4

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THE COMPLETE WORKS

OF

ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Printed by R. & R. Ci.ark, January 1884. Reprinted^ 'with slight corrections^ April 1884. Reprinted Febn^ary and October 1885 ; May 1886 ; with slight altera- tions^ December 1886. Reprinted 1887; May and November 1888; with many additions, February 1889. Reprinted April and December 1889 ; June and November 1890; July and December 1891; May, October, and December 1892; January and October 1893 ; January 1894.

Complete Edition printed in September 1894. Reprinted 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898, January and November 1899, 1900 {twice), 1901, 1902, 1904, 1905

THE WORKS OF

ALFRED

LORD TENNYSON

POET LAUREATE

ILonlian

MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited

NEW YORK : THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

1905

All rights reserved

£21

T^5

1105

CONTENTS.

To THE Queen

Juvenilia .

Secom

Claribel

Nothing will Die All Things will Die Leonine Elegiacs Supposed Confessions o Sensitive Mind The Kraken Song .

Lilian Isabel Mariana

To .

Madeline .

Song— The Owl Second Song To the Same Recollections of the Arabian Night Ode to Memory Song .

A Character The Poet .

The Poet’s Mind The Sea- Fairies The Deserted House The Dying Swan A Dirge Love and Death 1 he Ballad of Oriana Circumstance The Merman The Mermaid Adeline Margaret ,

Rosalind .

Eleiinore .

Kate .

My life is full of weary Early Sonnets I. Sonnet to

Sonnet to J. M. K. .

Mine be the strength of spirit ^ N^^lexander . . . ^

days

Juvenilia— Early Sonnets contimced

5. Buonaparte

6. Poland

7. Caress’d or chidden . . .

8. The form, the form alone is eloquent

9. Wan sculptor, weepest thou .

10. If I were loved, as I desire to be .

11. The Bridesmaid

PAGE

26

26

26

27 27 27 27

The Lady of Shalott, and other Poems :

The Lady of Shalott.

Mariana in the South The Two Voices The Miller's Daughter Fatima CEnone The Sisters

To .

The Palace of Art Lady Clara Vere de Vere The May Queen New-Year’s Eve Conclusion The Lotos- Eaters Choric Song .

A Dream of Fair Women The Blackbird .

The Death of the Old Year To J. S. .

On a Mourner .

You ask me, why, tho* ill at ease Of old sat Freedom on the heights Love thou thy land

England and America in 1782 ,

The Goose

28

30

3*

36

39

40 44 44 44

49

50

51

52 54 54 56

61

62

62

63

64 64 64 66 66

English Idyls and other Poems ;

The Epic . . ,

Morte d’Arthur . , . . ,

The Gardener’s Daughter; or, the Pictures Dora ...

Audley Court . . . !

Walking to the Mail

Edwin Morris ; or, the Lake ,

St. Simeon Stylites . . , , .

VI

CONTENTS.

PAGE

English Idyls and othex'? Poems contd.

The Talking Oak 88

Love and Duty ...... 92

The Golden Year ..... 94

Ulysses ....... 95

Tithonus ....... 96

Locksley Hall 98

Godiva ........ 103

The Day-Dream ...... 104

Prologue 104

The Sleeping Palace .... 104

The Sleeping Beauty .... 105

The Arrival 106

The Revival . . ... 106

The Departure ...... 107

Moral ....... 107

L’Envoi ....... 107

Epilogue . 108

Amphion 108

St. Agnes’ Eve ...... 109

Sir Galahad ....... no

Edward Gray . . . , . .111

Will Waterproof’s Lyrical Monologue . in

Lady Clare 114

The Captain . ...... 115

The Lord of Burleigh 116

The Voyage . . . . . . .117

Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere , .118

A Farewell .119

The Beggar Maid . . . . .119

The Eagle ....... 119

Move eastward, happy earth, and leave . 119

Come not, when I am dead . . .119

The Letters . 120

The Vision of Sin . . . . .120

To , after reading a Life and Letters . 123

To E. L., on his Travels in Greece . .124

Break, break, break ' . . . . .124

The Poet’s Song 124

Enoch Arden, and other Poems :

Enoch Arden 125

The Brook ...... 139

Aylmer’s Field ...... 142

Sea Dreams 156

Lucretius ....... lox

The Princess ; a Medley . . .165

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington 218 The Third of February, 1852 . . . 221

The Charge of the Light Brigade . . 222

Ode sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition ....... 223

V Welcome to Alexandra .... 223

PAGE

A Welcome to Her Royal Highness Marie

Alexandrovna, Duchess of Edinburgh

224

The Grandmother

,

225

Northern Farmer. Old Style

228

Northern Farmer. New Style

231

The Daisy ....

233

To the Rev. F. D. Maurice

234

Will

235

In the Valley of Cauteretz .

235

In the Garden at Swainston

235

The Flower ....

235

Requiescat . . .

.

236

The Sailor Boy

236

The Islet

236

Child-Songs ....

237

I. The City Child .

237

2. Minnie and Winnie

237

The Spiteful Letter

237

Literary Squabbles

237

The Victim ....

.

238

Wages .....

239

The Higher Pantheism

239

The Voice and the Peak

240

Flower in the crannied wall’

240

A Dedication

240

Experiments :

Boadicea ....

241

In Quantity ....

Specimen of a Translation of the

Iliad in

243

Blank Verse .

243

The Window ; or, the Song

OF

the Wrens :

The Window

244

On the Hill

244

At the Window .

244

Gone

245

Winter ....

245

Spring ....

245

The Letter

245

No Answer

245

The Answer

246

Ay .... .

246

When ....

246

Marriage Morning .

246

In Memoriam A. H. H. .

247

Maud : A Monodrama ....

Idylls of the King. In Twelve Books :

286

Dedication

00

The Coming of Arthur

309

The Round Table

317

Gareth and Lynette

1

, ,

317

The Marriage of Geraint

341

CONTENTS.

vii

PAGE

Idylls of the King Round Table contd.

Geraint and Enid ..... 354

Balin and Balan ..... 369

Merlin and Vivien .... 380

Lancelot and Elaine .... 395

The Holy Grail 418

Pelleas and Ettarre .... 433

The Last Tournament .... 443

Guinevere 456

The Passing of Arthur .... 467

To the Queen . . . . . . 474

The Lover’s Tale 476

To Alfred Tennyson, my Grandson . 499

Ballads and other Poems :

The First Quarrel 499

Rizpah . 501

The Northern Cobbler .... 504

The Revenge : A Ballad of the Fleet . 507

The Sisters 509

The Village Wife ; or, the Entail . . 514

In the Children’s Hospital . . . 517

Dedicatoiy’^ Poem to the Princess Alice . 518

The Defence of Lucknow . . . 519

Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham . . 521

Columbus 525

The Voyage of Maeldune . . . 529

De Profbndis :

The Two Greetings .... 532

The Human Cry ..... 533

Sonnets :

Prefatory Sonnet to the ‘Nineteenth

Century’ 533

To the Rev. W. H. Brookfield . . 533

Montenegro 533

To Victor Hugo 534

Translations, etc.

Battle of Brunanburh . . " . 534

Achilles over the Trench .... 536

To the Princess Frederica of Hanover on

her Marriage 537

Sir John Franklin 537

To Dante 537

PlRESIAS, AND OTHER POEMS I

To E. Fitzgerald 537

Tiresias 538

The Wreck 541

Despair 544

The Ancient Sage 547

The Flight 552

I'omorrow ...... 555

The Spinster’s Sweet-Arts . . 557

Locksley Hall .Sixty Years after . . 560

Prologue to General Hamley . . 568

Tiresias and other Poems conihmed-

page

The Charge of the Heavy Brigade

at

Balaclava

568

Epilogue ......

569

To Virgil ......

570

The Dead Prophet ....

571

Early Spring .....

573

Prefatory Poem to my Brother’s Sonnets

573

Frater Ave atque Vale

574

Helen’s 'Power .....

574

Epitaph on Lord Stratford de Redclifife

574

Epitaph on General Gordon

574

Epitaph on Caxton ....

575

To the Duke of Argyll

575

Hands all Round ....

575

Freedom ......

575

To H.R.H. Princess Beatrice .

576

The Fleet

577

Opening of the Indian and Colonial Ex-

hibitlon by the Queen .

577

Poets and their Bibliographies

57S

To W. C. Macready

578

Queen Mary c r , . .

579

Harold ......

652

Becket

693

The Cup

750

The Falcon

767

The Promise OF May

778

The Foresters

804

Demeter, and other Poems :

To the Marquis of Dufferin and Ava

842

On the Jubilee of Queen Victoria .

843

To Professor Jebb ....

844

Demeter and Persephone .

844

Owd Roa

847

Vastness ......

850

The Ring

851

F orlorn

859

Happy

860

To Ulysses .....

863

To Mary Boyle ....

864

The Progress of Sprin.g

865

Merlin and The Gleam

867

Romney’s Remorse ....

869

Parnassus

872

By an P^voiutionist ....

872

Far far away ....

873

Politics ......

873

Beautiful City

873

The Roses on the Terrace

874

The Play

874

On One who affected an Elfeminate Manner 874

To One who ran down the English .

874

The Snowdrop

874

The Throstle

874

The Oak

1

874

In Memoriam William George Ward

875

CONTENTS

viii

PAGE

The Death of QEnone, and other Poems :

June Bracken and Heather

. 876

To the Master of Balliol .

. 876

The Death of OEnone

. 876

St. Telemachus ....

. 878

Akbar’s Dream

. 880

The Bandit’s Death ....

. 885

The Church-warden and the Curate

. 886

Charity

. 888

Kapiolani

. 889

The Dawn .....

. 890

The Making of Man

. 890

The Dreamer .....

. 891

Meehan ophilus

. 891

Index to the First Lines Index to In Memoriam Index to Songs .

PAGE

The Death of CEnone, and other

Poems, continued

Riflemen form ! ..... 892

The Tourney 892

The Wanderer ...... 892

Poets and Critics 893

A Voice spake out of the Skies . . 893

Doubt and Prayer 893

Faith ....... 893

The Silent Voices 893

God and the Universe .... 894

The Death of the Duke of Clarence and

Avondale 894

Crossing the Bar 894

895

899

QOI

TO THE QUEEN,

Revered^ belo7jed O you that hold A nobler office upon earth Than arms, or power of h'ain, or birth Could give the warrior kings of old,

Victoria, since your Royal grace To one of less desert allows This laurel greener from the brows Of him that utter'^d nothing base ;

And should your greatness, and the care That yokes with empu'e, yield you time To make demand of modern rhyme If aught of ancient worth be there ;

Then while a sweeter fuusic wakes,

And thro' wild March the throstle calls. Where all about your palace-walls The sun-lit almond-blossom shakes

Take, Madam, this poor book of song ; For thd' the faults were thick as dust In vacant chambers, I could trust Your kindness. May you rule us long,

And leave us rtilers of your blood As noble till the latest day !

May children of our children say,

^ She wrought her people lasting good ;

Her court was pure ; her life serene ; God gave her peace ; her land reposed', A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as Mother, Wife, and Queen ;

A nd statesmen at her coimcil met Who knew the seasons when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet

By shaping some august decree.

Which kept her th7'one unshake7i still. Broad-based upon her people's will. And compass'd by the inviolate sea,^

March 1851,

^ T

JUVENILIA.

CLARIBEL.

A MELODY.

Where Claribel low-lieth The breezes pause and die, Letting the rose-leaves fall : But the solemn oak-tree sigheth, Thick-leaved, ambrosial. With an ancient melody Of an inward agony.

Where Claribel low-lieth.

II.

At eve the beetle boometh Athwart the thicket lone :

At noon the wild bee hummeth About the moss’d headstone : At midnight the moon cometh. And looketh down alone.

Her song the lintwhite swelleth. The clear-voiced mavis dwelleth, The callow throstle lispeth. The slumbrous wave outwelleth. The babbling runnel crispeth. The hollow grot replieth Where Claribel low-lieth.

NOTHING WILL DIE.

When will the stream be aweary of flowing

Under my eye ?

When will the wind be aweary of blowing Over the sky?

When will the clouds be aweary of fleeting ?

When will the heart be aweary of beating ?

And nature die ?

Never, oh ! never, nothing will die ; The stream flows.

The wind blows,

The cloud fleets,

The heart beats.

Nothing will die.

Nothing will die ;

All things will change Thro’ eternity.

’Tis the world’s ^\dnter ;

Autumn and summer Are gone long ago ;

Earth is dry to the centre.

But spring, a new comer,

A spring rich and strange.

Shall make the winds blow Round and round.

Thro’ and thro’.

Here and there.

Till the air And the ground Shall be fill’d with life anew.

The world was never made ;

It will change, but it will not fade. So let the wind range ;

For even and morn Ever will be Thro’ eternity.

Nothing was born ;

Nothing will die ;

All things will changCc

ALL THINGS WILL DIE— LEONINE ELEGIACS.

3

ALL THINGS WILL DIE.

Clearly the blue river chimes in its flowing

Under my eye ;

Warmly and broadly the south winds are blowing

Over the sky.

One after another the white clouds are fleeting ;

Every heart this May morning in joyance is beating

Full merrily ;

Yet all things must die.

The stream will cease to flow ;

The wind will cease to blow ;

The clouds will cease to fleet ;

The heart will cease to beat ;

For all things must die.

All things must die.

Spring will come never more.

Oh ! vanity !

Death waits at the door.

See 1 our friends are all forsaking The wine and the meriymaking.

We are call’d we must go.

Laid low, very low,

In the dark we must lie.

The merry glees are still ;

The voice of the bird Shall no more be heard,

Nor the wind on the hill.

Oh ! misery !

Hark ! death is calling While I speak to ye.

The jaw is falling,

The red cheek paling.

The strong limbs failing ;

Ice with the warm blood mixing ; The eyeballs fixing.

Nine times goes the passing bell : Ye merry souls, farewell.

The old earth Had a birth.

As all men know.

Long ago.

And the old earth must die.

So let the warm winds range.

And the blue wave beat the shore ;

For even and morn Ye will never see Thro’ eternity.

All things were born.

Ye will come never more, For all things must die.

LEONINE ELEGIACS.

Low-flowing breezes are roaming the broad valley dimm’d in the gloaming :

Thoro’ the black - stemm’d pines only the far river shines.

Creeping thro’ blossomy rushes and bowers of rose -blowing bushes,

Down by the poplar tall rivulets babble and fall,

I Barketh the shepherd - dog cheerly ; the I grasshopper carolleth clearly ;

Deeply the wood-dove coos ; shrilly the owlet halloos ;

Winds creep ; dews fall chilly : in her first sleep earth breathes stilly :

Over the pools in the burn water -gnats murmur and mourn.

Sadly the far kine loweth : the glimmer- ing water outfloweth ;

Twin peaks shadow’d with pine slope to the dark hyaline.

Low -throned Hesper is stayed between the two peaks ; but the Naiad

Throbbing in mild unrest holds him beneath in her breast.

The ancient poetess singe th, that Hes- perus all things bringeth.

Smoothing the wearied mind : bring me my love, Rosalind.

Thou comest morning or even ; she cometh not morning or even.

False-eyed Hesper, unkind, where is my sweet Rosalind ?

SUPPOSED CONFESSIONS

OF A SECOND-RATE SENSITIVE MIND.

0 God ! my God ! have mercy now.

1 faint, I fall. Men say that Thou

4

CONFESSIONS OF A SENSITIVE MIND.

Didst die for me, for such as me^

Patient of ill, and death, and scorn,

And that my sin was as a thorn Among the thorns that girt Thy brow. Wounding Thy soul. That even now, In this extremest misery Of ignorance, I should require A sign ! and if a bolt of fire Would rive the slumbrous summer noon While I do pray to Thee alone.

Think my belief would stronger grow !

Is not my human pride brought low ? The boastings of my spirit still ?

The joy I had in my freewill

All cold, and dead, and corpse-like grown?

And what is left to me, but Thou,

And faith in Thee ? Men pass me by ; Christians with happy countenances And children all seem full of Thee !

And women smile with saint-like glances Like Thine own mother’s when she bow’d Above Thee, on that happy mom When angels spake to men aloud.

And Thou and peace to earth were born. Goodwill to me as well as all

I one of them ; my brothers they : Brothers in Christ a world of peace And confidence, day after day ;

And trust and hope till things should cease, And then one Heaven receive us all.

How sweet to have a common faith !

To hold a common scorn of death !

And at a burial to hear

The creaking cords which wound and eat

Into my human heart, whene’er

Earth goes to earth, with grief, not fear.

With hopeful grief, were passing sweet !

Thrice happy state again to be The trustful infant on the knee !

Who lets his rosy 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,

^Vhose chillness would make visible Her subtil, warm, and golden breath, ^^Tlich mixing with the infant’s blood, Fulfils 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-mailed trust, and clear Delight, the infant’s dawning year.

Would that my gloomed fancy were As thine, my mother, when with brows Propt on thy knees, my hands upheld In thine, I listen’d to thy vows.

For me outpour’d 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 thro’.

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 the earth imtil the ice would melt Here, and I feel as thou hast felt ?

What Devil had the heart to scathe Flowers thou hadst rear’d 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 Prevail’d not thy pure prayers? ^\Tl} 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 Thro’ utter dark a fuU-sail’d skiff. Unpiloted i’ the echoing dance

CONFESSIONS OF A SENSITIVE MIND.

5

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,

My Lord, if so it be Thy will.’

VVould’st tell me I must brook the rod And chastisement of human pride ;

That pride, the sin of de\dls, stood Betwixt me and the light of God !

That hitherto I had defied And had rejected God that grace Would drop from his o’er-brimming 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 Nor sojourn in me. I am void,

Dark, formless, utterly destroyed.

Why not believe then ? Why not yet Anchor thy frailty there, where man Hath moor’d and rested ? Ask the sea At midnight, when the crisp slope waves After a tempest, rib and fret The broad-imbased beach, why he Slumbers not like a mountain tarn ? Wherefore his ridges are not curls And ripples of an inland mere ? Wherefore he moaneth thus, nor can Draw down into his vexed 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 wdth doubt and fear.

‘Yet,’ said I, in my morn of youth.

The unsunn’d 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 horned valleys all about,

And hollows of the fringed hills In sum.mer heats, 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 flower’d furrow. In a time, Of which he wots not, run short pains Thro’ his warm heart ; and then, from w^hence

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 man 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 analyse 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 everywhere Some must clasp Idols. Yet, my God, Whom call I Idol ? Let Thy dove Shadow me over, and my sins Be unremember’d, and Thy love Enlighten me. Oh teach me yet Somewhat before the heavy clod Weighs on me, and the busy fret Of that sharp-headed worm begins In the gross blackness underneath.

O weary life ! O weary death !

O spirit and heart made desolate I O damned vacillating state !

6

THE KRAKEN— SONG— LILIAN— ISABEL.

THE KRAKEN.

Below the thunders of the upper deep ; Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,

His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep The Kraken sleepeth ; faintest sunlights flee

About his shadowy sides : above him swell Huge sponges of millennial growth and height ;

And far away into the sickly light.

From many a wondrous grot and secret cell

Unnumber’d and enormous polypi Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.

There hath he lain for ages and will lie Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,

Until the latter fire shall heat the deep ; Then once by man and angels to be seen, In roaring he shall rise and on the sur- face die.

SONG.

The winds, as at their hour of birth. Leaning upon the ridged sea,

Breathed low around the rolling earth With mellow preludes, We are free.’

The streams through many a lilied row Down-carolling to the crisped sea, Low-tinkled with a bell-like flow Atween the blossoms, We are free.’

LILIAN.

I.

Airy, fairy Lilian,

Flitting, fairy Lilian,

When I ask her if she love me, Claps her tiny hands above me. Laughing all she can ;

She’ll not tell me if she love me, Cruel little Lilian.

IIo

When my passion seeks Pleasance in love-sighs,

She, looking thro’ and thro’ me Thoroughly to undo me.

Smiling, never speaks :

So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple. From beneath her gathered wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes.

Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks ;

Then away she flies.

III.

Prythee weep. May Lilian !

Gaiety without eclipse Wearieth me, May Lilian :

Thro’ my very heart it thrilleth When from crimson-threaded lips Silver-treble laughter trilleth :

Prythee weep, May Lilian.

IV.

Praying all I can.

If prayers will not hush thee.

Airy Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,

Fairy Lilian.

ISABEL.

I.

Eyes not down-dropt nor over -bright, but fed

With the clear-pointed flame of chastity, Clear, without heat, undying, tended by Pure vestal thoughts in the trans- lucent fane

Of her still spirit ; locks not wide-dispread. Madonna -wise on either side her head ;

Sweet lips whereon perpetually did reign

The summer calm of golden charity. Were fixed shadows of thy fixed mood. Revered Isabel, the crown and head, The stately flower of female fortitude.

Of perfect wifehood and pure lowli- head.

ISABEL— MARIANA,

1

n.

The intuitive decision of a bright

And thorough- edged intellect to part Error from crime ; a prudence to withhold ;

The laws of marriage character’d in gold

Upon the blanched tablets of her heart ; A love still burning upward, -giving light To read those laws ; an accent very low In blandishment, but a most silver flow Of subtle-paced counsel in distress. Right to the heart and brain, tho’ unde- scried.

Winning its way with extreme gentle- ness

Thro’ all the outworks of suspicious pride ; A courage to endure and to obey ;

A hate of gossip parlance, and of sway. Crown’d Isabel, thro’ all her placid life. The queen of marriage, a most perfect wife.

III.

The mellow’d reflex of a winter moon ;

A clear stream flowing with a muddy one. Till in its onward current it absorbs

With sv/ifter movement and in purer light

The vexed eddies of its wayward brother :

A leaning and upbearing parasite.

Clothing the stem, which else had fallen quite

With cluster’d flower -bells and am- brosial orbs

Of rich fruit-bunches leaning on each other

Shadow forth thee : the world hath not another

(Tho’ all her fairest forms are types of thee.

And thou of God in thy great charity)

Of such a finish’d chasten’d purity.

MARIANA.

Mariana in the moated grange.

Measure for Measure.

With blackest moss the flower-plots Were thickly crusted, one and all : The rusted nails fell from the knots That held the pear to the gable- wall. The broken sheds look’d sad and strange : Unlifted was the clinking latch ; Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.

She only said, My life is dreary. He cometh not,’ she said ;

She said, I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead !’

Her tears fell with the dews at even ;

Her tears fell ere the dews were dried ,* She could not look on the sweet heaven, Either at morn or eventide.

After the flitting of the bats,

When thickest dark did trance the sky, She drew her casement-curtain by. And glanced athwart the glooming flats. She only said, The night is dreary. He cometh not,’ she said ;

She said, I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead !’

Upon the middle of the night,

Waking she heard the night-fowl crow : The cock sung out an hour ere light :

From the dark fen the oxen’s low Came to her : without hope of change. In sleep she seem’d to walk forlorn. Till cold .winds woke the gray-eyed morn

About the lonely moated grange.

She only said, The day is dreary. He cometh not,’ she said ;

She said, I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead !’

About a stone-cast from the wall

A sluice with blacken’d waters slept. And o’er it many, round and small,

The cluster’d marish-mosses crept.

8

MARIANA —MA DELINE,

Hard by a poplar shook alway,

All silver-green with gnarled bark : For leagues no other tree did mark T'he level waste, the rounding gray.

She only said, * My life is dreary, He cometh not,’ she said ;

She said, I am aweary, aweary,

I would that I were dead !

And ever when the moon was low.

And the shrill winds were up and away, In the white curtain, to and fro.

She saw the gusty shadow sway.

But when the moon was very low.

And wild winds bound within their cell, The shadow of the poplar fell Upon her bed, across her brow.

She only said, ‘The night is dreary. He cometh not,’ she said ;

She said, I am aweaiy, aweary,

I would that I were dead !

All day within the dreamy house.

The doors upon their hinges creak’d ; The blue fly sung in the pane ; the mouse Behind the mouldering wainscot

shriek’d.

Or from the crevice peer’d about.

Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors, Old footsteps trod the upper floors. Old voices called her from without.

She only said, My life is dreary. He cometh not, she said ;

She said, ‘I am aweary, aweaiy,

I would that I were dead !

The sparrow’s chirrup on the roof.

The slow clock ticking, and the sound Which to the wooing wind aloof The poplar made, did all confound Her sense ; but most she loathed the hour When the thick-moted sunbeam lay Athwart the chambers, and the day Was sloping toward his western 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 !’

. TO

I.

Clear-headed friend, whose joyful scorn, Edged with sharp laughter, cuts atwain The knots that tangle human creeds. The wounding cords that bind and strain The heart until it bleeds, Ray-fringed eyelids of the morn

Roof not a glance so keen as thine ; If aught of prophecy be mine.

Thou wilt not live in vain.

II.

Low-cowering shall the Sophist sit ; Falsehood shall bare her plaited brow: Fair-fronted Truth shall droop not now With shrilling shafts of subtle wit.

Nor martyr-flames, nor trenchant swords Can do away that ancient lie ;

A gentler death shall Falsehood die, Shot thro’ and thro’ with cunning words,

III.

Weak Truth a-leaning on her crutch. Wan, wasted Truth in her utmost need. Thy kingly intellect shall feed.

Until she be an athlete bold.

And weary with a finger’s touch

Those writhed limbs of lightning speed ; Like that strange angel which of old. Until the breaking of the light. Wrestled with wandering Israel,

Past Yabbok brook the livelong night, And heaven’s mazed signs stood still In the dim tract of Penuel.

MADELINE.

L

Thou art not steep’d in golden languors. No tranced summer calm is thine, Ever vaiyflng Madeline.

Thro’ light and shadow thou dost range. Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers.

And airy forms of flitting change.

SONG: THE OWL.

9

IIo

Smiling, frowning, evermore,

Thou art perfect in love-lore. !

Revealings deep and clear are thine Of wealthy smiles : but who may know Whether smile or frown be fleeter ? j

Whether smile or frown be sweeter, !l

Who may know ? jl

Frowns perfect-sweet along the brow |

Light -glooming over eyes divine, ||

Like little clouds sun-fringed, are thine, j Ever vaiydng Madeline.

Thy smile and frown are not aloof From one another,

Each to each is dearest brother \ Hues of the silken sheeny woof Momently shot into each other.

All the mystery is thine ; Smiling, frowning, evermore,

Thou art perfect in love-lore,

Ever varying Madeline.

III.

A subtle, sudden flame,

By veering passion fann’d,

About thee breaks and dances % When I would kiss thy hand.

The flush of anger’d shame

O’erflows thy