all, he desired to convey into his verse. 
 He threw himself with all the passion of 
 youth upon the task of rendering them per- 
 fectly. 
 
296 TBE POETRT OF TENNYSON. 
 
 I call it a task, because no man has ever 
 done this kind of work by chance. Even 
 to the painting of a simple flower, or the 
 making of a little song, perfectly, there goes 
 an infinite deal of preparation, of learning, 
 of effort; sometimes it is conscious, some- 
 times unconscious ; sometimes it is direct, 
 sometimes it is indirect; but always it is 
 there, behind the music, behind the picture ; 
 for no one can do anything good in any art 
 without labour for the mastery of its little 
 secrets which are so hard to learn. 
 
 If, then, you find some traces of effort ia 
 Tennyson's first melodies and pictures, like 
 Eleanore, The Mermaid, Recollections of the 
 Arabian Nights, you will say that this is be- 
 cause he has not yet learned to conceal the ef- 
 fort; and if you find that in the best of them, 
 like The Lotos-Eaters and The Lady of Sha- 
 lott, the chief interest still lies in the sound, 
 the form, the colour, you will say that it is be- 
 cause he has set himself to conquer the tech- 
 nique of his art, and to render the music and 
 the vision beautifully, for the sake of their 
 beauty. Mr. E. H. Hutton, who does not 
 always see the bearing of his own criticisms, 
 has said, " Tennyson was an artist even be- 
 fore he was a poet." That is true, but it does 
 
TBE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 297 
 
 not take anytHng away from Hs greatness 
 to admit such an obvious fact. Giotto was 
 a draughtsman before be was a painter. Mo- 
 zart was a pianist before be was a musician. 
 If you are wise, tben, you will look chiefly 
 for the charm of perfect expression in these 
 melodies and pictures. Take a little piece 
 which has stood on the first page of Ten- 
 nyson's poems for sixty years, Claribel. It 
 does not mean much. Indeed, its charm 
 might be less if its meaning were greater. It 
 is mere music, — every word like a soft, clear 
 note, — each with its own precise value, and 
 yet all blending in a simple effect. The 
 difference between the sound of the quiet 
 wave "outwelling" from the spring, and 
 the swift runlet "crisping " over the pebbles, 
 is distinct ; the " beetle boometh " in another 
 tone from that in which the "wild bee 
 hummeth; " but aU the sounds come together 
 in a sad, gentle cadence with the ending 
 eth : — 
 
 Where Claritel low-lieth. 
 
 In the picture poems you will find a great 
 deal of pre-Eaphaelite work. It is exact and 
 vivid, even to the point of seeming often too 
 minute. It is worth while to notice the colour 
 words ; how few they are, and yet how per- 
 
298 TSE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 fectly tHey do their work! Here are two 
 lines from the Ode to Memory : — 
 
 What time the amber mom 
 
 Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud. 
 
 That "amber" sheds all the splendour of 
 daybreak over the landscape. 
 
 And here, again, is a stanza from ITie 
 Lady of Shalott : — 
 
 Willows whiten, aspens quiver, 
 Little hreezes dusk and shiver 
 Thro' the wave that runs for ever 
 By the island in the river 
 
 Flowing down to Camelot. 
 Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
 Overlook a spa«e of flowers, 
 And the silent isle imhowers 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 How exquisite is the word "whiten" to 
 describe the turning of the long willow-leaves 
 in the wind, and how well it suggests the 
 cool colouring of the whole picture, all in low 
 tones, except the little spot of flowers below 
 the square, gray castle. 
 
 I do not think that this is the greatest 
 kind of poetry, but certainly it has its own 
 value, and we ought to be grateful for 
 it. The perfection to which Tennyson has 
 brought it has added a new sweetness and 
 fluency to our language. Just as a violin 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNTSON. 299 
 
 gains a richer and mellower tone by the long 
 and loving touch of a master, so the English 
 language has been enriched and softened by 
 the use that Tennyson has made of it in his 
 beauty-poems. 
 
 But already we can see that something 
 deeper and stronger is coming into these 
 beauty-poems. The melodies begin to have 
 a meaning, the pictures begin to have a soul. 
 Of many of the young women in his gallery 
 of female figures, — Lilian, Adeline, Madcr 
 line, and the rest, — it may be said in Tenny- 
 son's own words : — 
 
 The form, the form alone is elocineiit, 
 
 but in Isabel we see a character behind the 
 form, and the beauty of her nature makes 
 her sisters seem vague and unreal beside her. 
 The Lady of Shalott, which I have placed 
 last among the Melodies and Pictures, is in 
 effect a mystical ballad, foreshadowing the 
 transition from the dream-world of fancy to 
 the real world of human joy and sorrow. 
 And so we come to the second group of 
 poems, the Stories and Portraits. 
 
 The interest here centres in life and per- 
 sonality. It is some tale of human love, or 
 heroism, or suffering, that the poet tells ; and 
 
300 TBE POETRY OF TENNTSOJS: 
 
 then we have a Ballad. Or it is some pic- 
 ture that he paints, not for its own sake alone, 
 but to make it the vehicle of human feeling ; 
 and then we have an Idyll, — that is, a scene 
 coloured and interpreted by an emotion. Or 
 it is some character that he depicts, some liv- 
 ing personality that he clothes with language, 
 either in a meditative soliloquy which shows 
 it in all its breadth of sentiment and thought, 
 or in a lyrical outburst from some intense 
 mood ; and then we have what I have ven- 
 tured to call a Character-Piece. The lines 
 between these three divisions cannot be very " 
 clearly drawn. I have been much in doubt 
 as to the best place for some of the poems. 
 But there is a real difference among them, 
 after all, in the predominance of the narrar 
 tive, the descriptive, or the dramatic spirit ; 
 and you will feel the difference as you read 
 them. 
 
 In the Ballads I think you will feel that 
 the secret of their charm lies quite as much 
 in their human sympathy as in the perfection 
 of their art. The clearer, simpler, more 
 pathetic the story, the more absolutely does 
 it control and clarify the music. The best 
 of them are those in which the beauty comes 
 from delicate notes, so slight that one hardly 
 
TEE STUDY OF TSNJfTSON: 301 
 
 hears them, though their effect is magical. 
 How much the pathos of The May Queen 
 is enhanced by the naive touch in these 
 verses : — 
 
 O look 1 the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow ; 
 He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know. 
 And there I move no longer now, and there his light may- 
 shine — 
 Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine. 
 
 Or listen to the last Hnes of The Lord of 
 Burleigh: — 
 
 Then her people, softly treading, 
 
 Bore to earth her body, drest 
 In the dress that she was wed in, 
 
 That her spirit might have rest. 
 
 This is perfect simplicity, — words of com- 
 mon life, charged with the richest and ten- 
 derest poetic meaning. No less simple in 
 its way — which is utterly different — is the 
 glorious fighting ballad of The Revenge. 
 It is the passion of daring, now, that carries 
 the poem onward in its strong, heroic move- 
 ment. There is not a redundant ornament 
 in the whole ballad. Every simile that it 
 contains is full of swift motion. 
 
 At Flores in the Azores, Sir Richard Granville lay, 
 And a pinnace, like a fivtter^d bird, came flying from far 
 away. 
 
302 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 So Lord Howaxd past away -with fire ships of war tihat 
 
 day, 
 Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven. 
 
 Sir Richard spoke, and he langh'd, and we roar'd a 
 
 hnrrah, and so 
 The little " Bevenge " ran on sheer into the heart of the foe. 
 
 Among the Idylls you will find a great 
 difference. In some of them the pictorial 
 element seems to count for more than the 
 human feeling, — and these I think are the 
 poorest. Of such slight sketches as Audley 
 Court and Edwin Morris, aU that can be 
 said is that they have pretty passages in 
 them. Tennyson was right in caring little 
 for The Lover's Tale. Aylmer's Field is 
 weaker than Enoch Arden just in so far as 
 it is more ornate and complicated. Dora is 
 the best of all, and I doubt whether you can 
 discover one metaphor, or figure of speech, 
 or decorative adjective in the whole poem. 
 It moves like the Book of Ruth, in beauty 
 unadorned. 
 
 In the character-pieces you will be im- 
 pressed, first of aU, by the breadth of their 
 range. They touch the whole circle of 
 humanity, from the Roman philosopher to 
 the English peasant ; they even go beyond 
 it, and breathe into the ancient myths, like 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON 303 
 
 Tithonus and Demeter, human life and pas- 
 sion. Some of them are humorous, as Will 
 Waterproof and The Northern Farmer ; 
 and others are mystical, as St. Agnes' Eve 
 and Sir Oalahad; and others are jjassion- 
 ate, springing out of the depths of life's 
 tragedy, as The Wreck and Despair. But 
 almost without exception they are true and 
 distinct portraits of persons. 
 
 And then you will observe that (with one 
 early exception, A Character') they are all 
 dramatic. The characters are not described ; 
 they speak for themselves, either in blank- 
 verse monologues, or in dramatic lyrics. 
 The first is the form that is used chiefly when 
 the mental quality is to be expressed. The 
 second is the form chosen to reveal the emo- 
 tional quality. In all of them, the thing 
 that you wiU look for, and the test by which 
 you will value the poems, is the truth of the 
 thought and the utterance to the character 
 from which they come. And I think that 
 most of them will stand the test. If Mr. 
 Swinburne had written them he might have 
 made Ulysses and Columbus and Sir Gala- 
 had and the Northern Cobbler aU speak the 
 Swinbumian dialect. Mr. Browning might 
 have set them aU to analyzing their own 
 
304 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 souls, and talking metaphysics. But with 
 Tennyson each character speaks in a native 
 voice, and thinks the thoughts which belong 
 to him. Take the subject of Love, and hear 
 what the Northern Farmer has to say of 
 it: — 
 
 LuTT ? What 'a Iutt ? thoa can Inw ihy lass an' 'er 
 
 nnuiny too, 
 Maakin' 'em goa together, as they 've good right to do. 
 Could n' I luvr thy muther by caiise o' 'er mimny laa'id 
 
 by? 
 Naay — for I Inyr'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reason 
 
 why. 
 
 And then listen to the hero of Lochsley 
 Hall: — 
 
 LoTe took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords 
 
 vith might ; 
 Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music 
 
 out of sight. 
 
 Or take the passion of exploration, the 
 strong desire to push out across new seas 
 into new worlds, and mark how differently it 
 is felt and expressed by Ulysses and Colum- 
 bus. Ulysses is the " much-experienced 
 man," with a thirst for seeing and knowing 
 which cannot be satiated : — 
 
 I cannot rest from travel : I will drink 
 Life to the lees : all times I have enjoy'd 
 Greatly, have sufEer'd greatly . . . 
 
TBE STUDY OF TENNYSON 305 
 
 • • . I am iDeoome a name ; 
 
 For always roaming -with a hungry heart 
 
 Mnch have I seen and known ; cities of men, 
 
 And manners, climates, councils, governments, 
 
 Myself not least, but honour'd of them aU ; 
 
 And drunk delight of batile with my peers. 
 
 Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy. 
 
 I am a part of all that I have met ; 
 
 Yet all experience is as an arch wherethro' 
 
 Gleams that untraveU'd world, whose margin fades 
 
 For ever and for ever when I move. 
 
 This is the deep impulse of motion without a 
 goal, the mere Reiseiust of a restless heart. 
 But Columbus is a man with a mission. It 
 is the glory of Spain and the spread of the 
 Catholic faith that drives him to seek an 
 undiscovered continent : — 
 
 I pray you tell 
 Eing Ferdinand, who plays with me, that one. 
 Whose life has been no play with him and his 
 Hidalgos — shipwrecks, famines, fevers, fights. 
 Mutinies, treacheries — wink'd at, and condoned — 
 That I am loyal to him till the death. 
 And ready — tho' our Holy Catholic Queen, 
 Who fain had pledged her jewels on my first voyage. 
 Whose hope was mine to spread the Catholic faith. 
 Who wept with me when I return' d in chains. 
 Who sits beside the blessed Virgin now. 
 To whom I send my prayer by night and day — 
 She is gone — but you will tell the King, that I, 
 Eack'd as I am with gout, and wrench'd with pains 
 Gain'd in the service of His Highness, yet 
 Atti ready to sail forth on one last voyage. 
 And readier, if the King would hear, to lead 
 
306 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 One last crusade against the Saracen, 
 And save the Holy Sepulchre from thrall. 
 
 Or take the subject of death. To the 
 weary philosopher Lucretius, resolved on 
 suicide, it means simply absorption into 
 
 Nature : — 
 
 OThon, 
 Passionless hride, divine Tranquillity, 
 Tearn'd after hy the wisest of the vrise. 
 Who fail to find thee, being as thou art 
 Without one pleasure and without one pain, 
 Eowheit I know thou surely must be mine 
 Or soon or late, yet out of season, thus 
 I woo thee roughly, for thou carest not 
 How roughly men may woo thee so they win — 
 Thus — thus : the soul flies out and dies in the air. 
 
 But to the peasant mother in Rizpah it means 
 the Mfilment and recompense of her intense, 
 unquestioning passion of maternity : — 
 
 Election, Election and Reprobation — it 's all very well. 
 But I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not find him in 
 
 HeU. 
 For I cared so much for my boy that the Lord has look'd 
 
 into my care. 
 And He means me I 'm snre to be happy with Willy, I 
 
 know not where. 
 
 Nothing could be sharper than the con- 
 trasts among these six poems ; nothing more 
 perfect than the consistency of thought and 
 feeling and utterance, with the character in 
 each. 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 307 
 
 Maud, the largest of the character-pieces, 
 differs from the others in its method. It is 
 lyrical in form; but instead of being a 
 dramatic lyric, it is a lyrical drama. It has 
 all the elements of interest which belong to 
 the drama, — change of scene, development 
 of plot, sudden catastrophe ; and, although 
 only one of the characters appears upon the 
 stage, the others are felt in the story. It is 
 a wonderfully consistent and searching study 
 of the action of romantic love and tragic 
 error upon a mind with a taint of hereditary 
 insanity. There is but one speaker in the 
 poem ; but a marvellous effect of variety is 
 given to it by the changes in rhythm and 
 style in the different cantos. Tennyson has 
 never written anything which is richer in 
 music or more alive with passionate feeling. 
 The metre sometimes seems irregular, but 
 there is always an air, a movement, a rhyth- 
 mic beat which underlies it ; and when you 
 have found that, you understand how per- 
 fectly melodious it is. The chief beauty of 
 the poem lies in the clearness with which 
 it shows the redeeming, healing, purifying 
 power of love. It transforms the hero from 
 a selfish misanthrope to a true man. 
 
 Of Tennyson's complete dramas, I have 
 
308 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 said elsewhere that which seemed to me 
 needful and fitting. Let me only beg you 
 to study them for yourself, — at least the 
 historic trilogy, — and not to be satisfied 
 with taking the judgment of other people. 
 
 The finished epics, also, I have tried to 
 criticise in another place. The Princess is 
 the one of Tennyson's poems which stands 
 most in need of notes. It is fortunate that 
 they have been supplied by such an accom- 
 plished scholar as Dr. W. J. Eolfe, in his 
 annotated edition. For my own part, I am 
 inchned to think that this very need, which 
 must arise from obscurity in the allusions 
 and complexity in the diction, marks the 
 poem as belonging to a lower order than 
 Tennyson's best. 
 
 The epic entitled Idylls of the King, be- 
 sides its interest as the broadest and noblest 
 piece of imaginative work that Tennyson has 
 done, is the poem in which you may most 
 wisely make a careful study of his poetic 
 manner. It is common to speak of the 
 Idylls as a gorgeous mediseval tapestry, full 
 of rich colour and crowded with elaborately 
 wrought figures. But I should like you to 
 discover whether there is not something 
 more precious in them ; whether the very 
 
THE STUDT OF TENNYSON. 309 
 
 style has not rarer and finer qualities than 
 mere ornament. TaJie some of the best 
 passages, in which the so-called " Tenny- 
 sonian manner" is quite distinct, and ex- 
 amine them thoroughly. For example, here 
 is Arthur's description of his Round Table, 
 from the Idyll of Guinmere : — 
 
 Bat I -was first of all the Mugs who drew 
 
 The knighthood-errant of this realm and all 
 
 The realms together under me, their Head, 
 
 In that fair Order of my Table Bound, 
 
 A glorious company, the flower of men, 
 
 To serve as model for the mighty world, 
 
 And he the fair beginning of a time. 
 
 I made them lay their hands in mine and swear 
 
 To reverence the King, as if he were 
 
 Their conscience, and their conscience as their Kii^, 
 
 To break the heathen and uphold the Christ, 
 
 To ride abroad redressing human wrongs. 
 
 To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it, 
 
 To honour his own word as if his God's, 
 
 To lead sweet lives in purest chastity, 
 
 To love one maiden only, cleave to her, 
 
 And worship her by years of noble deeds, 
 
 Until they won her ; for indeed I knew 
 
 Of no more subtle master under heaven 
 
 Than is the maiden passion for a maid. 
 
 Not only to keep down the base in man, 
 
 But teach high thought, and amiable words. 
 
 And courtliness, and the desire of fame. 
 
 And love of truth, and all that makes a man. 
 
 Now there is no mistaking this for the 
 
310 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON, 
 
 work of any other poet of our century. It 
 belongs to Tennyson as obviously as if he 
 had signed his name to every line. But 
 what is it that gives the style its personal 
 flavour, what constitutes the " Tennysonian- 
 ism," as Mr. Howells calls it ? Certainly it 
 is not any redundancy of ornament, or opu- 
 lence of epithet. This is not elaborate, dec- 
 orative verse. The words are familiar and 
 simple; most of them are monosyllables. 
 There is but a single instance of alliteration. 
 I think the peculiar effect, the sense of rich 
 and perfect art, comes from the flow of the 
 words. It is the movement that makes the 
 style. And this movement has three quali- 
 ties. First, sweetness ; not a word is harsh, 
 abrupt, strange ; the melody flows without a 
 break. Then, certainty; this comes from 
 the sense of order and proportion; every 
 word fits into its place. Then, strength; 
 the strength which copsists in fulness of 
 thought and fewness of words. 
 
 Reflect on the ideal of a true aristocracy 
 which is expressed in this brief passage. It 
 must begin with reverence and obedience; 
 for only they are fit to command who have 
 learned to obey. It must be brave and 
 helpful, daring to resist the heathen invad- 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 311 
 
 ers and devoted to the redress of human 
 wrongs. It must be pure in thought and 
 word and deed ; for the thinking and speak- 
 ing evil of others is one of the besetting sins 
 of an aristocracy, and the spirit of slander is 
 twin-sister to the spirit of lust. It must not 
 banish the passion of love, nor brutalize it, 
 but lift it up, and idealize it as the transfig- 
 uration of life, and make it a true worship 
 with a ritual of noble deeds. And out of all 
 this will come the right manhood, in thought, 
 in speech, in manners, in ambition, in sin- 
 cerity, " in all that makes a man." Now the 
 art which can put this broad and strong con- 
 ception of a class worthy to rule and to 
 lead society, into a score of lines, so clear 
 that they can be read without effort, and so 
 melodious that they fill the ear with plea- 
 sure, is exquisite. I think more than any- 
 thing else, it is this presence of a pure ideal 
 shining through a refined and balanced verse, 
 this union of moral and metrical harmony, 
 that marks the consummation of the Tenny- 
 sonian manner in the Idylls of the King. 
 
 I have no time to speak of the " Patriotic 
 Poems," except to say that they ought to be 
 studied together, because there is something 
 in almost every one of them which is essen- 
 
312 THE POETRY OF TENNTSON. 
 
 tial to the full understanding of the poet's 
 conception of loyalty and liberty and order, 
 as the three elements of a perfect state. 
 
 The last division in the arrangement which 
 I have made is " Poems of the Inner Life." 
 You can probably conjecture why it is last. 
 Partly because it is more difficult, and partly 
 because it is higher, in the sense that it 
 gives a more direct revelation of the person- 
 ality of the poet. It is for this reason that 
 we should not be in haste to enter it. For 
 it is always best to look first at the fact, and 
 then at the explanation; first at a man's 
 objective work, and then at the account 
 which he gives of himself and the spirit in 
 which he has laboured. 
 
 The group of poems in which Tennyson 
 deals with art is important, not only for the 
 poems themselves, but also for the light 
 which they throw upon his artistic principles 
 and tastes. It is not altogether by chance 
 that the poets to whom he gives greeting are 
 MUton, Virgil, Dante, and Victor Hugo. In 
 The Poet you will find his early concep- 
 tion of the power of poetry ; in The Poet's 
 Mind, his thought of its purity; in The 
 Poefs Song, his avowal that its charm 
 depends upon faith in the immortal future. 
 
TBE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 313 
 
 The Palace of Art is au allegory of the 
 impotence of art when separated from human 
 love. The Flower tells, in a symbolic man- 
 ner, his experience with unreasoning critics. 
 The Spiteful Letter and Literary Squab- 
 bles are reminiscences of the critical warfare 
 which raged around him in his youth, and 
 made him sometimes forget his own princi- 
 ple of doing his work " as quietly and as well 
 as possible without much heeding the praise 
 or the dispraise." 
 
 But to my mind the most important, and 
 in some respects the most beautiful, of these 
 art-poems, is Merlin and The Gleam. The 
 wonder is that none of the critics seem to 
 have recognized it for what it reaUy is, — 
 the poet's own description of his life-work, 
 and his clear confession of faith as an 
 idealist. 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land, 
 The consecration, and the Poet's dream," — 
 
 this is the " Gleam " that Tennyson has fol- 
 lowed. It glanced first on the world of 
 fancy with its melodies and pictures, dancing 
 fairies, and falling torrents. Then it touched 
 the world of humanity ; and the stories of 
 man's toil and conflict, the faces of human 
 love and heroism, were revealed. Then it 
 
314 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 illuminated the world of imagination; and 
 the great epic of Arthur was disclosed to the 
 poet's vision in its spiritual meaning, the 
 crowning of the blameless king. Then it 
 passed through the valley of the shadow of 
 death, and clothed it with light : — 
 
 And broader and brighter 
 
 The Gleam flying onward, 
 
 Wed to the melody, 
 
 Sang thro' the world ; 
 
 And slower and fainter. 
 
 Old and weary, 
 
 But eager to follow, 
 
 I saw, whenever 
 
 In passing it glanced upon 
 
 Hamlet or city. 
 
 That under the Crosses 
 
 The dead man's garden. 
 
 The mortal hillock 
 
 Would break into blossom ; 
 
 And so to the land's 
 
 Last limit I c?.me — 
 
 And can no longer, 
 
 But die rejoicing, 
 
 For thro' the Magic 
 
 Of Him the Mighty, 
 
 Who taught me in childhood, 
 
 There on the border 
 
 Of boundless Ocean, 
 
 And all but in Heaven 
 
 Hovers The Gleam, 
 
 Not of the sunlight, 
 Kot of the moonlight. 
 
TBE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 315 
 
 Not of the starlight I 
 O young Mariner, 
 Down to the haven, 
 Call your companions, 
 Launch your vessel, 
 And crowd your canvas, 
 And, ere it vanishes 
 Over the margin. 
 After it, follow it, 
 FoUow The Gleam. 
 
 That is the confession of a poet's faith in 
 the Ideal. It is the cry of a prophet to the 
 younger singers of a faithless and irresolute 
 generation. 
 
 Among the poems which touch more 
 broadly upon the common experience of 
 mankind in love and sorrow and death, you 
 will find, first, a group which are alike only 
 in their manner of treatment. It is allegor- 
 ical, mystical, emblematic, — find a name for 
 it if you will. I mean that these poems 
 convey their meaning under a mask; they 
 use a symbolic language, just as Merlin and 
 The Flower do in the preceding group. 
 You must read The Deserted House, The 
 Voyage, The Sailor Boy, The Islet, The 
 Visio7i of Sin, The Voice and the Peak, for 
 their secret significance. Then come three 
 precious fragments of philosophy more di- 
 rectly uttered. Will, Wages, and Flowenr 
 
316 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 in the Crannied Wall go down to the very 
 roots of human action, and aspiration, and 
 thought. Then follows a group of poems 
 more personal, varied in manner, and deal- 
 ing in different moods with the sorrow of 
 death. Their deepest and sweetest note is 
 reached in the two lyrics which sprang out 
 of the poet's grief for the death of Arthur 
 Hallam. The world has long since accepted 
 the first of these as the perfect song of mourn- 
 ing love. " Break, break, break," once heard, 
 is never to be forgotten. It is the melody of 
 tears. But the fragment called In the Val- 
 ley of Cauteretz seems to me no less perfect 
 in its way. And surely a new beauty comes 
 into both of the poems when we read them 
 side by side. For the early cry of longing, — 
 
 But O for the touch of a vanish'd liand 
 And the sound of a voice that is still I 
 
 finds an answer in the later assurance of 
 consolation, — 
 
 And all along the valley, by rook and cave and tree, 
 The voice of the dead was a living voice to me. 
 
 Of the final group of poems I shall say 
 nothing, because it will not be possible to 
 say enough. In Memoriam alone would 
 require a volume, if one attempted to speak 
 of it adequately. Indeed, no less than six 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 317 
 
 such volumes have been written, four In Eng- 
 land by F. W. Eobertson, Alfred Gatty, 
 Elizabeth E. Chapman, and Joseph Jacobs, 
 two in America by Profs. Thomas Davidson 
 and John F. Genung. If you need an anal- 
 ysis or commentary on the poem you can 
 find it easily! The one thing that I hope 
 you will feel in reading this great poem and 
 the others which are grouped with it, is that 
 they are real records of the inward conflict 
 between doubt and faith, and that in this 
 conflict faith has the victoryl' And you may 
 well ask yourself whether this very victory 
 has not meant the winning, and unsealing, 
 and guarding, of the fountain-head of Ten- 
 nyson's poetic power. How many of his 
 noblest poems, Locksley Hall, The May 
 Queen, The Leper's Bride, Riepah, Guine- 
 vere, Enoch Arden, find their uplifting in- 
 spiration, and reach their climax, in "the 
 evidence of things not seen, the substance of 
 things hoped for." Could he have written 
 anything of his best without that high faith 
 in an immortal life which he has expressed 
 in the rolling lines of Vastness, and in that 
 last supreme, faultless lyric Crossing the 
 Barf Can any man be a poet without 
 faith in God and his own soul? 
 
318 TEE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 An answer to this question, clear and 
 solemn as a voice from beyond the grave, 
 comes in the posthumous volume entitled 
 The Death of (Enone, Akbar's Dream, and 
 Other Poems. Among the longer pieces 
 there are three short poems, profoundly and 
 unmistakably personal, which are like ma- 
 jestic chords preluding the large and perfect 
 music of iromortality. 
 
 The first is Doubt and Prayer, closing 
 with the feplendid Knes : — 
 
 Let blow the trumpet strongly when I pray, 
 Till this emhattled wall of unbelief, 
 My prison, not my fortress, fall away ! 
 Then, if Thou wiliest, let my day be brief, 
 So Thou wilt strike Thy glory through the day. 
 
 The second is God and the Universe, in 
 which the courage of the soul to believe in 
 God is asserted against the belittling and 
 overwhelming immensity of " the myriad 
 worlds, His shadow." 
 
 The third is that swan-song of the dying 
 poet. The Silent Voices, reechoed and pro- 
 longed by the choral music that flowed 
 around him as he was carried to his last 
 repose in the Abbey of Westminster, — 
 
 Call me not so often back. 
 Silent Toices of the dead ! 
 
THE STUDY OF TENNYSON. 319 
 
 Call me rather, silent voices, 
 Forward to the starry track 
 Glinunering up the heights beyond me, 
 On, and always on I 
 
 And now when you turn to look back on 
 your study of Tennyson, what are you to 
 think of him ? Is he a great poet ? Your 
 reply to that will depend on whether you 
 think the Nineteenth Century is a great cen- 
 tury. For there can be no doubt that he 
 represents the century better than any other 
 man. The thoughts, the feelings, the desires, 
 the conflicts, the aspirations of our age are 
 mirrored in his verse. And if you say that 
 this alone prevents him from being great, 
 because greatness must be solitary and inde- 
 pendent, I answer, No; for the great poet 
 does not anticipate the conceptions of his 
 age, he only anticipates their expression. 
 He says what is in the heart of the people, 
 and says it so beautifully, so lucidly, so 
 strongly, that he becomes their voice. Now 
 if this age of ours, with its renaissance of art 
 and its catholic admiration of the beautiful 
 in all forms, classical and romantic ; with its 
 love of science and its joy in mastering the 
 secrets of Nature ; with its deep passion of 
 humanity protesting against social wrongs 
 
320 THE POETRY OF TENNYSON. 
 
 and dreaming of social regeneration; with 
 its introspective spirit searcliing the springs 
 of character and action ; with its profound 
 interest in the problems of the unseen, and 
 its reaction from the theology of the head to 
 the religion of the heart, — if this age of 
 ours is a great age, then Tennyson is a great 
 poet, for he is the clearest, sweetest, strong- 
 est voice of the century. 
 
A CHRONOLOGY 
 
 TENNYSON'S LIFE AND WOEKS. 
 
*»* So many notes have teen added to this Chronology, 
 since the first edition, that it has now somewhat the ap- 
 pearance of a Bibliography, very much more complete than 
 can he found anywhere else. Bnt it is with mingled grati- 
 tude to Lord Tennyson for his kind aid in settling several 
 disputed points, and deference to his expressed sentimenta 
 in regard to Hbliographers, that I have retained the former 
 and more modest title for these notes. They were not 
 written in the spirit of those who desire ' to swamp the 
 sacred poets with themselves,' but simply to assist the 
 many students of poetry who wish to trace the develop- 
 ment of Tennyson's art, the growth of his fame, and the 
 history of his poetical life. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 1809. Alfbed, the fourth son of the Eev. George Clay- 
 ton, and Elizaheth Pytohe, Tennyson, was bom at 
 Somersby in Lincolnshire, August 6. 
 
 *#* In regard to the accuracy of this date there need be 
 no further doubt. Lord Tennyson has been kind enough to 
 write me that * he tliinkB that he was probably bom in the 
 early morning of the 6th, just after midnight. His mother 
 used to keep his birthday on August 6th.' Since then Mr. 
 G. J. Caswell has made a careful examination of the date 
 in the Baptismal Register at Somersby, and writes that the 
 figure is a 6, which has been mistaken for a 5 on account of 
 the fading of the ink on the left side of the loop. 
 
 1816. Alfred Tennyson entered Louth Grammar School, 
 
 1820. Alfred Temiyson left Louth Grammar School at 
 Christmas. Charles left at Midsummer, 1821. 
 
 1826. Poems bt Two Bbothebs. London : Printed 
 for W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, and J. & J. Jack- 
 son, Louth. KDCCCXXvn., pp. xii, 228. Charles 
 and Alfred Tennyson published this book anony- 
 mously. 
 
 *#* It was post-dated according to the common custom 
 among publishers at that time. For the true date of its 
 appearance, which I believe has never before been given cor- 
 rectly, I am indebted to Lord Tennyson. 
 
 1828. Alfred Tennyson entered Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge, in October. 
 
 Among his intimate friends were Arthur Henry Hallam, 
 Richard Monckton Milnes, John Mitchell Eemble, William 
 
324 CERONOLOGT. 
 
 Heniy Brookfield, Henry AUord, James Spedding, and Rich- 
 ard Chevenix Trencli. 
 
 1829. TiMBTjCTOO: A Poem which obtained the Chan- 
 cellor's Medal at the Camhridge Commencement, 
 M.DCCO.xxix. By A. Tennyson, of Trinity College, 
 Printed in " Prolnsiones AcademicsB ; mdcccxxix. 
 Cantahrigise : typis aoademicis excndit Joannes 
 Smith." pp.41. 
 
 *#* This was burlesqued by "William Ma.kepeace Thackeray 
 in The Snobj an undergraduate periodical ; and highly praised 
 in The Athenaum (July 22, 1829), of which Frederick Deni- 
 Bon Maurice and John Sterling were the editors. 
 
 1830. Poems, chibplt Ltbical, by Alfred Tennyson. 
 London : EfiGjigham Wilson, Boyal Exchange, 
 Comhill, 1830. pp. 154, and leaf of Errata. 
 
 Tennyson and Hallam visited the Pyrenees to- 
 gether. 
 
 Charles Tennyson published Sonnets and Fagitwe Pieces^ 
 by Charles Tennyson, Trin. GoIL Cambridge : published by 
 B. Bridges, Market Hill, and sold by John Richardson, 91, 
 Boyal Exchange, London, pp. 83. 
 
 *#* William Wordsworth wrote from Cambridge: "We 
 have also a respectable show of blossom in poetry — two 
 brothers of the name of Tennyson ; one in particular not a 
 little promising." 
 
 1831. Contribnted "Anacreontics," "No More," and 
 " A Fragment " to The Gem : A Literary Annual. 
 London : W. Marshall ; also a Sonnet, " Check 
 every outflash, every ruder sally," to The English- 
 manh Magazine, August. 
 
 Tennyson's father died at Somersby, March 16, 
 aged 52. 
 
 *#* The Poems, chiejly Lyrical, were reviewed with fa- 
 vour in T?te Westminster Review, January ; in The Tattler, 
 February 24 — March 3, by Leigh Hunt ; and in Tlie Eng- 
 lishman's Magazine, August, by A. H. Hallam. 
 
 1832. Poems by Alfred Tennyson, London : Edward 
 Moxon, 64, New Bond Street, mdcccxxzoi. pp. 
 163. (This is properly called the edition of 1833.) 
 
CHEONOLOGT. 325 
 
 Contributed a Sonnet, " Me my own fate to last- 
 ing sorrow doometh," to Friendship's Offering: 
 A Literary Album. London : Smith, Elder & Co. ; 
 and a Sonnet, " There are three things which fill 
 my heart with sighs," to The Yorkshire Literary 
 Annual. London : Longmans & Co. 
 
 *»* Professor John Wilson (" Christopher North ") at- 
 tacked Tennyson as "the pet of a Cockney coterie," in 
 Blackwood's Magazine for May. 
 
 The Alkerucum, for December 1st, had a notice of the 1833 
 poems. 
 
 1833. Reprinted the Sonnet, "Cheek every outflash, 
 every ruder sally," in Friendship's Offering. 
 
 Printed The Lover's Tale. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son. London: Edward Mozon, 64, New Bond 
 Street. MBCccxxxm, pp. 60. This was immedi- 
 ately suppressed and withdrawn from the press, 
 because the author felt " the imperfection of the 
 poem." 
 
 *^* A very severe criticism of the 1833 poems appeared in 
 T?ie Quartej'ly Review for July, and was attributed to the 
 editor, John Gibson Lockhart. 
 
 A review of Poems, chiefly Lyrical, by W. J. Fox, in Tha 
 Monthly Repository for January. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge said in his " Table Talk : " "I 
 have not read through all Mr. Tennyson's poems, which have 
 been sent to me, but I think there are some things of a good 
 deal of beauty in what I have seen. The misfortune is, that 
 he has begun to write verses without very well understand- 
 ing what metre is." 
 
 1834. *#* Remains in Verse and Prose of Arthur Servry Kaltam. 
 Printed by W. Nicol, 51 Pall Mall. UDCCCXxxiv. pp. xl, 363. 
 
 On September 15, Arthur Henry HallaiTn died 
 suddenly at Vienna. 
 
 1835. *#* John Stuart Mill reviewed Tennyson's poems with 
 great fairness and appreciation in The Westminster Review 
 for July. 
 
326 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 1837. Contributed Stanzas, "0, that 'twere possible'' 
 (the g-erm of "Maud"), to The Tribute: edited by 
 Lord Northampton. London : John Murray ; and 
 "St. Agnes" to The Keepsake: edited by Lady 
 Emmeline Stuart Wortley. London : Longmans & 
 Co. 
 
 The Tennyson family left Someraby, and the 
 poet's mother moved to High Eeach, £^sex. 
 
 *#* The Edinburgh Review for October noticed Tennyson 
 for the first time, and said that his stanzas in The TrOmte 
 " showed the hand of a true poet." 
 
 "Walter Savage Lander wrote to a friend on December 9 : 
 " Yesterday a Mr. Moreton, a young man of rare judgment, 
 read to me a manuscript by Mr. Tennyson very different in 
 style from his printed poems. The subject is the death of 
 Arthur. It is more Homeric than any poem of our time, and 
 rivals some of the noblest parts of the Odyssea." 
 
 1838. Tennyson liyed in Loudon and was a member of 
 the Anonymous Club in company with Carlyle, 
 Sterling, Thackeray, Forater, Lushington, Ma- 
 cready, Landor. 
 
 1842. Poems by Alfred Tennyson. In Two Volumes. 
 London : Edward Mozon, Dover Street. 
 MDCCCXUi. pp. vii, 233 ; vii, 231, 
 
 *#* These volumes were reviewed by Richard Monckton 
 Milnes (Lord Houghton) in The Westminster Beview, Octo- 
 ber ; by John Sterling in The Quarterly Review ; and anony- 
 mously in The Examiner, May 28 ; Taii^s Edinburgh Maga- 
 zine, August ; The London University Magazine, December ; 
 and The Christian Examiner^ Boston, IT. S. A., November. 
 All of the criticisms were respectful, and most of them 
 highly laudatory. 
 
 Within a year Carlyle, Dickens, Miss Mitford, Margaret 
 Fuller, Emerson, and Foe were speaking of Tennyson with 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 1843. Second edition of Poems in Two Volumes. 
 
 *#* Several malicious parodies of Tennyson appeared in the 
 " Bon Gaultier Ballads, " in Taii^s and Fraser^'s magazines. 
 
CBSONOLOGT. 327 
 
 1844. *** Tennyson's portrait and a sketch of his character in 
 Richard Hengist Home's A New Spirit of the Age. Lon- 
 don : Smith, Elder & Co. 
 
 *#* In The Democratic Review^ New York, January, Mrs. 
 Kemble reviewed Tennyson's poems, and Edgar Allan Foe 
 wrote in the December number, " I am not sure that Tenny- 
 son is not the greatest of poets." 
 
 1845. Received a pension of £200, through Sir Rohert 
 Peel ; and published a third edition of Poems in 
 Two Volumes. 
 
 *«* Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton attacked Tennyson in The 
 New Timon : a Romance of London. Henry Golbum. 
 
 Wordsworth wrote in a letter to Professor Henry Reed oi 
 Philadelphia : "Tennyson is decidedly the first of our living 
 poets, and I hope will live to give the world still better 
 things." 
 
 Living Poets; and their servicer to the causes of Political 
 Freedom and Human Progress. By W. J. Fox. Published 
 from the Reporter's notes. London : 1845. Notice of Ten- 
 nyson in Vol. i. pp. 248-265. 
 
 1846. Fourth edition of the Poems (and last in two vol- 
 umes). Contributed "The New Timon and the 
 Poets " (a bitter reply to Bulwer) to Punch, Feb- 
 ruary 28 ; and " Afterthought " (a repentance for 
 that reply) to Punch, Mareh 7. 
 
 *^» James Rjissell Lowell on Keats and Tennyson in Con- 
 versations on the Poets. Cambridge (U. S. A.), 1846. 
 
 1847. The Princess ; A Medley. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son. London: Edward Moxon, Dover Street. 
 BiDCCOXLvn. pp. 164. 
 
 *,* A sketch of Tennyson in ■William Hewitt's Somes and 
 Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets. 
 
 1848. Second edition of the Princess ; with a dedication 
 to Henry Lushington. Fifth edition of the Poems, 
 in one volume. 
 
 1849. Contributed lines, " To , Ton might have won 
 
 the poet's fame," to The Examiner, March 24. 
 
328 CBRONOLOGT. 
 
 *#* A review of the Princess^ by Professor James Hadley of 
 Yale College, in The New Englander^ May : another in the 
 Mdinlmrgh Review, October. 
 
 An extended criticism of the Fifth edition of Tennyson's 
 Poems in Thfi Westminster EevieWj July. 
 
 1850. In Memokiam. London : Edward Moxon, Dover 
 Street, mdcccl. pp. vii, 210. 
 
 The second and third editions (with no change but 
 the correction of two typographical errors) appeared 
 in the same year. 
 
 Third edition of the Princess, very much altered, 
 and with the Songs added. 
 Sixth edition of the Poems. 
 Contributed lines, " Here often, when a child, I 
 lay reclin'd," to The Manchester Athenaeum Album. 
 On June 13, Alfred Tennyson and Emily Sell- 
 wood were married at Shiplake Church, Oxford- 
 shire. 
 
 On NoTenrber 19, Alfred Tennyson was appointed 
 to succeed William Wordsworth (died April 23) as 
 Poet Laureate. 
 
 *«* Charles "Kingsley published an essay on Tennyson in 
 JFraser^s Magazine, September. 
 
 Jn Memoriam was reviewed in Th£ Westminster Beview, 
 October. 
 
 1851. Contributed Stanzas, " What time I wasted youth- 
 ful hours," and "Come not when I am dead," to 
 The Keepsake : edited by Miss Power. London : 
 David Bog^e. 
 
 Sonnet to W. C. Macready, read at tlie valedic- 
 tory dinner to the actor, and printed in The House- 
 hold Narrative of Current Events, February-March. 
 Seventh edition of the Poems, containing three 
 new pieces, and the dedication " To the Queen." 
 
 Pourii edition of the Princess, with additions. 
 Fourth edition of In Memoriam, adding section ux, 
 " O sorrow wilt thou live with me ? " Presented, 
 as Poet Laureate, to the Queen, at Buckingham 
 Palace, March 6. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 329 
 
 Lived at Twiokenham. TraTelled in France and 
 Italy. 
 
 ^852. Ode on the Death of the Duke of Welling- 
 ton. By Alfred Tennyson, Poet Lanieate. Lon- 
 don : Edward Moxon. 1852. pp. 16. 
 
 Contribnted " Britons, guard your own," to The 
 Examiner, January 31 ; " The Third of February," 
 and " Hands all round," to the same paper, Febru- 
 ary 7. These poems were called forth by the gen- 
 eral excitement consequent on the coup d'itat of 
 Louis Napoleon. 
 
 Tennyson's oldest son, Hallam, was bom at 
 Twickenham. 
 
 1853, Eighth edition of the Poems, with additions. 
 Fifth edition of the Princess, with additions. 
 
 Purchased the estate of Farringford in the parish 
 of Freshwater, Isle of Wight. 
 
 Second edition of the Ode on the Death of Wel- 
 lington, containing additions. 
 
 1854. The Chaboe op the Liqht Bbigade. First 
 printed in The Examiner, December 9, afterwards 
 on a quarto sheet for distribution among the sol- 
 diers before Sebastopol. 
 
 Tennyson's second son, Lionel, was bom at Far- 
 ringford. 
 
 *f* Days and Eowrs. By Frederick Tennyson. London: 
 John W. Parker & Son, West Strand. 1854. pp. viii, 346. 
 
 F. D. Maurice dedicated liis Theological Essays to 
 Tennyson. 
 
 £. K. Kane, the Arctic explorer, named a clifE in Green- 
 land, "Tennyson's Monument." 
 
 ^855. Maud, and Othee Poems. By Alfred Temiy- 
 son, D. C. L,, Poet Laureate. London : Edward 
 Hozon. 1855. pp. 154. 
 
 The University of Oxford had conferred the de- 
 gree of D. 0. L. upon him in May. 
 *#* Maud was reviewed in Blackwood^s Magazine, Sep- 
 tember J TAe Edirdmrgh Review, October j TAe National 
 
330 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 EevieWi October ; and in The North American Review, Oc- 
 tober, by BeT. B. E. Hale. 
 
 George Brimley's essay on Tennyson was published in 
 Cambridge Essays. 
 
 1856. Second edition of Maud, with many additions, pp. 
 164. 
 
 Dr. B. J. Maun published Tennyson^s ' Maud ' Vindicated^ 
 an Explanatory Essay. London : Jarrold & Sons. 
 
 1857. Printed Enid and NmnE : ob the Teub and 
 THE False, an Arthurian poem, suppressed before 
 publication. 
 
 \* Bayard Taylor visited Tennyson at Farringf ord, and 
 walked with him along the clifiEs. " I was struck with the 
 variety of his knowledge. Not a little flower on the downs 
 escaped his notice, and the geology of the coast, both terres- 
 trial and submarine, was perfectly familiar to him. I 
 thought of a remark I once heard from a distinguished 
 English author (Thackeray), that Tennyson was the wisest 
 man he knew." 
 
 1858. Added two stanzas to the National Anthem, on 
 the niarriage of the Princess Royal. Printed in 
 The Times, January 29. 
 
 %* Rev. F. W. Bobertson gave an estimate of Tennyson 
 in luB Lectures and Addresses. London: Smith, Elder & Co. 
 pp. 124-141. 
 
 1859. Idtlls of the Euro. By Alfred Tennyson, D. 
 C. L., Poet Laureate. London : Edward Moxon & 
 Co., Dover Street. 1859. pp. 261. 
 
 Ten thousand copies were sold within six weeks. 
 Contributed verses entitled " The Grandmother's 
 Apology" to Once a Week, July 16. Visited Por- 
 tugal with Prancis Turner Palgrave. 
 
 The verses entitled " The War," signed " T," and 
 printed in the London Times, May 9, were acknow- 
 ledged by Lord Tennyson in 1891. 
 
 *«* Peter Bayne published Tennyson and his Teachers, 
 James Hogg & Sons : Edinburgh and London. 
 
 The Idylls of the King were reviewed in Blachwoods' 
 Magazine, November, and Edinburgh Review, July. 
 
 Rev. Alfred Gatty published IXePoeJicaZ Character: illtu- 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 331 
 
 frofed }T0in, the Warka of Alfred Tennyson, D. O. i., Poet 
 Laureate. London : Bell & Daldy. pp. 29. 
 
 Tennyson's Poems reviewed in the London Quarterly, 
 October, and in the Wettminster jReview, by John Nichol. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote in his diary : "Kn- 
 iflhed the four Idylls. The first and third could have come 
 only from a great poet. The second and fourth do not seem 
 to me so good." July 20, 1859. (The first and third were 
 Enid and Elaine; the second and fourth were Vivien and 
 Guinevere,) 
 
 i860. Contribnted " Sea Dreams : An Idyll," to Mcu>- 
 millan's Magazine, January ; and " Titbonns " to 
 The Cornhill Magazine, February. 
 *«* Poems and Essays by the late William Caldwell Bos- 
 coe. London : Chapman & Hall. pp. 1-37 on Tennyson. 
 
 " Poetical Wor^ of Alfred Tennyson," reviewed by G. C. 
 Everett in the North American Beview, January. 
 
 1861. Contribnted " The Sailor Boy " to Victoria Begia, 
 edited by Emily Faitbfull, ChriBtmaa. 
 
 Revisited the Pyrenees, where he had travelled 
 with Arthur HaUam. 
 
 Wrote "Helen's Tower," privately printed by 
 Lord DufEerin. 
 
 1862. A new edition of the Idylls, with a dedication to 
 the memory of Prince Albert. 
 
 Wrote an " Ode : May the First, 1862 ; " snng at 
 the opening of the International Exhibition ; and 
 printed in Fraser^s Magazine, June. 
 \* An Indezto In Memoriam. London: Edward Moxon 
 & Co. pp. 40. 
 
 An Analysis of In Memoriam by the late Rev. Frederick 
 ^V. Bobertson'of Brighton. London : Smith, Elder & Co- 
 
 EeTnains in Verse and Prose of Arthur Henry Hallami. 
 With a Preface and Memoir. London : John Murray, Albe- 
 marle St. 1862. pp. Ix, 309. 
 
 1863. Published on the arrival of the Princess Alexan- 
 dra, March 7, A Welcome. London : Edward 
 Moxon & Co. pp. 4. 
 
332 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 Contributed "Attempts at Clasaic Metres in 
 Quantity " to The CornUll Magazine, December. 
 
 1864. Enoch Arden, etc. By Alfred Tennyson, D, 
 C. L., Poet Laureate, London : Edward Moxon 
 & Co., Dover Street. 1864. pp. 178. 
 
 Contributed an " Epitaph on the late Duchess of 
 Kent " to The Court Journal^ March 19. 
 
 *#*" Wordsworth, Tennyson, and Browning; or Pure, 
 Ornate, and Grotesque Art," by Walter Bagehot in Th& Na- 
 tional JReviewj November. 
 
 Enoch Arden was reviewed in Blackwood's Magazine, No- 
 vember ; in the Nouvelle Revue de Paris, September, by A. 
 Yermorel ; in The Westminster Review, October ; in The 
 North British Review^ August ; in The North American Re- 
 view, October, by James Russell Lowell ; iu Barper's Maga- 
 zine, October, by George William Curtis. 
 
 Hippolyte Adolphe Taine compared Tennyson unfavour- 
 ably with De Musset, in his Sistoi/re de la lAtteraiure 
 Anglaise. Paris : 1864. 
 
 Garibaldi visited Tennyson at Farringford. 
 
 Sonnets. By the Kev. Charles Turner, Yicar of Orasby, Lin- 
 coln. London and Cambridge : Macmillan & Go. pp. viii, 102. 
 
 This was the brother of Tennyson who bad joined with him 
 in writing the Poems by Two BrotTiers. He had dropped the 
 name of Tennyson in 1835 in order to assume an inheritance. 
 
 1865. A Selection fbom the Works op Alfeed 
 Tennyson. London : Edward Moxon & Co., 
 Dover Street. This volume contains six new poems : 
 " The Captain," " On a Mourner," " Home they 
 brought him slain with spears," and three "Son- 
 nets to a Coquette." pp. 256. 
 
 The Queen ofEered him a baronetcy, which he de- 
 clined ; and he was elected a member of the Koyal 
 Society. 
 Tennyson's mother died February 21, aged 84. 
 *#* J. Leicester Warren contributed " The Bibliography of 
 Tennyson " to The Fortnightly Review, October 1. 
 
 Three OrecU Teachers: Carlyle, Itennyson, and Ruskin. 
 By Alexander H. Japp, LL. D. London : Smith, Elder & Co. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 333 
 
 1866. *»* Erwch Arden {continued), by C. H. P. Not by the 
 '* Lattreatb," but a timid hand that grasped the Poet*s golden 
 lyre, " and back reooil'd — e'en at the sound herself had 
 made." 1866. [No printer's or publisher's name. A pam- 
 phlet of 12 pp. Blank verse. Exact transcript of title-page 
 from " Enoch " to " 1866."] 
 
 Tennysoniana : Notes SibUographhal and CrUical on 
 Early Poems of Alfred & C. Tennyson, etc. etc. Basil Mon- 
 tague Fickermg : 196 Piccadilly, London, W. ; mdocoixvi. pp. 
 170. (Pages 30-41 were omitted while the work was passing 
 through the press. In this edition, therefore, the verso of 
 page 29 is page 42.) The author's name is not on the title- 
 page; but the book is known to be the work of Bichard 
 Heme Shepherd. 
 
 Enoch Arden reviewed in the London Quarterly Review 
 for January, 1866. 
 
 Mr. George Grove printed a commentary on '' Tears, idle 
 Tears," in Macmillan^s Magazine for November ; and one 
 " On a Song in the Princess," in The Shilling Magazine for 
 February, 
 
 1867. The Wibbow: oh the Loves of the Wbbns. 
 Printed at the private press of Sir lyor Bertie 
 Gnest of Canford Manor, now Lord Wimlbome. 
 
 These songs were written to he set to music by 
 Mr. Arthur Snlliyan, and so puhlished in 1870. 
 
 The Victim: hy Alfred Tennyson, D. C. L., 
 Poet Laureate. Printed at the same place and 
 in the same manner. 
 
 Tennyson purchased the Greenhill estate on the 
 top of Blackdown on the northern border of Sussex, 
 three miles from the village of Haslemere, in Surrey. 
 In 1868 he began the erection of a house from de- 
 signs by Mr. J. T. Kiiowles. The place is called 
 Aldworth, and is the poet's summer home. 
 
 *#* John K. Ingram, li. D., reviewed Tennyson's Works 
 in Afternoon Lectures on Literature and Art, Fourth Se- 
 ries. London : Bell & Daldy. pp. 47-94. 
 " Studies m Tennyson," by W. 8., in Belgravta. 
 
 1868. Contributed " The Victim " to Good Words, Janu- 
 ary; "On a Spiteful Letter" to Once a Week, 
 
334 CHRONOLOGT. 
 
 January ; " Wages " to MoAymillan's Magazine, Feb- 
 ruary ; " 1865-1866 " to Good Words, March ; and 
 " Lucretius " to MacmiUan's Magazine, May. 
 
 *#* Professor R. 0. Jebb praised the historical accuracy at 
 •* Lucretius " in Macmillan^s Magasine, June. 
 
 S. Cheetham printed a scholarly review of the Arthurian 
 Legends in The Contemporary, April. 
 
 A Study 0/ the Works of Alfred Tennyson. By Edward 
 Campbell Tainsh. London : Chapman & HalL Second edi- 
 tion, 1869. pp. 268. 
 
 Jerrold, Tennyson, and MacavXay. By James Hutchison 
 Stirling, LL. D. Edinburgh : Edmunston and Douglas, pp. 
 243. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow visited Farringf ord. 
 
 SmaU Tableaux. By the Rev. Charles Turner, Vicar of 
 Grasby, Lincoln. London : Macmlllan & Co. pp. vlil, 114. 
 
 1869. Tbb Holt Gbail and Other Poems. By Al- 
 fred Tennyson, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. Strahan 
 & Co., Publishers, 56, Ludgate Hill, London. 1870. 
 pp. 222. Of this volume 40,000 copies were ordered 
 in advance. 
 
 *#* D. Barron Brightwell published his Concordance to the 
 Entire Works of Alfred Tennyson. London: E. Moxon 
 &O0. 
 
 An article on " The Poetry of the Period," in Temple Bar, 
 for May, declared that "Mr. Tennyson has no sound pre- 
 tensions to be called a great poet." 
 
 Mr. Tennyson and Mr. Browning. By Edward Dowden, 
 in Afternoon Lectures in Literature and Arts, published in 
 1869, reprinted in Studies m Literature. London : Kegau 
 Paul, Trench & Co. Fifth Edition. 1889. 
 
 1870. *** Henry Alford printed a review of The Idylls of the 
 King in The Contemporary, January. 
 
 " The Epic of Arthur " in the Edinburgh Beview, April, 
 1870. 
 
 " Alfred Tennyson," critical article by E. OamerinI, in the 
 Nuova Antologia. Florence, February. 
 
 Mr. J. Hain Friswell had a chapter on Alfred Tennyson in 
 Modem Men of Letters Honestly Criticized. London : Hod- 
 der & Stoughton. 1870. pp. 146-146. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 335 
 
 1871. Contributed " The Last Tonmament " to The Con- 
 temporary, December. 
 
 _ *#* Rev. H. R, Hawels had an article on " The Songs of 
 
 the Wrens " in The Saint PauVs Magazine, February. 
 
 1872. Garbth and Ltnette, etc. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. Strahan & Co. 56, 
 Ludgate Hill, London. 1872. pp. 136. 
 
 The Library Edition of Tennyson's Works, in six 
 volumes, was published by Strahan & Co. 1872- 
 1873. It contained important additions. 
 
 *#* Richard Holt Hutton contributed a review of Tennyson 
 to Macmillan's Magazine, December. 
 
 Robert Buchanan printed an article entitled " Tennyson's 
 Charm" in St. PauVs Magazine, March. 
 
 1873. *#* J. Hutchinson printed an article on "Tennyson as a 
 Botanist " in St. PauVs Magazine, October. 
 
 Tennyson. By Walter Irving. Edinburgh : Maclachlau 
 & Stewart, pp. 28. 
 
 The Rev. Drummond Bawnsley published an article on 
 " Lincolnshire Scenery and Character as illustrated by Mr. 
 Tennyson " in Macmillan^e Magazine, December, 1873. 
 
 MasieT-Spvrits, By Robert Buchanan. London ; Henry 
 S. King & Co. 1873. pp. 349. Essay on " Tennyson, Heine, 
 and De Musset." pp. 54-88. 
 
 1874. A Welcome to MABrs ALBxAUDBOvirA, DtrcH- 
 Ess or EDrNBUBGH. This was first printed in The 
 Times, and afterwards issued on a separate sheet. 
 
 The Cabinet Edition of Tennyson's Works, pub- 
 lished by H. S. King & Co., 1874, contained impor- 
 tant additions. 
 1875. QtiEEN Mabt. a Drama. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son. London : Henry S. King & Co. 1875. pp. 
 ■riii, 278. 
 
 Prefixed a Sonnet to Lord Lyttelton's Memoir of 
 William. Henry Broohfidd. 
 
 The author's Edition of Tennyson's Works was 
 published by Henry S. King & Co., in six volumes, 
 crown 8vo, 1875-1877. Important changes were 
 made in this edition. 
 
336 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 *#* Edmund Clarence Stedman published a review of Tenny- 
 son in Victorian Poets. Boston : Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 This was supplemented by an additional chapter in the edi- 
 tion of 1887. 
 
 The Beligion 0/ our literature. By George McCrie. Lon- 
 don : Hodder & Stoughton. pp. 110-180. 
 
 " Virgil and Tennyson," in Blackwood's Magasine, Novem- 
 ber. By "a Lincolnahire Rector " [Bev. Drummond 
 Rawnsley]. 
 
 1876. HABOb). A Dkama. By Alfred Tennyson. 
 London : Henry S. King & Co. 1877. pp. viii, 161. 
 
 *#* Queen Mary was produced at the Lycewm Theatre by 
 Miss Bateman and Henry Irving, in April. 
 
 1877. Contributed a prefatory Sonnet to the first num- 
 ber of The Nineteenth Century, March ; also "Mon- 
 tenegro," a Sonnet, to the same number ; a "Son- 
 net to Victor Hugo " to The Nineteenth Century, 
 June ; "Achilles over the Trench" to The Nine- 
 teenth Century, August. 
 
 Lines on Sir John Franklin in Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 *#* Bayard Taylor printed a criticism of Tennyson in T?le 
 International Review, New York, May. 
 
 Longfellow's Sonnet entitled Wapentake published in The 
 Atlantic Monthly, December. 
 
 1878. Contributed " Sir Richard (Jren-rille : A Ballad of 
 the Fleet," to The Nineteenth Century, March. 
 
 Made a tour in Ireland. 
 
 *#* Studies in the Idylls. By Henry Elsdale. London : 
 H. S. King & Co. 1878. pp. vii, 197. 
 
 1879. The Lover's Tale. By Alfred Tennyson. Lon- 
 don : C. Kegan Paul & Co., 1, Paternoster Square. 
 1879. pp. 95. 
 
 This was a revision of the poem suppressed in 
 1833, and the publication was made necessary by 
 the fact that it had been pirated. 
 
 Tennyson's play of The Faioon was produced 
 at the St, James Theatre with Mrs. Kendal as the 
 heroine, December. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 337 
 
 Contributed " Dedicatory Poem to the Princess 
 Alice " and " The Defence of Luoknow " to The. 
 Nineteenth Century for April. 
 
 *«* Tennysoniana. Second edition, revised and enlarged. 
 London: Pickering & Co. 196 PiccadiUy. mdccolxxk. 
 pp. Tiii, 208. (By Richard Heme Shepherd.) 
 
 Lessons from My Masters. By Peter Bayne. London : 
 John Clarke & Co., 13 and 14 Fleet St. 1879. pp. viii, 437. 
 
 Tennyson's brother, the Rev. Charles Tennyson 
 Turner, died at Cheltenham, April 15. 
 
 i88o. Baixads, and Other Poems. By Alfred Ten- 
 nyson. London : C. Kegan Paul & Co., 1, Paternos- 
 ter Square. 1880. pp. vi, 184. 
 
 The Cabinet Edition of Tennyson's Works, in 
 twelve volumes, published by C. Kegan Paul & Co., 
 was completed in this year. 
 
 Contributed two poems to St. Nicholas, an Amer- 
 ican magazine for children. 
 
 Prefixed lines entitled " Midnight, June 30, 1879," 
 to Charles Tennyson Turner's Collected Sonnets, Old 
 and New. London: C. Kegan Paul & Co. 1880. 
 pp. xxii, 390. 
 
 Tennyson declined the nomination for Lord Rec- 
 torship of Glasgow University, on the ground that 
 he was unwilling to be "a party candidate for the 
 conservative club." 
 
 *»* "A New Study of Tennyson," by J. Churton Collins, 
 in The Comhill Magazine, January and July, and July, 1881. 
 
 Theodore Watts wrote a sonnet " To Alfred Tennyson, on 
 bis publishing, in his seventy-first year, the most richly vari- 
 ous volume of English verse that has appeared in his own 
 century." 
 
 "Tennyson's Poems," in the British Quarterly Review, 
 reprinted in lAUelVs lAving Age for December 25. 
 
 l88i. The play of The Cup was produced at the Ly- 
 ceum Theatre, with Henry Irving and Ellen Terry 
 in the leading parts, January 3. It ran for more 
 than one hundred nights and was a decided success. 
 
338 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 Contribnted " Despair " to The Nineteenth CeU' 
 tury; and " The Charge of the Heavy Brigade " to 
 MacmiUanh Magazine. 
 
 *#* Mr. "Walter E. "Wace published Alfred Tennyson, His 
 Lift and Works. Bdlnburgh : MacniTen & Wallace, pp. vii, 
 203. 
 
 " Mr. Tennyson's New^ Tolume," by Sidney Collin, in 
 Maemillan^s Magasvne, January. 
 
 Mr. A. C. Swinburne published an article on "Tennyson 
 and Musset," in The Fortnightly Review, February 1, 1881. 
 Beprinted in Miscellanies. London : Chatto & Windus, 1886. 
 
 " Alfred Tennyson and His New Poems," by Enrico Nen- 
 cioni, in Fanfulla della Domenica, Rome, April 10. 
 
 " A Study of Tennyson," by R. H. Stoddard, in The 
 S^orth American Beview, July. 
 
 1882. The play of The Pbomise of Mat was produced 
 at the Glohe Theatre, under the direction of Mrs. 
 Bemard-Beere. 
 
 *#* A Study of the Princess. By S. £. Dawson. Montreal ; 
 Dawson Brothers, Publishers, pp. 120. 
 
 A Key to Tennyson^ s In Memoriam. By Alfred Gatty, 
 D. D. A New and Revised Edition. London ; George Bell 
 & Sons, York St., Corent Garden. 1882. pp. viii, 148. 
 
 "Maud," a critical article by Enrico Nencioui, in Dome- 
 nica Letteraria. Rome : March 19. 
 
 18S3. Tennyson accompanied Mr. Gladstone on a sea 
 trip to Copenhagen, where they were received by 
 the King and Queen of Denmark, the Czar and 
 Czarina, the Bong and Queen of (Greece, and the 
 Princess of Wales. 
 
 Later in the year it was announced that Queen 
 Victoria had offered a peerage to Tennyson, and he 
 had accepted it. 
 
 *#* *' Alfred Tennyson," by Mrs. Anne Thackeray Ritchie, 
 in Sarper^s Magasine for December. 
 
 The Earlier and Less-Known Poems of Tennyson. By 
 C. E. Mathews. Birmingham: 1883. pp.34. "In Memo- 
 riam," and " The Idylls of the King," critical articles by 
 Enrico Neucioni, in Fanfulla della Domenica. Rome : May 
 6, and September 9. 
 
CHRONOLoar. 339 
 
 '884. The Cup akd thb Falcon. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, Poet Lanreate. London : Ma«millan & 
 Co. 1884. pp. 146. 
 
 Bbcket. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet Lau- 
 reate. London : MaomiHan & Co. 1884. pp. 213. 
 Also a Kew and Revised Edition of hia complete 
 Works, in seven volumes ; and in one volume, pp. 
 V, 640. 
 
 Tennyson was gazetted Baron of Aldvrortli and 
 Fairingford, January 18. 
 
 Contributed " Freedom " to Maenadllan'a Maga- 
 rine for December ; introductory verses to ^osa 
 Bosarum, by E. V. B. ; and a verse to a small 
 pamphlet printed for the benefit of the Chelsea 
 Hospital for Women. 
 
 Elected President of the Incorporated Society of 
 Authors. 
 
 \* Mr. Henry J. Jennings publishect Lord Tennyson. A 
 Biographical Sketch. London : Chatto & Windus. pp. vil, 
 270. 
 
 Tennyson's In Memoriam. Its Purpose and Structure. 
 ByJofanF. Genung. Boston ; Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1884. 
 pp. vi, 199. 
 
 " The Genesis of Tennyson's ' Mand,' " by Richard Heme 
 Shepherd, in The North American Review for October. 
 
 1885. TiBBSiAS AOT) Other Poems. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, D. C. L., P. L. London : MacmiUan 
 &Co. 1885. pp. viu, 204. 
 
 Contributed " The Fleet " to The Times, April 
 23 • " To H. E. H. Princess Beatrice " to The 
 Times, July 23 ; " Vastness " to Macmillan's Maga- 
 zine, Kovember. 
 
 *,* Hon. Eoden Noel reviewed " The Poetry of Tennyson " 
 in The Contemporary Review, February. 
 
 Mr. Conde B. Fallen published » criticism of the " Idylls 
 of the King," in The Catholic World, April. 
 
 Angustin Filon published an extended critique of Tenny- 
 son in the Revue des Deux Mmdes, September. 
 Vrbana Scripta. By Arthur Galton. London: Elliot 
 
340 CHEONOLOGT. 
 
 Stock, 62, Paternoster Bow. 1885. pp. T, 237. Essay on 
 " Lord Tennyson," pp. 36-68. 
 
 188 6. LocKSLET Haij. Sixty Teabs ajt^br, etc. By 
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson, P. L., D. C. L. Lonr 
 don : Macmillan & Co., and New York. 18S6. 
 pp. 201. 
 
 The " Ode to India and the Colonies " was writ- 
 ten for the opening of the Colonial Exhibition in 
 London, May 4. 
 
 *#* This was reviewed by Richard Holt Button (?) to The 
 Spectator, December 18 ; by the Bt. Hon. W. E. Gladstone 
 to The Nineteenth Century, January, 1887; and by Walt 
 Whitman m The Critic, New York, January 1, 1887. 
 
 Jack and the Bean-Stalk, by Hallam Tennyson, published 
 bjL Macmillan & Co. The iUustratione are from unfinished 
 sketches by Randolph Galdecott. 
 
 Lionel Tennyson died on the homeward voyage 
 from India, April 20. 
 
 1887. *#* " The Genesis of ' In Memoriam,' " published by 
 Richard Heme Shepherd, to Watford's Antiquarian. 
 
 1 888. A new edition of Tennyson's complete works 
 published by Macmillan & Co., 1888-1889, in eight 
 volumes. In this edition the idyll of Geraint was 
 divided into The Marriage of Geraint and Geraint 
 and Enid. 
 
 *** Studies on the Legend of the Soly Grail. By Alfred 
 Nutt. London : David Nutt. 
 
 A Companion to In Memoriam. By Elizabeth Rachel 
 Chapman. London : Macmillan & Co., and New York. 1888. 
 pp. 72. 
 
 The Tennyson Flora. Three Lectures by Leo H. Grindon. 
 Published as an Appendix to the Report of the Mouchester 
 Field Naturalists and ArchEBological Society for the year 
 1887. 
 
 " Tennysonian Trees," an article in The Gardener's Maga~ 
 zinc for December 29. 
 
 "Dethroning Tennyson," by A. C. Swtobume, to The 
 Nineteenth Century, January. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 341 
 
 "Tennyson's Idylls," by Anna Vomon Dorsey, in The 
 American Magazine, May ; and by R. W. Boodle, in The 
 Canadian Monthly, April. 
 
 Aa article in the Pall Mall Gazette, December 20, entitled 
 " Is Tennyson a Spiritualist 1 " 
 
 ^^^9- Dbmetbr AND Othbb Pobms. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, P. L., D. C. L. London : Macmillam & 
 Co., and New York. 1889. pp. yi, 175. 
 
 This volume was published on December 13, 
 1889, and it is said that 20,000 copies were sold within 
 a week. 
 
 Contributed "The Throstle "to The New Re- 
 view for October. 
 
 An edition of the complete poems in one volume, 
 pp. T, 807, was published early in the year. In this 
 edition we have for the first time the title, " Idylls 
 of the King, In Twelve Books," and an Index of 
 First Lines. 
 
 *,* T?ie Poetry of Tennyson. By Henry van Dyke. New 
 York : Cliarles Scribner's Sons. London : Elldn Mathews. 
 Vigo St. 1889. pp. xiii, 296. 
 
 Prolegomena to In Memoriam. By Thomas Davidson. 
 Boston and New York : Houghton, Mifflin & Oo. 1889. pp. 
 vi, 177. 
 
 A volume containing three of Tennyson's poems ; " To £. 
 L." (BdmundLear), "TheDaisy," and" The Palace of Art," 
 illustrated with drawings by Edmund Lear, the artist's por- 
 trait and Watts' portrait of Tennyson, was pubhshed by 
 Boussod, Yaladon & Co., London. One hundred copies 
 signed by Lord Tennyson. 
 
 In the Magazines, among others, the following articles ap- 
 peared : In The Nmeteenth Centwry, March, " Tennyson as 
 Prophet," by Frederic W. H. Myers ; in Scrihner^s Magazine, 
 August, " The Two Locksley Halls," by T. R. Lounsbury, and 
 " Tennyson's First Flight," by Henry van Dyke ; in The 
 Century Magazine, " The Bible in Tennyson," by Henry van 
 Dyke. In The Baptist Beview (TJ. S. A.), January, an arti- 
 cle on " Tennyson's Art and Genius," by Eugene Parsons. 
 
 In The Methodist Beeorder, February 28 to March 21, four 
 articles on " The Poets Laureate of England," by Rev. George 
 Lester. 
 
 In The Spectator, February 2, an article on "Tennyson's 
 
342 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 Undertones " discussed the question of spiritualism in his 
 poetry. 
 
 Mr. Napier printed in Glasgow, for private circulation, one 
 hundred copies of a volume entitled, " Homes and Haunts 
 of Alfred Lord Tennyson." 
 
 Tennyson's eightieth birthdajc, on August 6, called out a. 
 great number of articles. Editorials in the New York Times, 
 TribuTie^ and Herald; in The Mail and Express^ by Mr. Ed- 
 mund Gosse ; in the Hartford Daily Times^ by Mr. Frank 
 L. Burr ; in The AtheiKSum, a sonnet by Mr. Theodore "Watts ; 
 in Macmillan's Magazine, a sonnet by Rev. H. D. Bawnsley, 
 and lines " To Lord Tennyson," by Lewis Morris. 
 
 1890. A portrait of Lord Tennyson, in his robes as D, 
 C. L., -was completed by Mr. G. F. Watts, and 
 given to Trinity College, Cambridge. 
 
 A new edition of the Poetical Works (-without 
 the Dramas), in one volume, 18mo, pp. viii, 535, 
 issued by Macmillan & Co. Also a new edition with 
 the Dramas, in one volum.e, 8vo. pp. v, 842. The 
 same as the edition of 1889, "with Demeter and Other 
 Poems added. 
 
 *#* In Tennyson Land. By John Cuming Walters. Illus- 
 trated. London : George Redway. 1890. pp. 108. 
 
 The Isles of Greece. Sappho and Alccem. By Frederick 
 Tennyson, author of " Days and Hours." London and New 
 York : Macmillan & Co. 1890. pp. xiv, 443. 
 
 Alfred Austin reviewed '* Lord Tennyson's New Volume " in 
 The National Review, January. Mr. C. J. Caswell printed 
 an article on " Tennyson's Schooldays " in The Pall Mall 
 Gazette, June 19. Mr. Eugene Parsons had an essay on Ten- 
 nyson in The Examiner (New York), February, and another 
 in The Ch/iutauquan, June. An article was published on 
 "Tennyson and Browning" in The Edinbv^gh Review, 
 " Tennyson : and After ? " in The Fortnightly Review for 
 May. "In King Arthur's Capital," by J. Cuming Walters, 
 in November nimiber of IgdrasU (the Journal of the Budon 
 Beading Guild). " Christmas with Lord Tennyson," by Bev. 
 George Lester, in The Fireside Magazine, December. " An 
 Arthurian Journey " in The Atlantic Monthly, June. 
 
 In The Atlantic Monthly for March, 1890, Thomas Bailey 
 Aldrich published a poem on " Tennyson," claiming for him 
 the third place in English poetry. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 343 
 
 1891. Contributed "A Song "to The New Beview for 
 March. 
 
 Other verses by Lord Tennyson have since ap- 
 peared in print, viz., a stanza written in a volume of 
 his poems presented to Princess Louise of Sehles- 
 wig-Holstein, by representatives of the nurses of 
 England; lines on the christening of the infant 
 daughter of the Duchess of Fife j a tribute to the 
 memory of James EusseU Lowell ; and a prefatory 
 verse to Pearl. 
 
 A new Popular Edition of Tennyson in one volume, 
 revised throughout by the Author. 1891. Maemil- 
 lan & Co. pp. 842. With a new steel portrait. 
 
 *»* The Poetry of Tennyson. By Henry van Dyke. Sec- 
 ond edition. Bevised and enlarged. New York and London, 
 
 The Laureate^s Cowntry. A Description of Places coi'- 
 nected with the Life of Alfred, Lord Tennyson. By Alfred 
 J. Church, M. A. With many illustrations from Drawings 
 by Edward Hull. London : Seeley and Co., Limited, Essex 
 Street, Strand. 1891. pp. 111. 
 
 Daphne and Other Poems. By Frederick Tennyson, 
 Author of " Days and Hours." London and New York : 
 Uacmillan & Co. 1891. pp. 622. 
 
 Illuatrations of Tennyson. By John Ghurton Collins. 
 London : Chatto & Windus. 1891. pp. xii, 186. 
 
 In The Art Jowmal for January and February, two arti- 
 cles, by F. Anderson Graham, on "Lord Tennyson's Child- 
 hood," illustrated by H. E. Tidemarah. 
 
 In The Comhill Magazine for February, " Dlustrationa 
 of Animal Life in Tennyson's Poems." 
 
 Mr. C. J. Caswell printed an article on " Lord Tennyson's 
 Birthday " in Notes and Queries^ March 14 ; and another on 
 " A Gomitia of Errors " in the Bvrimngham Weekly Mer- 
 eury^ April 11. 
 
 Prof. Albert S. Cook had an article on " St. Agnes' Eve," 
 in "Poet-Lore," JanuaiylS. 
 
 1892. Lord Tennyson published verses on " The Death 
 of the Duke of Clarence and Avondale " in Tli£ 
 Nineteenth Century, February. 
 
 The play of The Fobestees, a romantic pastoral 
 
844 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 drama, was produced at Daly's Theatre in New 
 York, on Thursday night, March 19. Miss Ada 
 Rehan played the leading: part of Marian Lee. Mr. 
 Drew appeared as Bobin Hood. A purely formal 
 production of the play was made in London, on the 
 same day, at the Lyceum, for the purpose of secur- 
 ing the copyright. 
 
 Thb Foresters : Robin Hood and tJikm 
 Marian. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet Lau- 
 reate. New Tork : Macmillan & Co., and London. 
 1892. pp. 155. (Issued in New York in April.) 
 
 Lord Tennyson died at Aldworth, October 
 6, between one and two in the morning. 
 
 The Death of CEnone, Akbar's Dream, and 
 Other Poems. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet 
 Laureate. New York : Macmillan & Co., and Lon- 
 don. 1892. pp. Ti, 113. (Issued in New York, 
 October 29.) 
 
 *#* The Poetry of Tennyson. Third edition. By Henry 
 van Dyke. New York : Charles Scribner's Sons. 1892. 
 London : Elkin Mathews, Yigo St. pp. xzii, 376. 
 
 The Golden Guess. A Series of Essays, by John Vance 
 Cheney. Boston : Lee & Shepard. 1892. (Essay on Ten- 
 nyson and his Critics.) 
 
 Homes and Haunis of Alfred^ Lord Tennyson, Poet Lau- 
 reate. By George Q. Napier, M. A. Glasgow ; James Macle- 
 hose & Sons, Publishers to the TTniversity. 1S92. pp. xri, 
 204. 
 
 Records of Tennyson, Ruskvn, and Brovming. By Anne 
 Thackeray Ritchie. New York : Harper & Brothers. 1892. 
 pp. 190. 
 
 Tennyson's Life and Poetry: and Mistakes concerning 
 Tennyson. By Eugene Parsons. Chicago : 1892. (Second 
 edition, revised and enlarged, 1893. Printed for the author, 
 43 Bryant Ave.) 
 
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson. By A. "Waugh, B. A. Oxon. 
 London : 1892. (Second edition. United States Book Com- 
 pany, New York, 1893.) 
 
 Tennyson and ^^ In Metnoriam : " An Appreciation and 
 a Study. By Joseph Jacobs. London : David Nutt, in the 
 Strand. 1892. 16mo, pp. .>., 108. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 345 
 
 1893. LoKD Teitotsoh's Works. Globe 8vo edition, 
 in ten volumes. Vols, viii., ix., x. New York: 
 MacnuUan & Co., and London. 1893. (Vol. viii. 
 contains " Becket " and " The Cup ; " vol. ix., " The 
 Foresters," "The Falcon," "The Promise of 
 May ; " vol. x., " Teiresias, and Other Poems," 
 "Demeter, and Other Poems," "The Death of 
 CEnone, and Other Poems." This is the only abso- 
 lutely complete edition of the late Poet Laureate's 
 works published.) 
 
 Poems by Two Brothers. Second edition. 
 Edited by Hallam, Lord Tennyson. New York : 
 Macmillan & Co., and London. 1893. Crown 8to, 
 pp. XX, 251. (The first reprint of the volume pub- 
 lished in 1827, in which the late Poet Laureate made 
 his earliest appearance before the public. As far as 
 possible the poems have been attributed to their 
 respective authors. Pour new poems have been 
 added from the original MB., and the Cambridge 
 prize poem on Timbuctoo has also been included in 
 the volume. There is also a large paper edition, 
 with facsimiles of the MS., limited to 300 copies.) 
 
 Becket : A Teagedt. In a Prologue and f our 
 Acts. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. As arranged 
 for the stage by Henry Irving, and presented at the 
 Lyceum Theatre on February 6, 1893. New York : 
 Macmillan & Co., and London. 1893. 
 
 *,* A Study of the Works of Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet 
 Laureate. By Edward Campbell Tainsh. New edition, com- 
 pleted and largely rewritten. New York ; Macmillan & Co., 
 and London. 1893. pp. lii, 307. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. A Biographical Sketch. By Henry J. 
 JenningB. Second edition. London : Chatto & Windus. 1893. 
 
 Essays on Lord Tennyson's Idylls of the King. By Harold 
 Litaedale, M. A. London and New Tork : Macmillan & Co. 
 1893. pp. X, 308. 
 
346 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 ANNOTATED EDITIONS OF TENNYSON'S WORKS. 
 
 By Dr. William J. Rolfe. Published by Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Co., Boston and New York : — 
 ■^ Ths Prviicess. 
 y Select Poems of Tennyson. 
 
 Th£ Young People^s Tennyson. 
 ^ Enoch Arden^ and Other Poems. 
 
 FubllBhed by Macmillan & Co., London and New York : — 
 lyrical Poems. Selected and Annotated by Francis 
 Turner Palgrave. 
 ^^ Selections from Tennyson, With Introduction and Notes 
 by F. J. Rowe, M. A., and W. T. Webb, M. A. 
 
 Tennyson for the Young. Selections from Lord Tenny- 
 son's Poems. Edited, with Notes, by the Rev. Alfred Aiiiger, 
 M. A., LL. D., Canon of Bristol. 
 
 The Coming of Arthur^ and the Passing of Arthur. 
 Edited, with Introduction and Notes, by Prof. F. J. Rowe 
 of Calcutta. 
 
 Enoch Arden. With Introduction and Notes, by W. T. 
 Webb, M. A. 
 
 Aylmer^s Meld. By W. T. Webb, M. A. 
 The Princess. By P. M. Wallace, M. A. 
 Gareth and Lynetie. By G. C. Macaulay, M. A. 
 Geraint and Enid. By the same editor. 
 
 Published by EflSngham Maynard & Co., New York : — 
 " Enoch Arden. With Introduction and Notes by Dr. 
 Albert F. Blaisdell. 
 
 The Two Voices, etc. With Introduction and Notes by 
 Prof. Hiram Corson of Cornell University. 
 Elaine. 
 In MeTnoriam, 
 The Holy GraU. 
 
 THE PUBLISHED WORKS OF ALFRED TENNY- 
 SON: WITH DATES, TITLES, AND NUMBER 
 OF PAGES. 
 
 1826. Poems BY Two Brothees. London : Printed for 
 W. Simpkin and R. Marshall, Stationers*-Hall- 
 Court ; and J. & J. Jackson, Louth. MDCOCXvn. 
 Crown 8vo, pp. xii, 228. 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 347 
 
 iSag. TiMBucTOO. A poem wMoh obtained the chan- 
 ceUor's medal at the Cambridge Commencement, 
 MDCcoxxix. By A. Tennyson, of Trinity CoUege, 
 (Prmted in '■'■ Prolusiones Academicce: MDbccxxix. 
 CantabrigisB : typis aeademieis excudit Joannes 
 Smith." pp. 41.) 
 
 1830. Poems, Chieplt Ltbical. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son. London : Effingham Wilson, Royal Exchange, 
 Comhill. 1830. 12mo, pp. 154, and leaf of errata. 
 
 1832. PoBMS. By Alfred Tennyson. London : Edward 
 Moxon, 64 New Bond Street. MDCcoxxxm. 12mo, 
 pp. 163. 
 
 1842. Poems. By Alfred Tennyson. In two volumes. 
 London: Edward Moxon, Dover Street, mdoocxmi. 
 2 vols. 12mo, pp. vii, 233 ; vii, 231. 
 
 1847. The Petncess: A Medeet. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son. London : Edward Moxon, Dover Street. 
 MDCCCXLTH. 12mo, pp. 164. 
 
 1850. InMemobiam. London : Edward Moxon, Dover 
 Street, mdcccl. 12mo, pp. vii, 210. 
 
 1852. Ode on the Death of the Doke of Welling- 
 ton. By Alfred Tennyson, Poet Laureate. Lon- 
 don: Edward Moxon, Dover Street. 1862. 8vo, 
 pamphlet, pp. 16. 
 
 1855. Maud, and Othbb Poems. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. London: Edward 
 Moxon. 1855. 12mo, pp. 154. 
 
 1859. Idylls of the King. By Alfred Tennyson, 
 D. C. L., Poet Laureate. London : Edward Moxon 
 & Co., Dover Street. 1859. 12mo, pp. 261. 
 
 1864. Enoch Abden, etc. By Alfred Tennyson, 
 D. C. L., Poet Laureate. London : Edward Moxon 
 & Co., Dover Street. 1864. 12mo, pp. 178. 
 
 1869. The Holt Gbail, and Othee Poems. By Al- 
 fred Tennyson, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. Strahan 
 & Co., Publishers, 56, Ludgate Hill. London, 1870. 
 12mo, pp. 222. 
 
 1872. Gabeth and Lxnbtte, etc. By Alfred Tenny- 
 son, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. Strahan & Co., 56, 
 Ludgate Hill, London. 1872. 12mo, pp. 136. 
 
348 CBRONOLOGT. 
 
 1875. Queen Mabt. A Drama. By Alfred Tennyson. 
 London: Henry S. King & Co. 1875. 12mo, pp. 
 ■riii, 278. 
 
 1876. Hakoid. a Drama. By Alfred Tennyson. Lon- 
 don : Henry S. King & Co. 1877. 12mo, pp. viii, 161. 
 
 1879. The Lover's Tale. By Alfred Tennyson. Lon- 
 don: C. Kegan Paul & Co., 1 Paternoster Square. 
 1879. 12mo, pp. 95. 
 
 1880. BaIiLAds, aud Other Poems. By Alfred Ten- 
 nyson. London : C. Kegan Paul & Co., 1 Paternos- 
 ter Square. 1880. 12mo, pp. yi, 184. 
 
 1884. The Cup and the Faioon. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, Poet Laureate. London: MacmiUan & 
 Co. 1884. 12mo, pp. 146. 
 
 Becket. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet Lau- 
 reate, London: MacnuUan <& Co. 1884, Crown 
 8vo, pp. 213. 
 
 1885. TiBBSiAs, AND Otheb Poems. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. London : Mac- 
 miUan & Co. 1885. 12mo, pp. viii, 204. 
 
 1886. LooKSLEY Hail Sixty Yeabs After, etc. By 
 Alfred, Lord Tennyson, D. C. L., Poet Laureate. 
 London and New Tork: Macmillan & Co. 1886. 
 12mo, pp. 201. 
 
 i88g. Demeteb, and Other Poems. By Alfred, Lord 
 Tennyson, P. L., D. C. L. London and New York: 
 Macmillan & Co. 1889. 12mo, pp. fi, 175. 
 
 1892. The Fobbstbrs : Robin Hood and M^m Ma- 
 rian. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate. 
 New York and London: Macmillan & Go. 1892, 
 12mo, pp. 155. 
 
 The Death of CEnone, Akbae's Dbeam, and 
 Otheb Poems. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson, Poet 
 Laureate. New York and London: Macmillan & 
 Co, 1892, 12mo, pp. vi, 113. 
 
 1893. Poems by Two Beothebs. "Haec nos novimus 
 esse nihil." — Martial. New York and London: 
 MacnuUan & Co. 1893. pp. xx, 251. (Preface by 
 HaUam, Lord Tennyson.) 
 
CHRONOLOGY. 349 
 
 A PARTIAL LIST 
 
 OF TEAITSLATIONS OF TENNYSON'S WOEKS. 
 
 Latin aitd Gbbee. 
 
 In Menwriam, translated into Latin elegiac verse by Oswald A. 
 Sinith; tat private circulation only. Noticed in Edinburgh Be- 
 view, April, 1866. 
 
 Enoch Arden, translated into Latin by Gulielmua Selwyn. Lend. 
 Edv, Moxou et Soc. A. D. mdccolxvu. 
 
 HoT<B TmnysoniancB, sive Bologae e Tennysono, Latine Beddits. 
 CuraA. J. Church. Lond. et Cantab. Macmillan et Soc. MDCcoixx. 
 pp. viii, 139. 
 
 Crossing the Bar, and a Few Other Translations. By H. M. B. (Not 
 published.) 1390. Cambridge, printed by C. J. Clay, M.A.,& 
 Sons, at the University Press, pp. 67. (By Dr. Butler, Master of 
 Trinity College, Cambridge. Twelve Latin translations and seven 
 Greek translations of "Crossing the Bar," in various metres.) 
 
 Verses and Translations by C. S. C. 1862. (C. S. Calverley.) Con. 
 tains a Latm version of Section 106 of In Memoriam. 
 German. 
 
 Gedi£hte : iibers. von W. Hertzberg. Dessau, 1853. pp. viii, 369. 
 
 In Merfboriam,: aus dem Engl, nach der 5*''° Auilage. Braun- 
 schweig, 1854. 
 
 KoTdgs-Idyllen : iibers. von H. A. Feldmann. (Berlin, 1862 ?) 2'" 
 Aufl. Hamburg, 1872. pp. viii, 277. 
 
 Konigs-Idyllen: iibers. von W. Scholz. Berlin, 1867. pp. 223. 
 
 Enoch Arden •• ubers. von Schellwien. Quedlinburg, 1867. pp. 47. 
 
 Enoch Arden: iibers. von Robert Waldmiiller. (Ed. Duboc.) 
 2te-4t« Aufl. Hamburg, 1868-1870. pp. 42. 33" Aufl. Hamburg, 
 1890. 
 
 Ayhners Feld: iibers. von F. W. Weber. Leipzig, 1869. 
 
 Enoch Arden : iibers. von F. W. Weber. Leipzig, 1869. pp. 42. 
 
 Aylmers Feld: iibeis.Yoa'K. A. Veldmsim. Hamburg, 1870. pp.44. 
 
 Enoch Arden : iibers. von H. A. Feldmann. Hamburg, 1870. pp. 45. 
 
 AusgewaMle IHcTUimgen : iibers. von H. A. Feldmann. Hamburg, 
 1870. pp. 89. 
 
 Freundes-EZage, naoh " In Memoriam : " frei iibertr. von Eobert 
 Waldmiiller. Hamburg, 1870. pp. 160. 
 
 Ausgew'dhlte Bediehte : iibers. von M. Eugard. Elbing, 1872. pp. 
 V. 126. 
 
 In Memoriam — "Zum Oedachtniss: " iibers. von Agnes von Boh- 
 len. Berlin, 1874. pp. 184. 
 
 Harold, ein Drama : deutsoh von Alb. Graf Wioltenbuig. Ham- 
 burg, 1879-1880. pp. iv. 137. 
 
350 CHRONOLOGY, 
 
 Enoch Arden: deutsch von A. Strodtmann. Berlin, 1876. 2'» 
 
 verbess. Auflage, 1881. pp. 71. 
 Enoch Arden : deutsch von Carl Eichholz. 2t» Auflage. Hamburg, 
 
 1881. pp. 56. 
 Kmigs-Idyllen : In Mebmm des Orig. libera, von Caxl WeiBer. 
 
 tJniverBal BibUothek, nrs. 1817, 1818. Leipzig, 1883-1886. pp. 
 
 175. 
 Enoch Arden : Students Tauchnitz Aufl. mit Worterbuch, bearb. 
 
 von Dr. A. Hamann. Leipzig, 1886. pp. 24. 
 (Bibliothek der Gesammt-Literatur.) 
 Aiisgewahlte Dichtungen: iibers. ^on A. Strodtmann, Hildburg- 
 
 hausen, 1867. Leipzig, 1887-1890. Meyer's Volksbucher, nrs. 
 
 371-373. pp. 164. 
 Enoch Arden: frei bearb. fiir die Jugend. Hausbibliothek. Leip- 
 zig, 1888. pp. 29. 
 Locksley Hall: aua dem Engl, von Ferd. Freiligrath. Locksley 
 
 Hail sechsig Jahre sp'dter: libers, von Jakob Fels. Hamburg, 
 
 1888. pp.59. 
 Locksley Hall sechsig Jahre sp'dter : iibers. von Karl B. Esmarch. 
 
 Gotha, 1888. pp. 32. 
 Enoch Arden : aua dem Engl, von Griebenow. Halle, 1889. pp. 35. 
 Maud: iibers. von F. W. Weber. St^o Auflage. Paderborn, 1891. 
 
 pp. 109. 
 
 Dutch. 
 De molenaars-dochier : Vrij bewerkt door A. J. de Bull. Utrecht, 
 
 1859. 
 Henoch Arden : Naar het Engl, door S. J. van den Bergh. 's Hage, 
 
 1869. 
 Henoch Arden : door J, L. Wertheim. Amsterdam, 1882. 
 Vier Idyllen van Koning Arthur : Amsterdam, 1883. 
 
 Italian. 
 Dora: Traduzione di Giacomo Zanella: iu Versi di Giacomo Za- 
 nella^ vol. i. Firenze, 1868, G. Barbera. pp. 350-359. 
 
 (Another translation of the same poem by the same author 
 appeared in Varie Versione Poetiche di Giacomo Zanella. Firenze, 
 1887. Successori Le Monnier. pp. 215-223.) 
 La Cena d' Oro di Alfredo Tennyson : Trad, di Lodovico Biagi. In 
 Firenze. Coi Tip! di M. Cellini e C. 1871. pp. 22. 
 
 Appendice di Alcune Poesie Varie. pp. 23-30. (H Fremio della 
 Virtii. Tin Isoletta. La Ciocca dei Capelli. H Fiore.) 
 Dora: Traduzione in versi di Giuseppe Chiarini. Poesie^ Storie^ 
 Cantif Tradusioni. Livorno, 1874. F. Vigo. pp. 407-418. 
 
CHRONOLOGY, 351 
 
 ^^ The May queen r'' Traduzione dei Marcheai Luigi e Raniero de 
 Calboli. Roma, 1875. 
 
 IdilU^ lAriche, Miti, e Legends, Enoc Arden, Quadri Dramatid: 
 Traduzioni di Carlo Faecioli (Verona). [1st Ed. 1876, 2d Ed. 
 1879.] 3d Ed. 1887. Firenze, Successori Le Monnier. pp. xii, 441. 
 
 Enoch Arden di Alfredo T&rmyson : Becato in Versi Italiani di An- 
 gelo Saggioni. Padova, 1876. Stabilimento Proaperini. pp. 51. 
 Nozze Soopoli^Naccari* 
 
 (This translation was reprinted in Letiure di FcmdgUa. Fi- 
 renze, 1885. pp. 109.) 
 
 U Frimo DivorMo {NelV Isola di Wight) : Trad, di Enrico Castel- 
 nuovo. Venezia, 1886. Stab. Tipografico Fratelli Visentini. 
 pp. 19. Nozze BordicorSelvatico. 
 
 La Prima Lite: Estratto dal Giomale "La Battaglia Bizantina: 
 Tradiizione di P. T. Pavolini. Bologna, 1888. Soc. Tip. Azzoguidi. 
 pp. 12. 
 
 La CaiHca della Brigaia LygM. Le Due Sorelle. In Fiori del 
 Nord : Versione di Modeme Poesie Tedesche e Inglese di Pietro 
 Turati. Milano, 1881. Natale-Batteazatti. pp. 133-137. 
 
 Lyrical PoeTns by Alfred Lord Tennyson^ Poet Laureate : with co- 
 pious prefatory and explanatory notes for the use of Italians 
 by Theophilus C. Cann. Florence, 1887. F. Paggi. pp. 31-68. 
 {Locksley H<dl, Lady Clare, Lady Clara Vere de Fere, St. Agnes* 
 Eve.) 
 
 Italian translations, in verse and prose, from Tennyson's poems 
 are to be found in the following articles : — 
 
 " Poeti Stranieri Modemi — Alfredo Tennyson ; " di Eugenic Came- 
 rini. Nella Nuova Antologia. Firenze, Febbraio, 1870. Vol. xiii. 
 pp. 229-249. Frammenti di traduzione in prosa. 
 
 " Alfredo Tennyson e le sue nuove poesie." (Ballads and other 
 Poems, 1881.) Articolo critico di Enrico Nencioni, nel Fanfidla 
 della DoTnenica, Boma, 10 Aprile, 1881. Traduzione in prosa della 
 poesia Pi^ah. 
 
 "Maud." Articolo critico di Enrico Nencioni nella Pomenica Let- 
 teraria, Boma, 19 Marzo, 1882. Frammenti di traduzione in prosa. 
 
 * It is an Italian custom at a wedding to hare some little book 
 printed, containing an original poem, a new translation, or some- 
 thing of literary novelty and appropriateness, to be presented to the 
 bride and groom and their friends as a memorial of the marriage. 
 The note indicates that Signore Saggioni had his translation of 
 Enoch Arden printed as a gift for the wedding of his friends of the 
 families of Scopoli and Naccari. 
 
352 CHRONOLOGY. 
 
 »*Gli Idilli del iSe." Art. crit. di Enrico Nencioni, nel FanfvXla 
 della Dommica, Roma, 9 Settembre, 1883. Traduzione in prosa 
 di un frammento della Ginevra. 
 
 "Lord Tennyson: Alcuni Buoi acritti minori." Art. crit. di F. 
 Rodriguez, nella Nuova Antologia, Roma, 16 Luglio, 1890, Serie 
 III, vol. ixviii, pp. 318-340. Traduzioni in vera! dell' idillio II 
 Buscellv, della ballata Sizpah, e La Diga Estrema. 
 
 Fbench. 
 Elaine, Geni^vre, Viviane, Enide. Trad, par Francieque MicheL 
 
 HI. par G-uBtave Dor^. Paris. Hachette et Cie. 1867-1869. 
 Enoch Arden. Trad, par M. de la Rive. 1870. 
 Enoch Arden. Trad, par X. Marmier. 1887. 
 Idylles et Po&mes: Enoch Arden: Lochsley Sail. Trad, par A. 
 
 Buisson du Berger. 1888. 
 Enoch Arden. Trad, par M. I'Abb^ R. Gourtois. 1890. 
 ETWch Arden, Trad, par E. Duglin. 1890. 
 
 Swedish. 
 
 Konung Arthur och Iians Biddare : Upsala, 1876. 
 Blame : A. HjelmBtjema. 1877. 
 
 NORWEaiAN AND DANIBH. 
 
 Enoch Arden : oversat af A. Munch. Copenhagen. 1866. 
 " Z%e iHfoy ^eert .•" oversat af A. Falck. Chrifltiania. 1875. (1855?) 
 Idyller om Kong Arthur : oveTB&t af A. Manch. Copenhagen. 1876. 
 Anna og Locksley Slot : oversat af A. Hansen. 1872. 
 "Sea Dreams: ^^ "Aylmer^s Field:" oversat af F. L. Mynster. 
 1877. 
 
 Sfahish. 
 
 Enid and Blaine .' translated by Lope Gisbert. 1875. 
 
 Poemesde Alfredo Tennyson: EnochArden^ Gareth y Lynette^ Mer- 
 lin y Bibiana, etc. Tr. by D. Vicente de Arima. Barcelona. 
 1883. 
 
 Note. — The difficulty of making this list perfect in the present 
 state of bibliography is immense. It is only in the German and the 
 Italian that it approaches completeness and accuracy. 
 
A LIST OP 
 
 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS AND ALLUSIONS 
 
 FOinSD IN THE 
 
 WORKS OF TENNYSON. 
 
*#* The author desires to retiirn his thanks to the kind 
 correspondents in this country, in Canada, and in England, 
 who hare helped hiTn to perfect this list. That it ap- 
 proaches completeness may be inferred from the fact that 
 less than twenty-five additions have been made to it since 
 the first edition. 
 
A LIST OP BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS AND AL- 
 LUSIONS FOUND IN THE WORKS OF TEN- 
 NYSON. 
 
 TiMBUCTOO. 
 
 " And teach him to attain 
 By shadowing forth the Unattainable." * 
 
 Mati.5:^. 
 Supposed Confessions. 
 
 " My sin was as a thorn 
 Among the thorns that girt Thy brow." 
 
 Matt. 27: 29, 
 " In this eztremest misery , 
 
 Of ignorance I should require 
 A sign." 
 
 1 Cor. 1 : 22. 
 " That happy morn 
 When angels spake to men aloud, 
 And thou and peace to earth were bom." 
 
 Luke 2 : 10. 
 " Bring back this lamb into thy fold." 
 
 Li^ 15 : 4. 
 " These little motes and grains shall be 
 Clothed on with immortality." 
 
 1 Cor. 15:53. 
 " As manna on my wilderness." 
 
 .Ea;. 16:15. 
 *' That God would move 
 And strike the hard, hard rock, and thence, 
 Sweet in their utmost bitterness, 
 Would issue tears of penitence." 
 
 J^Mm. 20:11. 
 
 * Be ye perfect even as your father in heaven is perfect. 
 
356 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 The Kraken. 
 
 " Until the latter fire sliall heat the deep." 
 
 iJew. 8: 8; 2 Pet. 3: 10. 
 
 Isabel. 
 
 " The laws of marriage charactered in gold 
 Upon the hlanched tahlets of her heart." 
 
 Ps. 37: 31; 2 Cor. 3:3. 
 '• And then of God in thy great charity." 
 
 iJohni: 11. 
 
 To . 
 
 " Like that strange angel which of old 
 Until the hreaking of the light 
 Wrestled with wandering Israel." 
 
 C?en. 32: 21. 
 The Deserted House. 
 
 " A mansion incorruptihle." 
 
 2 Cor. 5 : 1. 
 " The house was hnilded of the earth." 
 
 1 Cor. 15: 47. 
 Adeline. 
 
 "Sabsean spice." 
 
 7s. 45:11. 
 To J. M. Keuble. 
 
 " Arrows of lightnings." 
 
 Zeci.9: 14. 
 
 BUONAPAETB. 
 
 " Late he learned hnnulity 
 Perforce, like those whom Gideon schooled with briers." 
 
 Judges 8: 16. 
 Sonnet X. 
 
 "The delnge." 
 
 Gen. 7: 11. 
 Two Voices. 
 
 " Wonderfully made." 
 
 Ps. 139: 14. 
 " When first the world began 
 Toung Nature through five cycles ran 
 And in the sixth she moulded man." 
 
 Gen. 1 : 26. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 357 
 
 " A little lower than angels." 
 
 Pi. 8 : 5. 
 "Like Stephen's." 
 
 Acts!: 55. 
 "The place he knew forgetteth him." 
 
 Ps. 103 : 16. 
 "He may not do the things he would." 
 
 Gal.B: 17. 
 "Rejoice ! Rejoice ! " 
 
 Pha.i: i. 
 Win. Waterpboof (1842). 
 
 " Like Hezekiah's, hackward runs 
 The shadow of my days." 
 
 Ji. 38 : 8. 
 The Palace of Aet. 
 
 " Howling in outer darkness." 
 
 Matt. 8: 12. 
 " Common clay taken from the common earth 
 Moulded by God." 
 
 Gen. 2 : 7. 
 " And oft some brainless devil enters in 
 And drives them to the deep." 
 
 Luke 8 : 33. 
 " Like Herod when the shout was in his ears, 
 Struck through with pangs of hell." 
 
 ActsVi: 21-23. 
 " Wrote 'Mene, mene,' and divided quite 
 The kingdom of her thought." 
 
 Dan. 5: 25. 
 The Palace of Art. Edition of 1833 : note, page 73. 
 " One was the Tishbite whom the raven fed. 
 As when he stood on Carmel-steeps, 
 With one arm stretched out bare, and mocked and said, 
 ' Come cry alond — he sleeps.' 
 " Tall, eager, lean, and strong, his cloak windbome 
 Behind, his forehead heavenly-bright 
 Prom the clear marble pouring glorious scorn. 
 
 Lit as with inner light." 
 
 1 Kings 18 : 27. 
 
358 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONB. 
 
 " Robed David tonohing holy strings." 
 
 ZSam.Gi 6. 
 " Isaiah with fierce Ezekiel, 
 Swarth Hoses by the Coptic sea," 
 
 " As power and might 
 Abode in Samson's hair." 
 
 Judges 16 : 17. 
 Ladt Claba Vbiu) de Veeb. 
 
 " The gardener Adam and his wife." 
 
 Gen. 2 : 15. 
 The May Queen. Conclnsion. 
 
 " He taught me all the mercy, for he showed me all the 
 
 sin. 
 
 Kow, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there 's One will 
 
 let me in." McM. 25 : 1. 
 
 " And the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are 
 
 at rest." 
 
 Job 3 : 17. 
 The Talkino Oak. 
 
 " Thy leaf shall never fail." 
 
 Ps.l: 3. 
 A Dbbam op Faib Women. 
 
 " The daughter of the warrior Gileadite, 
 A maiden pure ; as when she went along 
 From Mizpeh's towered gate with welcome light 
 With timbrel and with song." 
 
 Judges 11 : 34. 
 " Gross darkness." 
 
 Is. 60:2. 
 " Moreover it is written that my race 
 Hewed Ammon hip and thigh from Aroer 
 On Amon unto Minneth." 
 
 Judges 11 : 33. 
 
 MORTE d'AbTHUB. 
 " Such times have not been since the light that led 
 The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh." 
 
 Matt. 2 : 2, 3, 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 359 
 
 St. Simbon Styutbs. 
 
 " The meed of saints, the white rohe and the pahn." 
 
 Bev. 7 : 9. 
 " Pontius and Isoariot." 
 
 Matt. 26 : 14. 
 *^ A simple man, conceived and horn in sin." 
 
 Ps. 51 : 5. 
 The Golden Tbab. 
 
 " Cry like the daughters of the horse-leech, Give 1 " 
 
 Prov. 30: 15. 
 
 LOCKSLEY HaUi. 
 
 " Joshua's moon in Ajalon." 
 
 JbsA. 10:12. 
 " But I count the gray harhaiian lower than the Chris- 
 tian child." 
 
 Matt. 11 : 11. 
 
 GODIVA. 
 
 " A heart as rough as Esau's hand." 
 
 Gen. 27 : 23. 
 The Day Dbbam. L'Envoi. 
 
 " For since the time when Adam first 
 Embraced his Eve in happy hour, 
 And every bird of Eden burst 
 In carol, every bud to flower." 
 
 Gen. 2 : 23. 
 
 St. Agnes' Eve. 
 
 " So in my earthly house I am 
 To that I hope to be." 
 
 2 Cor. 5 : 1. 
 
 " The Heavenly Bridegroom waits 
 To make me pure of sin." 
 
 Is. 62 : 5. 
 " The Sabbaths of Eternity, 
 One Sabbath deep and wide." 
 
 Heb. i ■■ 9. 
 "The shining sea." 
 
 Bev. 15 : 2. 
 
360 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONB. 
 
 The Visios op Siu. 
 
 " Thou shalt not be saved by works." 
 
 Gal. 2: 16. 
 To . 
 
 " The many-headed beast." 
 
 Enoch Akden. 
 
 " Cast all your cares on God." 
 
 " That anchor holds." 
 
 " The uttermost parts of the morning. 
 
 " The sea is His : He made it." 
 
 " Under the palm-tree." 
 
 Bev. 13 : 1. 
 
 1 Pet. 5 I 7. 
 
 JBe5. 6 : 19. 
 
 Fs. 139 : 9. 
 
 Ps. 95 : 5. 
 
 Judges i '. 5. 
 " These be pahns 
 Whereof the happy people strowing cried, 
 ' Hosanna in the highest.' " 
 
 John 12 : 13. 
 Ayimeb's Field. 
 
 " Dust are our frames." 
 
 Gen. 3 : 19. 
 "Sons of men, daughters of GJod." 
 
 Qm. 6 : 2. 
 " Pale as the Jephtha's daughter." 
 
 Judges 11 : 34. 
 " Behold 
 Your house is left unto you desolate." 
 
 iMke 13 : 35. 
 " Never since our bad earth became one sea." 
 
 Gen. 7. 
 " Gash thyself, priest, and honour thy brute Baal." 
 
 1 Kings 18 : 28. 
 " The babe shall lead the Uon." 
 
 7s. 11 : 6. 
 " The wilderness shall blossom as the rose." 
 
 Is. 35 : 1. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 361 
 
 " Fares richly in fine linen." 
 
 Luke 16 : 19. 
 "Leave all and follow me." 
 
 iMke 18 : 22. 
 *' Carpenter's son.'' 
 
 Matt. 13 : 55. 
 " Wonderfnl, Prince of Peace, the Mighty God." 
 
 Is. 9: 6, 
 " As not passing thro' the fire 
 Bodies, but souls — thy children's — thro' the smoke." 
 
 iew, 18: 21. 
 " The more hase idolater." 
 
 CoZ.3: 5. 
 " Rachel hy the palmy well." 
 
 Gen. 29 : 10. 
 "Kuth amid the fields of corn." 
 
 " Fair as the angel that said ' Hail.' " 
 
 Luke 1 : 28. 
 " She walked, 
 Wearing the light yoke of that Lord of love 
 Who stilled the rolling wave of Galilee." 
 
 Matt. 8: 26; 11: 30. 
 . " O thon that killest, hadst thou known 
 O thon that stonest, hadst thon understood 
 The things belonging to thy pea<je and ours." 
 
 £MJfcel3:34;19:32. 
 " Poor in spirit." 
 
 Matt. 5 : 3. 
 " Sent like the twelve-divided concubine 
 To infiame the tribes." 
 
 Judges 19: 29. 
 "Pharaoh's darkness." 
 
 Sx.lO: 21. 
 " Folds as dense as those 
 Which hid the Holiest from the people's eyes." 
 
 Matt. 27: 45. 
 " Their own gray hairs with sorrow to the grave." 
 
 6en. 42: 38. 
 
362 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 " Will not another take their heritage." 
 
 Aclsl-.W. 
 " Those that swore 
 "Not by the Temple, bnt hy the gold." 
 
 Matt. 23 : 16. 
 Sea Dbxams. 
 
 " The Apocalyptic millstone." 
 
 Rev. 18 : 21. 
 " Let not the snn go down npon your wrath." 
 
 Eph.i: 26. 
 " When the great Books, (see Daniel seven and ten,) 
 Were opened." 
 
 Dan. 7 : 10. 
 
 Mark 3 : 17. 
 The Pbinoess. 
 
 " AU those hard things 
 That Sheba came to ask of Solomon." 
 
 1 Kings 10 : 1. 
 " Vashti, noble Vashti ! Summon'd out 
 She kept her state and left the drunken king 
 To brawl at Shnshan underneath the palms." 
 
 Esther 1. 
 " Let there be light and there was light." 
 
 Gen. 1 : 3. 
 "Their canceU'd Babels." 
 " A new-world Babel, woman-built 
 And worse-confounded." 
 
 Gen. 11 : 9. 
 " They mind us of the time 
 When we made bricks in Egypt." 
 
 Ex. 1 : 14. 
 (Judith and Holofemes.) 
 
 Apoc. Book of Judith. 
 " A Jonah's gourd 
 Up in one night and due to sudden sun." 
 
 Jonah 4 : 6. 
 " Between a cymball'd Miriam and a Jael." 
 
 Ex. 15 : 20 ; Judges 4. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 363 
 
 " Like that groat dame of Lapidoth she sang." 
 
 Judges 5 : 1. 
 " Stifi as Lot's wife." 
 
 Gere. 19 : 26. 
 The Geandmother. 
 
 " The tongue is a fire." 
 
 James 3 : 6. 
 LiTEBABT Squabbles. 
 
 " When one small touch of charity 
 
 Gould lift them nearer God-like state 
 Than if the crowded Orh should cry- 
 Like those who cried Diana great." 
 
 AcU 19 : Zi. 
 NoETHEEir Fabmbb. 
 " I weant saay men he loiars thaw summun said it in 
 
 Ps. 116 : 11. 
 Ode on the Duke op Wellington. 
 
 " The shining tahle lands 
 To which our God Himself is moon and sun." 
 
 Rev. 21 : 23. 
 Wages. 
 
 " The wages of sin is death." 
 
 Mom. 6 : 23. 
 The Higher Pantheism. 
 
 " The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the 
 plains — 
 Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns ? " 
 
 Rom. 1 : 20. 
 "Is not the vision He? tho' He he not that which He 
 
 seems? 
 Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in 
 dreams? 
 
 "Speak to Him for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can 
 
 meet — 
 Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and 
 
 feet." 
 
 Ps. 65 : 2 ; Rom. 8 : 16; Acts 17 : 27. 
 
364 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 " God is law say the wise ; O Soul and let ns rejoice, 
 For if He thunder by law the thunder is yet His voice." 
 
 Ps. 77 : 18. 
 
 " Law is God, say some : no God at all, says the fool ; 
 For all we haye power to see is a straight stafE bent in a 
 pool." 
 
 Ps. 14 : 1. 
 
 " And the ear of man cannot hear, and the eye of man can- 
 not see; 
 But if we could see and hear, this Vision — were it not 
 He?" 
 
 Is. 6i : i;l Cor. 2 : 9 (Bev. Version). 
 In Mbmobiam. Proem. 
 
 " Strong Son of Gfod, immortal Love, 
 
 Whom we, that have not seen thy face, 
 By faith and faith alone embrace. 
 Believing where we cannot prove." 
 
 lPa.l: 8. 
 " Thou madest life in man and brute." 
 
 Johnl: 3. 
 " For knowledge is of things we see." 
 
 Earn. 8 : 24. 
 " For merit lives from man to man, 
 And not from man, O Lord, to thee." 
 
 Ps. 143 : 2. 
 xxvin. 
 " Peace and goodwill to all mankind." 
 
 X«ifce2:14. 
 
 " When Lazarus left his chamel-cave. 
 And home to Mary's house returned, 
 Was tUs demanded — if he yearned 
 To hear her weeping by his grave ? " 
 
 John 11. 
 
 "She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet 
 With costly spikenard and with tears." 
 
 John 12 : 3. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 365 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 " But in the darkness and the clond, 
 As over Sinai's peaks of old, 
 While Israel made their gods of gold, 
 Altho' the trumpet blew so loud." 
 
 Ex. 32 : 1-4. 
 ran. 
 " The thews of Anakim." 
 
 Beut. 2 : 10. 
 czx. 
 " Like Paul with beasts I fought with Death." 
 
 1 Cor. 15 : 32. 
 
 CXXXI, 
 
 " O living will that shalt endure 
 
 When all that is shaJl suffer shock, 
 Kise in the spiritual rock. 
 Flow through our deeds and make them pure." 
 1 John 2 : 17 ; 1 Cor. 10 : 4. 
 " To one that with us works." 
 
 iCor. 3: 9; PM. 2: 13. 
 Maud. i. 
 
 " The spirit of Cain." 
 
 1 John 3 : 12. 
 
 VTTT . 
 
 " That huge scape-goat of the race." 
 
 Lev. 16 : 10. 
 
 XVlll. 
 (A cedar of Lebanon.) " Thy great 
 Forefathers of tlie thomless garden, there 
 Shadowing the snow-limbed Eve." 
 
 Gen. 2 : 8 ; 3 : 18. 
 The IdtiiLS of the King. 
 The Comdtg of Aethub. 
 
 "Elfin Urim." 
 
 Ex. 28 : 30. 
 "Hath power to walk the waters like our Lord." 
 
 Matt. 14 : 25. 
 " The King will follow Christ and we the King." 
 
 1 Cor. 11 : 1. 
 
366 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 " The old order changeth, yielding place to new." 
 
 Rev. 21 : 4-5. 
 Gkbaiht and Enid. 
 
 " Tho' they sought 
 Through all the proTrnces like those of old 
 That lighted on Queen Esther." 
 
 Esther 2 : 3. 
 " Here through the feeble twilight of this world 
 Groping, how many, until we pass and reach 
 That other where we see as we are seen." 
 
 1 Cor. 13 : 12. 
 Meblin and VmEN. 
 
 " As Love, if Love be perfect, casts out fear." 
 
 1 John i : 18. 
 " There is no being pure. 
 My cherub ; saith not Holy Writ the same ? " 
 
 Bom. 3 : 10. 
 " But neither marry nor are given 
 In marriage, angels of our Lord's report." 
 
 Matt. 22 : 30. 
 " The sin that practice bums into the blood. 
 And not the one dark hour which brings remorse. 
 Will brand us, after, of whose fold we be : 
 Or else were he, the holy king whose hymns 
 Are chanted in our minster, worse than all." 
 
 2 Sam: 11. 
 " Seethed like the kid in its own mother's nulk." 
 
 Ex. 23 : 19. 
 Lancelot and Elaine. 
 " His mood was often like a fiend, and rose 
 And drove him into wastes and solitudes." 
 
 Luke 8 : 29. 
 " Since man's first fall." 
 
 Gen. 3 : 1-6. 
 Thb Holt Gkah,. 
 
 " The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord 
 Drank at the last sad supper with his own." 
 
 Matt. 26 : 29. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 367 
 
 " After the day of darkness -when the dead 
 Went wandering o'er Moriah." 
 
 Matt. 27 : 53. 
 " When the Lord of all things made Himself 
 Haked of glory for His mortal change." 
 
 Phil. 2 : 5-7. 
 "Like a flying star 
 Led on the gray-hair'd wisdom of the east." 
 
 Matt. 2 : 9. 
 " Arimathsean Joseph." 
 
 Matt. 27 : 57. 
 " Thou hast not lost thyself to save thyself." 
 
 Matt. 10 : 39. 
 " For now there is a lion in the way." 
 
 Prav. 22 : 13. 
 " What go ye into the wilderness to see? " 
 
 Matt. 11 : 7. 
 " Perhaps, like him of Cana in Holy Writ, 
 Our Arthur kept his test until the last." 
 
 John 2 : 1-10. 
 Pbllbas and Ettaebe. 
 
 " That own no lust because they have no law." 
 
 Rom. i : 15. 
 The Last Touknambnt. 
 "For I have flung thee pearls and flnd thee swine." 
 
 Matt. 7 : 6. 
 " Feai God : honour the King." 
 
 1 Pet. 2 : 17. 
 " As the water Moab saw 
 Come round by the East." 
 
 2 Kings 3 : 20-23. 
 " The scorpion-worm that twists in Hell 
 And stings itself to everlasting death." 
 
 Is. 66 : 24. 
 
 GUTNBVERB. 
 
 " Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chiU." 
 
 Matt. 25 : 1. 
 " So she did not see the face 
 Which then was as an angel's," 
 
 Acts 6 : 15. 
 
368 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 Queen Maky. 
 
 " ' Thou shalt not wed thy hrother's wife.' — 'T is written, 
 ' They shaE he childless.' " 
 
 Lev. 20: 21. 
 " From thine own mouth I judge thee." 
 
 Luke 19: 22. 
 " The great angel of the church." 
 
 Bev. 2 : 1. 
 " Whosoever 
 Looketh after a woman." 
 
 Matt. 5 : 28. 
 " They go like those old Pharisees in John 
 Convicted by their conscience, arrant cowards." 
 
 John 8 : 1-11. 
 "Not red like Iscariot's.'' 
 
 Matt. 10 : i. 
 "A pale horse for Death." 
 
 Bev. 6 : 8. 
 " Thou shalt do no murder." 
 
 Matt. 19 : 18. 
 " The scarlet thread of Bahah saved her life." 
 
 Joshua 2 : 18 ; 6 : 17. 
 " And marked me ev'n as Gain." 
 
 Gen. i : 15. 
 " Since your Herod's death 
 How oft hath Peter knocked at Mary's gate, 
 And Mary would have risen and let him in ; 
 But, Mary, there were those within the house 
 Who would not have it." 
 
 Acts 12 : 11-17. 
 "Sit benedictus fructus ventris tni." 
 
 Luke 1 : 42. 
 " Our little sbter of the Song of Soi^." 
 
 Cant. 8 : 8. 
 " Swept and garnished," 
 
 Matt.l2: 44. 
 " The devils in the swine." 
 
 Matt. 8 : 28-32. 
 " Who will avenge me of mine enemies." 
 
 Is. 1 : 24. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 369 
 
 " Open, ye everlasting gates." 
 
 Ps. 24 : 7. 
 The blessed angels who rejoice 
 Over one saved," 
 
 Luke 15 : 10. 
 " The Lord who hath redeem'd us 
 With his own hlood and wash'd us from our sins." 
 
 Bev. 5 : 9. 
 " Compel them to come in." 
 
 Luke 14 : 23. 
 " I would they were cut o£E 
 That trouble yon." 
 
 Gal. 6 : 12. 
 " Little children, 
 Love one another." 
 
 1 John 3 : 18 ; 4 : 7. 
 " I come not to bring peace, but a sword." 
 
 Matt. 10 : 34. 
 " The Church on Peter's rock." 
 
 Matt. 16 : 18. 
 " Like Christ himself on Tabor." 
 
 Matt. 17 : 2. 
 " Ev'n St. Peter in his time of fear 
 Denied his Master, ay, and thrice, my Lord." 
 
 Matt. 26 : 69-74. 
 " TTi'a fan may thoroughly purge his floor." 
 
 Matt. 3 : 12. 
 " There is more joy in Heaven." 
 
 Luke 15 : 7. 
 " It is expedient for one man to die." 
 
 John 11 : 50. 
 " The penitent thief's award 
 And be with Christ the Lord in Paradise." 
 
 Luke 23 : 43. 
 " Bemember how God made the fierce fire seem 
 To those three children like a pleasant dew." 
 
 Dan. i •■ 20-28. 
 " Love of this world is hatred against God." 
 
 James 4 : 4. 
 
370 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 " But do you good to all 
 As much as in you lieth." 
 
 Qal. 6 : 10. 
 " How hard it is 
 For the rich man to enter Heaven." 
 
 MaU. 19 : 23. 
 " Give to the poor. 
 Ye give to God. He is with us in the poor." 
 
 Ptob. 19 : 17. 
 " This hath offended, — this unworthy hand." 
 
 Matt. 5 : 30. 
 " She is none of those who loathe the honeycomb." 
 
 Prov. 27 : 7. 
 "And she loved much ; pray God she be forgiven." 
 
 Luke 7 : 47. 
 
 HABOIiD. 
 
 "And hold their babies up to it. 
 I think that they would Molochiise them too, 
 To have the heavens clear." 
 
 Lev. 18 : 21, 
 " In Heaven signs, 
 Signs upon earth." 
 
 Ban. 6 : 27. 
 " I have fought the fight and go." 
 
 2 Tim. i : 7. 
 " To the deaf adder thee, that will not dance 
 However wisely charm'd." 
 
 Ps. 58 : 4. 
 
 £ew. 16: 8. 
 " Kshers of men." 
 
 Matt. 4 : 19. 
 "Jonah." 
 
 Jonah. 
 " I have built the Lord a house." 
 
 1 Kings 8 : 20. 
 " Jachin and Boaz." 
 
 1 Kings 7 : 21. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 371 
 
 "Treble denial of the tongue of flesh 
 Like Peter's when he fell." 
 
 Matt. 26 : 69-74. 
 " Bender unto Csesar." 
 
 Matt. 22 : 21. 
 " A king- of men, 
 Not made but bom, like the great King of all, 
 A light among the oxen." 
 
 Luke 2 : 7. 
 "Mock-king, I am the messenger of God, 
 His Norman Daniel I Mene, Mene, Tekel 1 " 
 
 Dan. 5 : 25. 
 " There is one 
 Come aa Goliath came of yore." 
 
 1 Sam. 17 : 40. 
 The Lotek's Taib. 
 
 " The bitterness of death." 
 
 1 Sam. 15 : 32. 
 " A land of promise flowing with the Tnillr 
 And honey of delicious memories." 
 
 Ex. 3 : 8. 
 "Exceeding sorrow unto Death." 
 
 Malt. 26 : 38. 
 " She took the body of my past delight, 
 Narded and swathed and balmed it for herself. 
 And laid it in a sepulchre of rock." 
 
 John 19 : 39-41. 
 The Lover's Taib. Original edition. 
 
 " So, bearing on thro' Being limitless 
 The triumph of this foretaste, I had merged 
 Glory in glory, without sense of change." 
 
 2 Cor. 3 : 18. 
 
 RlZPAH. 
 
 "Eizpah." 
 
 2 Sam. 21 : S-10. 
 " As the tree falls so it must lie." 
 
 Ecc. 11 : 3. 
 " Full of compassion and mercy." 
 
 Fs. 86 : 16. 
 
372 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 In tbcb Children's Hospitai,. 
 
 "Ye do it to me wheii ye do it to these." 
 
 Matt. 25 : 40. 
 " Little children should come to me." 
 
 Matt. 19 : 14. 
 Sib John Oldcastlb. 
 
 " Not least art thou, little Bethlehem 
 In Judah, for in thee the Lord was horn." 
 
 Mic. 5 : 2. 
 " Hereafter thon, fulfilling Pentecost, 
 Must learn to speak the tongues of all the world," 
 
 Acts 2 : 1-4. 
 " Thou bringest 
 Not peace, a sword." 
 
 Matt. 10 : 34. 
 " Lord, give thon power to thy two witnesses." 
 
 Rev. 11 : 3. 
 " Persecute the Lord, 
 And play the Saul that never will be Paul." 
 
 Acts 9 : 4. 
 " Or such crimes 
 As holy Paul — a shame to speak of them — 
 Among the heathen." 
 
 Eph. 5 : 12. 
 "The Gospel, the Priest's pearl, flung down to swine." 
 
 Matt. 7 : 6. 
 " He that thirsteth, come and drink." 
 
 Rev. 22 : 17. 
 " Those three I the fourth 
 Was like the Son of God 1 Not burnt were they." 
 
 Dan. 3 : 25. 
 "jOLUMBUS. 
 
 " The crowd's roar fell as at the ' Peace, be still.' " 
 
 Mark 4 : 39. 
 Bbckbt. 
 " Let her eat dust like the serpent, and be driven out 
 of her Paradise." 
 
 Gen. 3 : 14. 
 " The Lord be judged again by Pilate." 
 
 Mail. 27 : 2. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 373 
 
 " Wtem mnrder, common 
 As Nature's death, like Egypt's plague, had filled 
 All things with blood, ■ — when every doorway blushed, 
 Dash'd red with that nnhallow'd passover." 
 
 Ex. 7 : 19 ; 12 : 22. 
 " Who but the bridegroom dares to judge the bride ? " 
 
 John 3 : 29. 
 " Deal gently with the young man Absalom." 
 
 2 Sam. 18 : 5. 
 " Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord." 
 
 Ps. 118 : 26. 
 " Call in the poor." 
 
 Matt. 22 : 9. 
 " With Cain's answer, my Lord, Am I his keeper ? " 
 
 " The Lord hath set his mark upon him that no man 
 should murder him." 
 
 Gen. i : 9-15. 
 " Smite the shepherd, and the sheep are scattered." 
 
 Zeck. 13 : 7. 
 " Take heed he do not turn again and rend you." 
 
 Matt. 7 : 6. 
 " Kone other God but me." 
 
 Ex. 20 : 3. 
 " Nay, if they were defeeliTe as St. Peter 
 Denying Christ, who yet defied the tyrant, 
 We held by his defiance, not by his defect." 
 
 Matt. 26 : 70 ; Acts i : 19. 
 "Yea, let a stranger spoil his heritage. 
 And let another take his bishopriek." 
 
 Acts 1 : 20. 
 " Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise." 
 
 Ps. 8 : 2. 
 " Still choose Barabbas rather than the Christ." 
 
 Matt. 27 : 21. 
 " Thou art no prophet 
 Nor yet a prophet's son." 
 
 Amos 7 : 14. 
 " Solomon-shaming flowers." 
 
 Matt. 6 : 29. 
 
374 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 " If I had 1)een Eve in the garden, I should n't have 
 minded the apple. For what 's an apple ? " 
 
 Gen. 3 : 6. 
 " A whole Peter's sheet." 
 
 Acts 10 : 11. 
 " The daughter of Zion lies beside the way." 
 
 Is. 1 : 8. 
 " Ay, if this if he like the Devil's if, 
 Thou wilt faJl down and worship me." 
 
 Matt. 4:9.' 
 " Thou hast trodden the winepress alone." 
 
 Is. 63 : 3. 
 " These wells of Marai." 
 
 Ex. 15 : 23. 
 " Give to the King the things that are the King's, 
 And those of God to God." 
 
 Matt. 22 : 21. 
 " The great day 
 When God makes up his jewels." 
 
 Mai. 3 : 17. 
 " Why do the heathen rage ? " 
 
 Ps. 2 : 1. 
 " Knock and it shall he opened." 
 
 Matt. 7 : 7. 
 " Not tho' it be their hour, the power of darkness." 
 
 Luke 22 : 53. 
 " He is not yet ascended to the Father." 
 
 John 20 : 17. 
 " At the right hand of Power 
 Power and great glory — for thy Church, Lord — 
 Into thy hands, Lord, into thy hands I " 
 
 Luke 22 : 69 ; 23 : 46. 
 TiKEBiAS and other Poems. 
 To E. FrrzGERAU). 
 
 " As if they knew your diet spares 
 Whatever moved in that fall sheet 
 Let down to Peter at his prayers." 
 
 Acta 10 : 11. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 375 
 
 " Giapes of Eshcol hugeness." 
 
 Num. 13 : 23. 
 The Wbeck. 
 
 " The wages of sin is death." 
 
 Bom. 6 : 23. 
 ' I am the Jonah ; the crew shonld east me into the deep." 
 
 Jonah 1 : 15, 
 Despaib. 
 
 " He is only a clond and a smoke who was once a pillar 
 of fire." 
 
 Ex. 13 : 21. 
 " TiU the sun and moon of our Science are hoth of them 
 turned into hlood," 
 
 Jod 2 : 31. 
 The Plight. 
 
 " The godless Jephtha yows his child . . . 
 To one cast of the dice." 
 
 Judges 11 : BO. 
 Bauh and Bat.att. 
 " The Lost one Found was greeted as in Heaven." 
 
 Luke 15 : 32. 
 ' ' Arimathsean Joseph. ' ' 
 
 Mark 15 : 43. 
 " That same spear 
 Wherewith the Roman pierced the side of Christ." 
 
 John 19 : 34. 
 " I hettef prize 
 The Uving dog than the dead Hon." 
 
 Ecdes. 9 : 4. 
 Eably Spking. 
 
 " Makes all things new." 
 
 Bev. 21 : 15. 
 " A Jacob's ladder falls." 
 
 Gen. 28 : 12. 
 
 LocKSLET Hail, Sixty Yeabs Afteb. 
 
 " Love your enemy, hless your haters, said the 
 Greatest of the great." 
 
 Matt. 6 : 44. 
 
376 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 "What are men that he should heed ns? cried the 
 king of sacred song." 
 
 Ps. 8 : 4. 
 "Follow yon the star that lights a desert pathway, 
 yours or mine. 
 Forward till you see the highest Human Nature is 
 divine." 
 
 Matt. 2 : 2. 
 "Follow Light and do the Bight — for man can half 
 control his doom — 
 Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant 
 tomb." 
 
 John 20 : 12. 
 The Promise op Mat. 
 " Yes, tho' the fire should run along the groimd. 
 As it once did in Egypt." Ex. 9 : 23. 
 
 Vastness. 
 
 " Innocence seethed in her mother's milk." 
 
 Ex. 34 : 26. 
 " He that has nail'd all flesh to the Cross." 
 
 ' Gal. 5 : 24. 
 " The dead are not dead, but alive." 
 
 Matt. 22 : 32 ; Mark 12 : 27 ; Luke 10 : 38. 
 
 Dembter and Other Poems. 
 OwD EOA. 
 
 " Or like tother Hangel i' Soriptur' at summun seed i' 
 the flaame, 
 When summun 'ed hax'd fur a son, an' 'e promised 
 a son to she." 
 
 Judges \i: 1&-21. 
 Happy. 
 
 " A crueller mark than Cain's." 
 
 Gen. 4 : 15. 
 "When we shall stand transfigured, like Christ on 
 Hermon hill," 
 
 Matt. 17 : 1, 2. 
 " ' Libera me, Domine ! ' you sang the Psalm." 
 
 Ps.6. 
 
BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 377 
 
 To Mabt Botle. 
 
 Dives and Lazaros, 
 
 Luke 16 : 19-31. 
 
 MwTtT.TTT AMD ThB GlEAM. 
 
 " Drew to the vaUey 
 Named of the shadow." 
 
 Fs. 23 : i. 
 
 Bo]mney'8 Beuobse. 
 
 "Why left yon wife and children? for my sake. 
 According to my word ? " 
 
 Mark 10 : 29. 
 
 Cbossing the Bajc. 
 
 " I hope to see my Pilot face to face, 
 When I have crossed the har." 
 
 1 JoAnS: 2; 1 Cor. 13: 12. 
 
 Additional Quotations. 
 Two Voices. 
 
 " His sons grow np that bear his name, 
 Some grow to honour, some to shame." 
 
 Job 14 : 21. 
 
 Enoch Abdek. 
 
 " The Sun of Eighteousness." 
 
 Mali: 2. 
 
 Sea Dbeahs. 
 
 " The scarlet woman." 
 
 Bev. 17 : 3-5. 
 " We Uve by faith." 
 
 GoZ. 2: 20. 
 " All things work together for the good 
 Of those." 
 
 Bom. 8 : 28. 
 
 In The Childben's Hospital. 
 
 " Spirits in prison." 
 
 IPet. 3: 19. 
 
378 BIBLICAL QUOTATIONS. 
 
 In Mbmoeiam. 
 
 " And but for fancies which aTor 
 That all thy motions gently pasa 
 Athwart a plane of molten glass." 
 
 Job 37 : 18 ; Rev. 4 : 6. 
 " And so the Word had breath." 
 
 John 1 : 14. 
 
 The Last Toubnambnt. 
 
 " That oft I seem as he 
 Of whom was written, ' a sound is in his ears.' " 
 
 Job 15 : 21. 
 
 Columbus. 
 " For him who gave a new heaven, a new earth, 
 As holy John had prophesied of me." 
 
 Bee. 21 : 1. 
 " King David called the heavens a hide, a tent. 
 Spread over earth." 
 
 Pi. 104: 2. 
 "Audi saw 
 The glory of the Lord flash up." 
 
 Rev. 21 : 19-27. 
 " From Solomon's now-recover'd Ophir, all 
 The gold that Solomon's navies carried home." 
 
 1 Kings 9 : 26-28. 
 " O soul of little faith, slow to believe." 
 
 Matt. 14 : 31 ; Luke 24 : 25. 
 
 De PeofuSdis. 
 
 " From that great deep, before our world begins 
 Wherein the Spirit of God moves as he will." 
 
 Gen. 1 : 2. 
 " Let us make man." 
 
 Gen. 1 : 26. 
 " Hallowed be Thy Name." 
 
 Matt. 6 : 9. 
 
 The Voyage of Maeubuke. 
 "Remember the words of the Lord when he told 
 us * Vengeance is mine.' " 
 
 Rom. 12 : 19.