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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;

When the centuries behind me like a fruitful

land reposed;

the copses ring,

And her whisper throng'd my pulses with the fulness of the spring.

When I clung to all the present for the promise Many an evening by the waters did we watch that it closed1;

When I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,

the stately ships,

And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips.

Saw the vision of the world and all the wonder O my cousin, shallow-hearted!

that would be.

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mine no more!

O the dreary, dreary moorland! barren shore!

O my Amy,

O the barren, 40

Falser than all fancy fathoms, falser than all songs have sung,

Puppet to a father's threat, and servile to a shrewish tongue!

Is it well to wish thee happy? having known

me to decline

Then her cheek was pale and thinner than On a range of lower feelings and a narrower

should be for one so young,

And her eyes on all my motions with a mute observance hung.

heart than mine!

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,

Trust me, cousin, all the current of my being sets to thee."'

sympathize with clay.

As the husband is, the wife is; thou art mated with a clown,

On her pallid cheek and forehead came a colour And the grossness of his nature will have

As I have seen the rosy red flushing in the

and a light,

northern night.

weight to drag thee down.

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

All the spirit deeply dawning in the dark of

hazel eyes

than his horse.

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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

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Roll'd in one another's arms, and silent in a Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art last embrace.

Cursed be the social wants that sin against the strength of youth!

staring at the wall,

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Cursed be the social lies that warp us from Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing

the living truth!

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Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest
Nature's rule!

to his drunken sleep,

To thy widow'd marriage-pillows, to the tears that thou wilt weep.

Cursed be the gold that gilds the straiten'd Thou shalt hear the "Never, never," whis forehead of the fool! per'd by the phantom years,

Well-'t is well that I should bluster!-Hadst

thou less unworthy proved

And a song from out the distance in the ring. ing of thine ears;

Would 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.

Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit?

Turn thee, turn thee on thy pillow; get thee to thy rest again.

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.

Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length

of years should come

'Tis a purer life than thine, a lip to drain thy trouble dry.

As the many-winter'd crow that leads the Baby lips will laugh me down; my latest rival clanging rookery home.

Where is comfort? in division of the records of the mind?

brings thee rest.

Baby fingers, waxen touches, press me from the mother's breast.

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Can I part her from herself, and love her, as IO, the child too clothes the father with a dearknew her, kind?

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I remember one that perish 'd;1 sweetly did she speak and move;

ness not his due.

Half is thine and half is his; it will be worthy of the two.

Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty to love.

Can I think of her as dead, and love her for the love she bore?

part,

With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.

No-she never loved me truly; love is love for "They were dangerous guides the feelings—

evermore.

Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is

she herself was not exemptTruly, she herself had suffer'd''3-Perish in thy self-contempt!

That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remember- Overlive it-lower yet-be happy! wherefore

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In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain What is that which I should turn to, lighting

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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.

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Yearning for the large excitement that the
coming years would yield,
Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his
father's field,

And at night along the dusky highway near
and nearer drawn,

Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like a dreary dawn;

And his spirit leaps within him to be gone

before him then, Underneath the light he looks at, in among the throngs of men;

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new;

That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do.

For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,

thro' the thunder-storm;

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Saw the Vision of the world, and all the won Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I der that would be;

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linger on the shore,

Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies And the individual withers, and the world is

of magic sails,

Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;*

4 Cp. line 185.

Tennyson had a rare faculty for putting the hopes and achievements of science into poetic language. It is interesting, however, to observe at what a cautious distance he placed the realization of this seemingly extravagant prophecy.

more and more."

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Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he | Summer isles of Eden lying in dark-purple

bears a laden breast,

Full of sad experience, moving toward the

stillness of his rest.

spheres of sea.

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,

They to whom my foolish passion were a target for their scorn.

Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a moulder'd string?

I am shamed thro' all my nature to have loved so slight a thing.

thoughts that shake mankind.

There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing space;

I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.

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

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lances in the sun;

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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 mis

match'd with mine,

Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine

erable books

Fool, again the dream, the fancy! but I know my words are wild,

Here at least, where nature sickens, nothing.s But I count the gray barbarian lower than the

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Or to burst all links of habit-there to wander I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files

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On from island unto island at the gateways of I that rather held it better men should perish

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Slides the bird o'er lustrous woodland, 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 heavy-fruited tree

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9 The British have had Mother-Age, for mine I knew not,-help me

many conflicts with

the warlike Mah-
rattas of India.

10 See Par. Lost, iv,

242.

as when life begun;

11 Joshua, x 13.

12 Tennyson drew this figure from the railway. then new, under the false impression that the 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!

O, 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!

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At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

SONGS FROM THE PRINCESS
SWEET AND LOW

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.

A FAREWELL

Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,
Thy tribute wave deliver;

No more by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea,
A rivulet, then a river;
Nowhere by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder-tree,
And here thine aspen shiver;
And here by thee will hum the bee,
For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,
A thousand moons will quiver;
But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and for ever.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK*

Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O, well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

These lines were written in memory of Arthur Hallam, and might well have been included among the poems of In Memoriam had they not been cast in a different metre.

Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me:

While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon;

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

THE SPLENDOUR FALLS†

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,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying,
dying.

O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O, sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying,
dying.

O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river;

This song was inspired by the echoes at the
Lakes of Killarney.

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