^ ^<^-*^' ^:/jjy^. * >. *^«^" ,y _ '^. .<^" ^^.<^- ^V^^L_^S^-S- :^- ^^=^=v^^f c «r"^~f '-^'V ^ r— V V^^^^^<^^<^ ^¥^5^^^ 1 ^zjciTccr. '■'^ '<^- ' ^C c ^^t^^mcz ^^S^^ t LZC^CCT ''■--^^-— ^= ^^»-^— ^-fr^ ^^t^' ^^ ^S ^cc: (^CC q ^ccr c!.c'^^-- c '( ^^^^ - , r^'^r^Y'^ ^^'CT'C ci C7 ^3 ( CIC^'^C^ ^ ^ccc^ci - V" c.^^^fe^ "Queen ISIary " is but little short of a failure as a drama, and [ his "Harold " but a partial success. "With action proper he has shown but little sympathy, and in the domain of vicarious thinking and feeling-, iu which Robert Browning is so iire-enii- nent, but little ability. But no one who is well acquainted with all the best poetry of the nineteenth century, will hesitate to pronounce him facUe prmcep^ in the domain of the lyric and i(l3ilic ; and in these departments of poetry he has developed a style at once individual and, in an artistic point of view, almost "faultily faultless " — a style which may be traced from his ear- liest efforts up to the most complete perfection of his latest poetical works. The splendid poetry he has given to the world has been the product of the most patient elaboration. No English poet, with the exception of Milton, Wordsworth, and the Brownings, ever worked with a deeper sense of the divine mission of poetry than^ Tennyson has worked. And he lias worked faithfully, earnestly, and conscientiously to realize the ideal with which he appears to have been early possessed. To this ideal he gave expression in two of his early poems, entitled " The Poet " and " The Poet's Mind :" and in another of his early poems, "The Lady of Sha- lott," is mystically shadowed forth the relations which poetic genius should sustain to the world for Avhose spiritual redemp- tion it labors, and the fatal consequences of its being seduced by the world's temptations— the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. Great thinkers and writers owe their power among men, not necessarily so much to a wide range of ideas, or to the origi- nality of their ideas, as to the intense vitality which they are able to impart to some one comprehensive, fructifying idea, with which, through constitution and the circumstances of their times, they have become possessed. It is only when a man is , really possessed with an idea (that is, if it doesn't run away ; with him) that he can express it with a quickening power, and ' ring all possible changes upon it. i BIOGRAPHICAL AXD GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 7 What may be said to be the dominant idea, and the one most vitalized, in the poetry of Alfred Tennyson ? It is easily noted. It glints forth everywhere in his poetry. It is, that the com- plete man must be a well-poised duality of the active and the p:issive or receptive ; must unite with an "all-subtilizing intel- •leet " an "all-comprehensive tenderness"; must "gain in sweetness and in moral height, nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world." We have the elements of his ideal man presented to us in the 108th section of "In Memoriam," which is descriptive of his friend, Arthur Henry Hallam : — " Heart affluence in discursive talk From household fountains never dry ; The critic clearness of an eye, That saw thro' all the Muses' walk ; " Seraphic intellect and force To seize and throw the doubts of man ; Impassioned logic, which outran The hearer in its fiery course ; *' High nature amorous of the good, * But touch'd with no ascetic gloom ; And passion pure in snowy bloom Thro' all the years of April blood ; " A love of freedom rarely felt, Of freedom in her regal seat Of England : not the school-boy heat, The blind hysterics of the Celt ; " And manhood fused with female grace In such a sort, the child would twine A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine, And find his comfort in thy face ; " All these have been, and thee mine eyes Have look'd on : if they look'd in vain, My shame is greater who remain, Nor let thy wisdom make me wise." Tennyson's genius, as is very distinctly shown by his writings, has been trained on its intellectual side, by the sceptical philo- sophy of the age — a philosophy, as it appears, much discussed by a select body of students at Cambridge University, of which 8 BIOGRAPHICAL AlfD GENERAL IKTRODUCTION. he aud Arthur Henry Halhim were at the time, prominent mem- bers. In the 86tli section of "In Memoriam," there is an allusion to these discussions, and to the part taken in them by his friend, whom he calls '' the master bowman " who " would cleave the mark." To this philosophy Tennyson has applied an "all- subtilizing intellect," and has translated it into the poetical concrete, with a i-are artistic skill, and more than that, has sub- jected it to the spiritual instincts and apperceptions of the feminine side of his nature, and made it vassal to a larger faith. Sara Coleridge, in her Introduction toher father's " BiogrAphia Literaria," writes "What mere speculative rea.son cannot oblige us to receive, the moral and spiritual within us may. This is the doctrine of the ' Aids to Reflection.' " And this, too, is a cardinal doctrine of Tennyson's poetry, especially of his greatest poem, the " In Memoriam," and of one of the greatest of his minor poems, here presented, " The Two Voices." The central Idea of this latter poem is, that the power to feel, not the power to think, is the safeguard of faith, and hope, and spiritual health. In the 119th section of "In Memoriam " he says : — " I trust I have not Avasted breath ; I think we are not wholly brain, Magnetic mockeries ; not in vain. Like Paul with beasts, I fought with Death ; " Not only cunning casts in clay : Let Science prove we are, and then What matters Science unto men. At least to me ? I would not stay." And in the 123rd section he says :— " If e'er, when faith had falPn asleep, I heard a voice, ' Believe no more,' And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep ; " A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing- reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answered, ' I have felt.' " It is through purified and exalted sentiment that man is linked and harmonized with universal spirituality and thiit he FilOGRAPHICAL AND GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 'J divines what he caunot know through the discursive intellect. Through the latter he attains to knowledge ; but it is only through purified and exalted sentiment, which is intuitive (or non-discursive), that he can attain to wisdom. In the 113th section of "In Memoriam," the poet presents a comparative estimate of Knowledge and Wisdom. Knowledge '' cannot fight the fear of death. What is she, cut from love and faith, But some wild Pallas from the brain of Demons ? A higher hand must make her mild, If all be not in vain ; and guide Her footsteps, moving side by side With Wisdom, like the younger child : For she is earthly of the mind, But Wisdom heavenly of the soul." Introductory Remarks ON ''The Two Voices." The general subject of the poem is the questiou of the melancholy and ovei-coutemplative Hamlet, " Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. And by opposing end them ? " The poem is, in fact, the Hamlet soliloquy of the 19th century. Thomas De Quincey, in his Smpiria de Frofimdia, presents types of human sorrow. Sisters are they, three in number, as are the Graces, the Fates, and the Furies. The youngest of the three "is the defier of God. She is also the mother of luna- cies, and the suggestress of suicides. Deep lie the roots of her power ; but narrow is the nation that she rules. For she can approach only those in whom a profound nature has been up- heaved by central convulsions ; in whom the heart trembles and the brain rocks under conspiracies of tempest from without and tempest from within. And her name is 3Iater Tenebrarnm,— " Our Lady of Darkness :" and hers is the '' still small voice " which speaks io the poem before us. A word as to the stanza employed in this poem. No one can read, however superficially, the poetry of Tennyson, without feeling to some extent, the adaptedness of his rhythms, metres, rhyme-schemes, and stanzas, to his theme. " Of the soul, the body form doth take." What a treasure-house of poetic forms is " Maud !" How the ever-varying rhythm, metre, and stanza, correspond with, and incarnate, the ever-varying emotional states and moods of the speaker ! 10 IKTKODUCTORY REMARKS ON THE TWO VOICES. 11 The orgauie character of the verse of '' In Memoriam " is no less remarkable than that of ''Maud." Though the stanza employed is not original with the poet, he has made it his own. By the rhyme-scheme, the terminal rhyme-emphasis of the stanza is weakened, and the stanza is thus adapted to that sweet conti- nuity of flow, free from abrupt cheek, demanded by the spirit- ualized sorrow which it bears along. Alternate rhyme would have wrought an entire change in the tone of the poem-. To be assured of this, one should read, aloud, of course, all the stanzas whose first and second, or third and fourth, verses admit of being transposed without destroying the sense. By such trans- position the rhyme is rendered alternate. There are as many as ninety-one sucli stanzas, and of these, there are thirteen of which either the first and second, or third and fourth, verses may be transposed without any serious violence done to the sense. They should each be read, first, as they stand in the poem, and then with the verses transposed. The poem could not have laid hold of so many hearts as it has, had the rhymes been alternate, even if the thought had been the same. The atmosphere of the poem w^ould not have sei-ved so well to conduct the sentiment. But what the poet in the ''In Memoriam " aimed to avoid, in " The Two Voices " he aimed to secure, namely, a close, empha. sized stanza. The poem is in great part a spirited, spicy, logomachy — a succession of short epigrammatic arguments, pro and con, which "like the bee— a thing Of little size — have honey and a sting." The stanza is composed of three short verses— iambic tetra- meter — all rhyming together. The rhyme emphasis on the con- cluding verse is accordingly strong, and imparts a very distinct Individuality to each and every stanza. The Two Voices. A STILL small voice spake unto me, " Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be ? " Then to the still small voice I said : " Let me not cast in endless shade 5 What is so wonderfully made." To which the voice did urge reply : ' ' To-day I saw the dragon-fly Come from the wells where he did lie. "An inner impulse rent the veil 10 Of his old husk : from head to tail Came out clear plates of sapphire mail. 1-6. They who are visited by the Mater Teiietoraruin have lost, through sorrow, that spiritual vitality, that healthfuiness of feeling, and. as a consequence, that reach of 'intuition, which constitute the basis of a living hope and faith in immortality. While the reasoning powers may remain in full force, the ties which unite the soul ^ym- pathetically with universal spirituality, are more or less sundered, and death becomes an "endless shade" and not, as another poet ex- presses it. "A covered bridge Leading from liglit to light, thro' a brief darkness." 7-21. The tempted one dreads to rush voluntarily into nothingness; but the suicidal voice presents, in replv. a fact from the insect world which should arsrue for man a higher de'stiiiy But this argument is not accepted. The worm which gropes blindly' in the mud may rend the veil of his old husk and come forth in a more beautiful form, and fur- nished with wings which enable him to soar and revel in the splendor of the sunlight— "To reigne in the air from th' earth to highest skie, To feed on flowers, and weedes of glorious feature; " but man, being nature's crownins work, her ultimatum (such is the con- clusion of the tempted one's isolated reason, unaided by the intuition of healthful feelinu-i, man has completed his destiny, consequently no higher form of being awaits him. The transformation of the mud-en- gendered worm does not foreshadow his destiny. He reaches his full development in this life. 13 14 THE TWO VOICES. '*He dried his wings: like gauze they grew: Thro' crofts and pastures wet with dew A living flash of light he flew." 15 ^ I said, " When first the world began, Young Nature thro' five cycles ran, And in the sixth she moulded man. " She gave him mind, the lordliest Proportion, and, above the rest, 20 Dominion in the head and breast." Thereto the silent voice replied : " Self-blinded are you by your pride: Look up thro' night : the world is wide. " This truth within thy mind rehearse, 25 That in a boundless universe Is boundless better, boundless worse. " Think you this mould of hopes and fears Could find no statelier than his peers In yonder hundred million spheres? " 30 It spake, moreover, in my mind : "Tho' thou wert scatter'd to the wind. Yet is there plenty of the kind." Then did my response clearer fall : "No compound of this earthly ball 35 Is like another, all in all." To which he answered scoflSngly : " Good soul! suppose I grant it thee, Who'll weep for thy deficiency? " 33. Yet is there plenty of tlie kind, i.e., in this world : no reply is made to the principal declaration otthe voice, namely, " that in a boundless universe is boundless better, boundless worse," and that man is blinded by his pride in supposing that he is at the-topof the lad- der and cannot therefore have a higher destiny. This is allowed to drop ; only the additional justification of self-destruction, " yet is there plenty of the kind," is replied to. • ^^' ^j ■ P*^ tfikes the ground of a peculiar individualitv : that every individual being possesses something which no other possesses and hence is a necessary element in the world of sense. 39-42. Tliy deficiency: /^y is objective ; who'll weep for want of THE TWO VOICES. 15 " Or will one beam be less intense, 40 When thy peculiar difference Is cancelled in the world of sense?" I would have said, ' ' Thou canst not know, " But my full heart, that work'd below, Rain'd thro' my sight its overflow. 45 Again the voice spake unto me : *'Thou art so steep'd in misery, Surely, 'twere better not to be. "Thine anguish will not let thee sleep, Nor any train of reason keep : ^ 50 Thou canst not think, but thou wilt weep." I said, ' ' The years with change advance : If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance. "Some turn this sickness yet might take 55 Ev'n yet." But he: " What drug can make A wither'd palsy cease to shake?" I wept, " Tho' I should die, I know That ail about, the thorn will blow In tufts of rosy-tinted snow ; 60 thee? Admitting that you have a peculiar iiidividualitj', it is not of sufficient importance to' be missed if cancelled. Against this a stand is attempted to be made (43-45), but the truth of the last words of the tempting voice is loo strongly felt to admit of reply. 45. Kaiii'd thro' my sight, caused tears to gush from my eyes ; sight, used b}' metonomy, for eyes. 46-48. Use is immediately made of the temporary advantage gained. 51. But thou wilt weep, ?.t., without weeping. In reply to this, the chance of change is urged (49-.5t3). 53. If I uiake dark luy counteiiniice : "thou changest his count, nance aiid sendest iiim awav."'— Job xiv. 20. 58-72. The tempted one sorrows'that if he should yield and take his own life, nature would continue to be gay and cheerful witli sunshine aud flowers, and that men would continue to move through novel spheres of thought. The voice replies, you will have to die, sooner or later, anyhow ;'and to diu now would be a great i:ain to yourself, and no loss to the world : for swift souls would none the less sweep the trac's of day and night, that is, pass on through their mortal lives to their destiny beyond. This leads the tempted one to the consideration of human invention and progress, and to the question whether it would not be better to await the course of nature and to be, if not a participant, at least a witness, of this invention and progress (73-78). 16 THE TWO VOICES. "And men, thro' novel spheres of thought Still moving after truth long sought, Will learn new things when I am not." ** Yet," said the secret voice, *' some time Sooner or later, will gray prime 65 Make thy grass hoar with early rime. "Not less, swift souls, that yearn for light, Rapt after heaven's starry flight. Would sweep the tracts of day and night. " Not less the bee would range her cells, 70 The f urzy prickle fire the dells. The foxglove cluster dappled bells." I said that " all the years invent; Each month is various to present The world with some development. 75 " Were this not well, to bide mine hour, Tho' watching from a ruiri'd tower How grows the day of human power?" "The highest mounted mind," he said, ' ' Still sees the sacred morning spread 80 The silent summit overhead. " Will thirty seasons render plain Those lonely lights that still remain. Just breaking over land and main? " Or make that morn, from his cold crown 85 And crystal silence creeping down, Flood with full daylight glebe and town? "Forerun thy peers, thy time, and let Thy feet, millenniums hence, be set In midst of knowledge, dream'd not yet. 90 77. Rtiin'd toAver : tlic niincd tower is his own shattered selfhood from wliich he \\oiild take his outlook upon the world. THE TWO VOICES. 17 '• Thou hast not gained a real height, Nor art thou nearer to the light. Because the scale is infinite. " 'Twere better not to breathe or speak, Than cry for strength, remaining weak, 95 And seem to find, but still to seek. ''Moreover, but to seem to find Asks what thou lackest, thought resign'd, A healthy frame, a quiet mind." I said, ' ' When I am gone away, 100 * He dared not tarry,' men will say, Doing dishonor to my clay." " This is more vile," he made reply, " To breathe and loathe, to live and sigh. Than once from dread of pain to die. 105 " Sick art thou — a divided will Still heaping on the fear of ill The fear of men, a coward still. *' Do men love thee? Art thou so bound To men, that how thy name may sound 110 Will vex thee lying underground ? "The memory of the wither'd leaf In endless time is scarce more brief Than of the garner'd Autumn-sheaf. " Go, vexed Spirit, sleep in trust ; 115 The right ear, that is filled with dust, Hears little of the false or just." 100 eJ sieq. A new reason is here assi<,nied for biding his hour, which i8 emphatically responded to by the temptins voice. Yet, in spite of the appanintly nneqnal contest with the voice, evidences ;ire ai)i)eariii