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And then rose up, and with him all his guests
Once more as by enchantment; all but he,
Lionel, who fain had risen, but fell again,
And sat as if in chains - to whom he said:

And then some other question'd if she came
From foreign lands, and still she did not speak.
Another, if the boy were hers: but she
To all their queries answer'd not a word,
Which made the amazement more, till one of them
Said, shuddering, “Her spectre !" But his friend
Replied, in half a whisper, “Not at least
The spectre that will speak if spoken to.
Terrible pity, if one so beautiful
Prove, as I almost dread to find her, dumb !"

"Take my free gift, my cousin, for your wife; And were it only for the giver's sake, And tho' she seem so like the one you lost, Yet cast her not away so suddenly, Lest there be none left here to bring her back: I leave this land forever.” Here he ceased.

But Julian, sitting by her, answer'd all :
“She is but dumb, because in her you see
That faithful servant whom we spoke about,
Obedient to her second master now;
Which will not last. I have her here to-night a

guest
So bound to me by common love and loss
What! shall I bind him more? in his behalf,
Shall I exceed the Persian, giving him
That which of all things is the dearest to me,
Not only showing ? and he himself pronounced
That my rich gift is wholly mine to give.

Then taking his dear lady by one hand, And bearing on one arm the noble babe, He slowly brought them both to Lionel. And there the widower husband and dead wife Rushed each at each with a cry, that rather seem d For some new death than for a life renew'd; At this the very babe began to wail ; At once they turned, and caught and brought him in To their charmed circle, and, half killing him With kisses, round him closed and claspt again. But Lionel, when at last he freed himself From wife and child, and lifted up a face All over glowing with the sun of life, And love, and boundless thanks — the sight of this So frighted our good friend, that turning to me And saying, “It is over: let us go" — There were our horses ready at the doors We bade them no farewell, but mounting these He past forever from his native land ; And I with him, my Julian, back to mine.

“Now all be dumb, and promise all of you Not to break in on what I say by word Or whisper, while I show you all my heart." And then began the story of his love As here to-day, but not so wordily The passionate moment would not suffer that Past thro' his visions to the burial; thence Down to this last strange hour in his own hall ;

[graphic][merged small]

ADDITIONAL POEMS.

PRINTED EXCLUSIVELY IN THIS EDITION.

TIMBUCTO0.*

As those which starred the night o' the elder worl: ?

Or is the rumor of thy Timbuctoo
“Deep in that lion-haunted inland lies

A dream as frail as those of ancient time?"
A mystic city, gaol of high emprise."--CHAPMAN,

A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light! I stood upon the Mountain which o'erlooks

A rustling of white wings ! the bright descent The narrow seas, whose rapid interval

Of a young Seraph! and he stood beside me Parts Afric from green Europe, when the Sun There on the ridge, and looked into my face Had fall'n below th' Atlantic, and above

With his unutterable, shining orbs, The silent heavens were blench'd with faery light, So that with hasty motion I did veil Uncertain whether faery light or cloud,

My vision with both hands, and saw before me Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep, deep Such colored spots as dance athwart the eyes blue

of those that gaze upon the noonday Sun. Slumber'd unfathomable, and the stars

Girt with a zone of flashing gold beneath Were flooded over with clear glory and pale. His breast, and compassed round about his brow I gazed upon the sheeny coast beyond,

With triple arch of everchanging bows, There where the Giant of old Time infix'd

And circled with the glory of living light The limits of his prowess, pillars high

And alternation of all hues, he stood. Long time erased from earth: even as the Sea “O child of man, why muse you here alone When weary of wild inroad buildeth up

Upon the Mountain, on the dreams of old Huge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves. Which filled the earth with passing loveliness, Aud much I mused on legends quaint and old Which flung strange music on the howling winds, Which whilome won the hearts of all on earth And odors rapt from remote Paradise ! Toward their brightness, ev'n as flame draws air; Thy sense is clogged with dull mortality: But had their being in the heart of man

Open thine eyes and see." As air is th' life of flame: and thou wert then

I looked, but not A center'd glory-circled memory,

Upon his face, for it was wonderful Divinest Atalantis, whom the waves

With its exceeding brightness, and the light Have buried deep, and thou of later name,

Of the great Angel Mind which looked from out Imperial Eldorado, roof'd with gold:

The starry glowing of his restless eyes.
Shadows to which, despite all shocks of change, I felt my soul grow mighty, and my spirit
All on-set of 'capricious accident,

With supernatural excitation bound
Men clung with yearning hope which would not die. Within me, and my mental eye grew large
As when in some great city where the walls With such a vast circumference of thought,
Shake, and the streets with ghastly faces througed, That in my vanity I seemed to stand
Do utter forth a subterranean voice,

Upon the outward verge and bound alone
Among the inner columns far retired

Of full beatitude. Each failing sense, At midnight, in the lone Acropolis,

As with a momentary flash of light, Before the awful genius of the place

Grew thrillingly distinct and keen. I saw Kneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the while The smallest grain that dappled the dark earth, Above her head the weak lamp dips and winks The indistinctest atom in deep air, Unto the fearful summoning without:

The Moon's white cities, and the opal width
Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees,

Of her small glowing lakes, her silver heights
Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth on Unvisited with dew of vagrant cloud,
Those eyes which wear no light but that wherewith And the unsounded, undescended depth
Her phantasy informs them.

Of her black hollows. The clear galaxy
Where are ye,

Shorn of its hoary lustre, wonderful,
Thrones of the Western wave, fair Islands green? Distinct and vivid with sharp points of light,
Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glocms, Blaze within blaze, an unimagined depth
The blossoming abysses of your hills ?

And harmony of planet-girded suus
Your flowering capes, and your gold-sanded bays And moon-encircled planets, wheel in wheel,
Blown round with happy airs of odorous winds ? Arched the wan sapphire. Nay – the hum of men,
Where are the infinite ways, which, seraph-trod, Or other things talking in unknown tongues,
Wound through your great Elysian solitudes, And notes of busy life in distant worlds
Whose lowest deeps were, as with visible love, Beat like a far wave on my anxious ear.
Filled with Divine effulgence, circumfused,

A maze of piercing, trackless, thrilling thoughts, Flowing between the clear and polished stems, Involving and embracing each with each, And ever circling round their emerald cones Rapid as fire, inextricably linked, In coronals and glories, such as gird

Expanding momently with every sight The unfading foreheads of the Saints in Heaven? And sound which struck the palpitating sense, For nothing visible, they say, had birth

The issue of strong impulse, hurried through In that blest ground, but it was played about The riven rapt brain ; as when in some large lake With its peculiar glory. Then I raised

From pressure of descendant crags, which lapse My voice and cried, “Wide Afric, doth thy Sun Disjointed, crumbling from their parent slope Lighten, thy hills enfold a city as fair

At slender interval, the level calm * A Poem which obtained the Chancellor's Medal at the Cambridge Is ridged with restless and increasing spheres Commencement, MDCCCXXIX. By A. TENNYSON, of Trinity Col

Which break upon each other, each th' effect lege.

Of separate impulse, but more fleet and strong

Than its precursor, till the eye in vain

My eyes with irresistible sweet tears, Amid the wild unrest of swimming shade

In accents of majestic melody, Dappled with hollow and alternate rise

Like a swoln river's gushings in still night Of interpenetrated arc, would scan

Mingled with floating music, thus he spake: Definite round.

** There is no mightier Spirit than I to sway I know not if I shape

The heart of man; and teach him to attain These things with accurate similitude

By shadowing forth the Unattainable ; From visible objects, for but dimly now,

And step by step to scale that mighty stair Less vivid than a half-forgotten dream,

Whose landing-place is wrapt about with clouds The memory of that mental excellence

Of glory of heaven.* With earliest light of Spring, Comes o'er me, and it may be I entwine

And in the glow of sallow Summertide, The indecision of my present mind

And in red Autumn when the winds are wild With its past clearness, yet it seems to me

With gambols, and when full-voiced Winter roofs As even then the torrent of quick thought

The headland with inviolate white snow, Absorbed me from the nature of itself

I play about his heart a thousand ways, With its own fleetness. Where is he, that borne Visit his eyes with visions, and his ears Adown the sloping of an arrowy stream,

With harmonies of wind and wave and wood, Could link his shalop to the fleeting edge,

- Of winds which tell of waters, and of waters And muse midway with philosophic calm

Betraying the close kisses of the wind Upon the wondrous laws which regulate

And win him unto me: and few there be The fierceness of the bounding element?

So gross of heart who have not felt and known My thoughts which long had grovelled in the slime A higher than they see: they with dim eyes Of this dull world, like dusky worms which house Behold me darkling. Lo! I have given thee Beneath unshaken waters, but at once

To understand my presence, and to feel Upon some earth-awakening day of Spring

My fullness: I have filled thy lips with power. Do pass from gloom to glory, and aloft

I have raised thee nigher to the spheres of heaven, Winnow the purple, bearing on both sides

Man's first, last home: and thon with ravished sense
Double display of star-lit wings, which burn Listenest the lordly music flowing from
Fan-like and fibred with intensest bloom ;

The illimitable years. I am the Spirit,
Even so my thoughts erewhile so low, now felt The permeating life which courseth through
Unutterable buoyancy and strength

All th’ intricate and labyrinthine veins
To bear them upward through the trackless fields Of the great vine of Fable, which, outspread
Of undefined existence far and free.

With growth of shadowing leaf and clusters rare,
Then first within the South methought I saw Reacheth to every corner under heaven,
A wilderness of spires, and crystal pile

Deep-rooted in the living soil of truth; of rampart upon rampart, dome on dome,

So that men's hopes and fears take refuge in Illimitable range of battlement

The fragrance of its complicated glooms, On battlement, and the Imperial height

And cool impleachéd twilights. Child of man, Of canopy o'ercanopied.

Seest thou yon river, whose translucent wave, Behind

Forth issuing from the darkness, windeth through In diamond light up spring the dazzling peaks The argent streets o' the city, imaging Of Pyramids, as far surpassing earth's

The soft inversion of her tremulous domes, As heaven than earth is fairer. Each aloft

Her gardens frequent with the stately palm, Upon his narrowed eminence bore globes

Her pagods hung with music of sweet bells, Of wheeling suns, or stars, or semblances

Her obelisks of rangéd chrysolite, Of either, showering circular abyss

Minarets and towers ? Lo! how he passeth by, of radiance. But the glory of the place

And gulphs himself in sands, as not enduring Stood out a pillared front of burnished gold, To carry through the world thos waves, which bore Interminably high, if gold it were

The reflex of my city in their depths. Or metal more ethereal, and beneath

Oh city: oh latest throne! where I was raised Two doors of blinding brilliance, where no gaze To be a mystery of loveliness Might rest, stood open, and the eye could scan, Unto all eyes, the time is well-nigh come Through length of porch and valve and boundless When I must render up this glorious home hall,

To keen Discovery; soon yon brilliant towers Part of a throne of fiery flame, wherefrom

Shall darken with the waving of her wand; The snowy skirting of a garment hung,

Darken and shrink and shiver into huts, And glimpse of multitude of multitudes

Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand,
That ministered around it — if I saw

Low-built, mud-walled, barbarian settlements.
These things distinctly, for my human brain How changed from this fair city !"
Staggered beneath the vision, and thick night

Thus far the Spirit : Came down upon my eyelids, and I fell.

Then parted heaven-ward on the wing: and I With ministering hand he raised me up:

Was left alone on Calpe, and the moon Then with a mournful and ineffable smile,

Had fallen from the night, and all was dark! Which but to look on for a moment filled

* “ Be ye perfect, even as your father in heaven is perfect."

ELEGIACS.—THE “HOW” AND THE “WHY.”

235

POEMS PUBLISHED IN THE EDITION OF 1830,

AND OMITTED IN LATER EDITIONS.

mourn.

ELEGIACS.

The little bird pipeth “why? why?"

In the summer woods when the sun falls low, LOWFLOWING breezes are roaming the broad valley And the great bird sits on the opposite bough, dimmed in the gloming:

And stares in his face, and shouts “how? how?" Thro' the blackstemmed pines only the far river And the black owl scuds down the mellow twilight, shines.

And chants “how? how ?” the whole of the night. Creeping through blossomy rushes and bowers of roseblowing bushes,

Why the life goes when the blood is spilt? Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble and fall. What the life is? where the soul may lie ? Barketh the shepherd-dog cheerly; the grasshopper Why a church is with a steeple built: carolleth clearly ;

And a house with a chimney-pot ? Deeply the turtle coos; shrilly the owlet balloos; Who will riddle me the how and the what? Winds creep: dews fall chilly: in her first sleep Who will riddle me the what and the why?

earth breathes stilly : Over the pools in the burn watergnats murmur and Sadly the far kine loweth: the glimmering water

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS outfloweth:

OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND NOT IN Twin peaks shadowed with pine slope to the dark

UNITY WITH ITSELF. hyaline. Lowthroned Hesper is stayed between the two Ou God! my God! have mercy now. peaks ; but the Naiad

I faiut, I fall. Men say that thou Throbbing in wild unrest holds him beneath in her

Didst die for me, for such as me, breast.

Patient of ill, and death, and scorn, The ancient poetess singeth that Hesperus all things And that my sin was as a thorn bringeth,

Amoug the thorns that girt thy brow, Smoothing the wearied mind: bring me my love, Wounding thy soul. - That even now, Rosalind.

In this extremest misery Thou comest morning and even; she cometh not

Of ignorance, I should require morning or even.

A sign! and if a bolt of tire
False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my sweet Ro- Would rive the slumbrous summer ncon
salind?

While I do pray to thee alone,
Think my belief would stronger grow!

Is not my human pride brought low?
THE “HOW” AND THE “WHY."

The boastings of my spirit still ?

The joy I had in my free will
?

All cold, and dead, and corpse-like grown ?
I am any man's suitor,

And what is left to me, but thou,
If any will be my tutor:

And faith in thee? Men pass me by :
Some say this life is pleasant,

Christians with happy countenances —
Some think it speedeth.fast,

And children all seem full of thee !
In time there is no present,

And women smile with saintlike glances
In eternity no future,

Like thine own mother's when she bowed
In eternity no past.

Above thee, on that happy morn
We laugh, we cry, we are born, we die,

When angels spake to men aloud,
Who will riddle me the how and the why? And thou and peace to earth were born.

Goodwill to me as well as all
The bulrush nods unto its brother.

- I one of them: my brothers they: The wheatears whisper to each other:

Brothers in Christ - a world of peace What is it they say? what do they there?

And confidence, day after day; Why two and two make four? why round is not And trust and hope till things should cease, square ?

And then one Heaven receive us all.
Why the rock stands still, and the light clouds fly?
Why the heavy oak groans, and the white willows How sweet to have a common faith!
sigh?

To hold a common scorn of death!
Why deep is not high, and high is not deep ?

And at a burial to hear Whether we wake, or whether we sleep?

The creaking cords which wound and eat Whether we sleep, or whether we die?

Into my human heart, whene'er How you are you? why I am I?

Earth goes to earth, with grief, not fear, Who will riddle me the how and the why?

With hopeful grief, were passing sweet!

A grief not uninformed, and dull,
The world is somewhat; it goes on somehow: Hearted with hope, of hope as full
But what is the meaning of then and now ?

As is the blood with life, or night
I feel there is something; but how and what ? And a dark cloud with rich moonlight.
I know there is somewhat: but what and why? To stand beside a grave, and see
I cannot tell if that somewhat be I.

The red small atoms wherewith we

236

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND.

Are built, and smile in calm, and say -
"These little motes and grains shall be
Clothed on with immortality
More glorious than the noon of day.

All that is pass'd into the flowers,
And into beasts and other men,
And all the Norland whirlwind showers
From open vaults, and all the sea
O’erwashes with sharp salts, again
Shall fleet together all, and be
Indued with immortality.”

My Lord, if so it be thy will."
Would'st tell me I must brook the rod,
And chastisement of human pride;
That pride, the sin of devils, stood
Betwixt me and the light of God!
That hitherto I had defied,
And had rejected God — that Grace
Would drop from his o'erbrimming love,
As manna on my wilderness,
If I would pray - that God would move
And strike the hard, hard rock, and thence,
Sweet in their utmost bitterness,
Would issue tears of penitence
Which would keep green hope's life. Alas!
I think that pride hath now no place
Or sojourn in me. I am void,
Dark, formless, utterly destroyed.

Why not believe then? Why not yet
Anchor thy frailty there, where man
Hath moored and rested? Ask the sea
At midnight, when the crisp slope waves
After a tempest, rib and fret
The broadimbaséd beach, why he
Slumbers not like a mountain torn ?
Wherefore his ridges are not curls
And ripples of an inland meer ?
Wherefore he moaneth thus, nor can
Draw down into his vexód pools
All that blue heaven which hues and paves
The other? I am too forlorn,
Too shaken: my own weakness fools
My judgment, and my spirit whirls,
Moved from beneath with doubt and fear.

Thrice happy state again to be
The trustful infant on the knee !
Who lets his waxen fingers play
About his mother's neck, and knows
Nothing beyond his mother's eyes.
They comfort him by night and day,
They light his little life alway;
He hath no thought of coming woes ;
He hath no care of life or death,
Scarce outward signs of joy arise,
Because the Spirit of happiness
And perfect rest so inward is ;
And loveth so his innocent heart,
Her temple and her place of birth,
Where she would ever wish to dwell,
Life of the fountain there, beneath
Its salient springs, and far apart,
Hating to wander out on earth,
Or breathe into the hollow air,
Whose chillness would make visible
Iler subtil, warm, and golden breath,
Which mixing with the infant's blood,
Fullfills him with beatitude.
Oh! sure it is a special care
Of God, to fortify from doubt,
To arm in proof, and guard about
With triple mailéd trust, and clear
Delight, the infant's dawning year.
Would that my gloomed fancy were
As thine, my mother, when with brows
Propped on thy knees, my hands upheld
In thine, I listened to thy vows,
For me outpoured in holiest prayer —
For me unworthy!-- and beheld
Thy mild deep eyes upraised, that knew
The beauty and repose of faith,
And the clear spirit shining through.
Oh! wherefore do we grow awry
From roots which strike so deep? why dare
Paths in the desert ? Could not I
Bow myself down, where thou hast knelt,
To th’ earth- until the ice would melt
Here, and I feel as thou hast felt ?
What Devil had the heart to scathe
Flowers thou hadst reared - to brush the dew
From thine own lily, when thy grave
Was deep, my mother, in the clay?
Myself? Is it thus? Myself? Had I
So little love for thee? But why
Prevailed not thy pure prayers? Why pray
To one who heeds not, who can save
But will not? Great in faith, and strong
Against the grief of circumstance
Wert thou, and yet unheard? What if
Thou pleadest still, and seest me drive
Through utter dark a full-sailed skiff,
Unpiloted i’ the echoing dance
Of reboant whirlwinds, stooping low
Unto the death, not sunk! I know
At matins and at evensong,
That thou, if thou wert yet alive,
In deep and daily prayers would'st strive
To reconcile me with thy God.
Albeit, my hope is gray, and cold
At heart, thou wouldest murmur still —
“Bring this lamb back into thy fold,

“Yet," said I, in my morn of youth, The unsunned freshness of my strength, When I went forth in quest of truth, "It is man's privilege to doubt, If so be that from doubt at length, Truth may stand forth unmoved of change, An image with profulgent brows, And perfect limbs, as from the storm Of running fires and fluid range of lawless airs at last stood out This excellence and solid form Of constant beauty. For the Ox Feeds in the herb, and sleeps, or fills The hornéd valleys all about, And hollows of the fringed hills In summerheats, with placid lows Unfearing, till his own blood flows About his hoof. And in the flocks The lamb rejoiceth in the year, And raceth freely with his fere, And answers to his mother's calls From the flowered furrow. In a time, Of which he wots not, run short pains Through his warm heart; and then, from whence He knows not, on his light there falls A shadow; and his native slope, Where he was wont to leap and climb, Floats from his sick and filmed eyes, And something in the darkness draws His forehead earthward, and he dies. Shall men live thus, in joy and hope As a young lamb, who cannot dream, Living, but that he shall live on? Shall we not look into the laws of life and death, and things that seem, And things that be, and analyze Our double nature, and compare All creeds till we have found the one, If one there be ?Ay me! I fear All may not doubt, but every where Some must clasp Idols. Yet, my God, Whom call i Idol ? Let thy dove Shadow me over, and my sins

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