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With the fairy tales of science, and the long Many a morning on the moorland did we hear result of time;
the copses ring,
And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the When the centuries behind me like a fruitful fulness of the spring.
land reposed; When I clung to all the present for the promise Mauy an evening by the waters did we watch that it closed1;
the stately ships,
And our spirits rushed together at the touching When I dipt into the future far as human eye of the lips.
Saw the vision of the world and all the wonder o my cousin, shallow-hearted! O my Amy, that would be.
mine no more!
O the dreary, dreary moorland! O the barren, In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the
barren shore ! robin's breast; In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all another crest;
songs have sung, In the spring a livelier iris changes on the Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a
shrewish tongue! burnish'd dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly Is it well to wish thee happy? having known turns to thoughts of love.
me to decline Then her cheek was pale and thinner than On a range of lower feelings and a narrower
heart than mine! should be for one so young, And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.
Yet it shall be; thou shalt lower to his level
day by day, And I said, “My cousin Amy, speak, and What is fine within thee growing coarse to speak the truth to me,
sympathize with clay. Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee.'
As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated
with a clown, On her pallid cheek and forehead cane a colour And the grossness of his nature will have and a light,
weight to drag thee down. As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the northern night.
He will hold thee, when his passion shall have
spent its novel force, And she turn 'd-her bosom shaken with a Something better than his dog, a little dearer sudden storm of sighs
than his horse.
50 All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of hazel eyes
What is this? his eyes are heavy; think not
they are glazed with wine. Saying, “I have hid my feelings, fearing they Go to him, it is thy duty; kiss him, take his should do me wrong;”
hand in thine. Saying, “Dost thou love me, cousin?” weeping, “I have loved thee long."
It may be my lord is weary, that his brain is
overwrought; Love took up the glass of Time, and turn'd it Soothe him with thy finer fancies, touch him in his glowing hands;
with thy lighter thought. Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
He will answer to the purpose, easy things to
understand Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew all the chords with might;
thee with my hand! Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, past in music out of sight.
Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the
heart's disgrace, I enclosed
Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a | Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art last embrace.
staring at the wall,
Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the ('ursed be the social wants that sin against the shadows rise and fall.
strength of youth! Cursed be the social lies that warp us from Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing the living truth!
to his drunken sleep,
To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest
that thou wilt weep. Nature's rule! Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten 'u Thou shalt hear the “Never, never," whisforehead of the fool!
per’d by the phantom years,
And a song from out the distance in the ring Well-'t is well that I should bluster!-Hadst ing of thine ears;
thou less unworthy provedWould to God—for I had loved thee more than And an eye shall vex thee, looking ancient ever wife was loved.
kindness on thy pain,
Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to Am I mad, that I should cherish that which thy rest again.
bears but bitter fruit? I will pluck it from my bosom, tho' my heart | Nay, but Nature brings thee solace; for a be at the root.
tender voice will cry.
"T is a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length
trouble dry. of years should come As the many-winter'd crow that leads the Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival clanging rookery home.
brings thee rest.
Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the Where is comfort ? in division of the records
mother's breast. of the mind? Can I part her from herself, and love her, as 10, the child too clothes the father with a dearknew her, kind ?
ness not his due.
Half is thine and half is his; it will be worthy I remember one that perish ’d;1 sweetly did she
of the two. speak and move; Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was 0, 1 see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty to love.
With a little hoard of maxims preaching down (an I think of her as dead, and love her for a daughter's heart.
the love she bore? No-she never loved me truly; love is love for “They were dangerous guides the feelings
she herself was not exempt
Truly, she herself had suffer 'd''3—Perish in Comfort ? comfort scorn 'd of devils! this is thy self-contempt!
truth the poet sings, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remember. Overlive it--lower yet—be happy! wherefore ing happier things.2
should I care?
I myself must mix with action, lest I wither Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy by despair.
heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain What is that which I should turn to, lighting is on the roof.
upon days like these?
Every door is barr'd with gold, and opens but il. e., she has lost the personality which I re
to golden keys. 2 Dante: Inferno, V, 121. The thought may be traced many
writers-to Pindar, among 3 Amy is imagined to be talking to her daughter, the earliest.
at some future time, of her own early life.
Every gate is throng'd with suitors, all the Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there markets overflow.
rain’d a ghastly dew I have but an angry fancy; what is that which From the nations' airy navies grappling in I should do
the central blue;
I had been content to perish, falling on the Far along the world-wide whisper of the southfoeman's ground,
wind rushing warm, When the ranks are roll'd in vapour, and the With the standards of the peoples plunging winds are laid with sound.
thro' the thunder-storm;
But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt till the war-drum throbb'd no longer, and the that Honour feels,
battle-flags were furl'd And the nations do but murmur, snarling at In the Parliament of man, the Federation of each other's heels.
Can I but relive in sadness? I will turn that There the common sense of most shall hold a earlier page.
fretful realm in awe, Hide me from my deep emotion, 0 thou won. And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped: in drous Mother-Age!
Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife,
So I triumphed ere my passion sweeping thro' When I heard my days before me, and the
me left me dry, tumult of my life;
Left me with the palsied heart, and left me
with the jaundiced eye; Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield,
Eye, to which all order festers, all things here Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his are out of joint. father's field,
Science moves, but slowly, slowly, creeping on
from point to point; And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn,
Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creepSees in heaven the light of London flaring like ing nigher, a dreary dawn;
Glares at one that nods and winks behind a
slowly-dying fire.t And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then,
Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing Underneath the light he looks at, in among
purpose runs, the throngs of men;
And the thoughts of men are widen ’d with the Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reap- process of the suns.
ing something new; That which they have done but earnest of the What is that to him that reaps not harvest of things that they shall do.
his youthful joys,
Tho' the deep heart of existence beat for ever For I dipt into the future, far as human eye like a boy's?
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the won. Knowledge comes, but wiselom lingers, and I der that would be;
linger on the shore, Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies And the individual withers, and the world is of magic sails,
more and more. 6 Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;*
moriam, LV. 4 Cp. line 185.
† He of the "jaundiced eye" scoffs at science and • Tennyson had a rare faculty for putting the is suspicious of democratic and socialistic
bopes and achievements of science into poetic tendencies. The weak point in Tennyson's laaguage. It is interesting, however, to ob- picture is the connection of this large pessiserve at what a cautious distance be placed mism with the purely personal disappointment the realization of this seemingly extravagant of bis hero. It may not be altogether unfaithprophecy.
ful, but it is undramatic.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he | Summer isles of Eden lying in dark purple bears a laden breast,
spheres of sea. Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.
There methinks would be enjoyment more than
in this march of mind, Hark, my merry comrades call me, sounding In the steamship, in the railway, in the on the bugle-horn,
thoughts that shake mankind. They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn.
There the passions cramp'd no longer shall
have scope and breathing space; Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a I will take some savage woman, she shall rear moulder'd string?
my dusky race. I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.
Iron-jointed, supple-sinew 'd, they shall dive,
and they shall run, Weakness to be wroth with weakness! woman's Catch the wild goat by the hair, and hurl their pleasure, woman's pain
lances in the sun; Nature made them blinder motionsi bouniled in a shallower brain.
150 Whistle back the parrot's call, and leap the
rainbows of the brooks, Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, Not with blinded eyesight poring over mismatch'd with mine,
erable booksAre as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water
Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know unto wine
my words are wild, Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing. But I count the gray barbarian lower than the
I, to herd with narrow foreheads, vacant of began to beat,
our glorious gains, Where in wild Mahratta-battle fell my father Like a beast with lower pleasures, like a beast evil-starred;
with lower pains! I was left a trampled orphan, and a selfish
Mated with a squalid savage--what to me were uncle's ward.
sun or clime! Or to burst all links of habit-there to wander I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files
of timeOn from island unto island at the gateways of
I that rather held it better men should perish the day.
one by one, Larger constellations burning, mellow moons
Than that earth should stand at gaze like and happy skies,
Joshua 's moon in A jalon!" Breadths of tropic shade and palms in cluster,
Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, knots of Paradise. 10
forward let us range, Never the trader,
Let the great world spin for ever down the European flag,
ringing grooves of change." Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodlanı, swings Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the trailer from the crag;
the younger day; Droops the heavy-blossom’d bower, hangs the Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of
Cathay. heavy-fruited tree7 beings
9 The British have had Mother-Age,-for mine I knew not,-help me 8 Implying that the in
many contlicts with feriority of woman tie warlike
as when life begun; may be the result
rattas of India. of the conventions 10 See Par.
iv, u Joshua, x 13. of a false civiliza
12 Tennyson drew this figure from the railway. tion. Compare The
then new, under the false impression that the Prince88.
car-wheels ran in grooves,
Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the O, well for the sailor lad, lightnings, weigh the sun.
That he sings in his boat on the bay!
0, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath And the stately ships go on not set.
To their haven under the hill; Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all But o for the touch of a vanish'd hand, my fancy yet.
And the sound of a voice that is still! Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Break, break, break, Locksley Hall!
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me
But the tender grace of a day that is dead the roof-tree fall.
Will never come back to me.
Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening SONGS FROM THE PRINCESS over heath and holt,
SWEET AND Low Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea, Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, Low, low, breathe and blow, or fire or snow;
Wind of the western sea! For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward. Over the rolling waters go, and I go.
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me:
While my little one, while my pretty one,
sleeps. Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver;
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon; Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, Father will come to his babe in the nest, A rivulet, then a river;
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon;
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one,
sleep. But here will sigh thine alder-tree, And here thine aspen shiver;
THE SPLENDOUR Fallst
The splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story;
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, But not by thee my steps shall be,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, For ever and for ever.
BREAK, BREAK, BREAK*
O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going! Break, break, break,
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar On thy cold gray stones, 0 Sea!
The horns of Elfand faintly blowing! And I would that my tongue could utter
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, The thoughts that arise in me.
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying,
dying. 0, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play!
O love, they die in yon rich sky, * These lines were written in memory of Arthur
They faint on hill or field or river; Hallam, and might well have been included among the poems of In Memoriam had they 4 This song was inspired by the cchoes at the not been cast in a different metre.
Lakes of Killarney.