So might some old man speak in the aftertime | Should blind my purpose, for I never saw, But now much honour and much fame were Not tho' I live three lives of mortal men, So spake he, clouded with his own conceit," Then with both hands I flung him, wheeling And hid Excalibur the second time, 111 And so strode back slow to the wounded king. Then spoke King Arthur, breathing heavily: "What is it thou hast seen, or what hast heard?'' And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "I heard the water lapping on the crag, And the long ripple washing in the reeds."' To whom replied King Arthur, much in wrath: "Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, him; Three times, and drew him under in the mere."' And answer made King Arthur, breathing hard: "My end draws nigh; 't is time that I were gone. Make broad thy shoulders to receive my weight, Unknightly, traitor-hearted! Woe is me! 120 And bear me to the margin; yet I fear Authority forgets a dying king, Laid widow'd of the power in his eye That bow'd the will. I see thee what thou art, But, if thou spare to fling Excalibur, 130 I will arise and slay thee with my hands." Then quickly rose Sir Bedivere, and ran, And, leaping down the ridges lightly, plunged Among the bulrush-beds, and clutch'd the sword, And strongly wheel'd and threw it. The great brand Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon, And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch, 140 Shot like a streamer of the northern morn, Three times, and drew him under in the mere. Then spoke King Arthur, drawing thicker breath: "Now I see by thine eyes that this is done. Speak out; what is it thou hast heard, or seen?'' 150 And answer made the bold Sir Bedivere: "Sir King, I closed mine eyelids, lest the gems 9 fancy 10 because Then took with care, and kneeling on one knee, O'er both his shoulders drew the languid hands, And rising bore him thro' the place of tombs. But, as he walk'd, King Arthur panted hard, Like one that feels a nightmare on his bed When all the house is mute. So sigh'd the king, Muttering and murmuring at his ear, "Quick, quick! I fear it is too late, and I shall die." 180 But the other swiftly strode from ridge to ridge, Clothed with his breath, and looking, as he walk'd, Larger than human on the frozen hills. Dry clash'd his harness in the icy caves His feet on juts of slippery crag that rang 191 Then saw they how there hove a dusky barge, Dark as a funeral scarf from stem to stern, Beneath them; and descending they were ware That all the decks were dense with stately forms Black-stoled, black-hooded, like a dream-by | Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? these Three queens with crowns of gold-and from I have lived my life, and that which I have them rose A cry that shiver'd to the tingling stars, done May He within himself make pure! but thou, 200 If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer All night in a waste land, where no one comes, Or hath come, since the making of the world. Then murmur'd Arthur, "Place me in the barge." Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. And to the barge they came. There those For what are men better than sheep or goats 250 three queens That nourish a blind life within the brain, Put forth their hands, and took the king, and If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them wept, But she that rose the tallest of them all And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, And loosed his shatter'd casque, and chafed his hands, 209 And call'd him by his name, complaining loud, And dropping bitter tears against his brow Striped with dark blood;, for all his face was white And colourless, and like the wither'd moon Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; And all his greaves and cuisses dash'd with drops Of onset; and the light and lustrous curlsThat made his forehead like a rising sun High from the dais-throne-were parch'd with dust; Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, Mix'd with the knightly growth that fringed his lips. 220 So like a shatter'd column lay the king; 229 Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to friend? 260 For so the whole round earth is every way 1 Cp. Paradise Lost, II, 1051 (p. 255). *The earthly paradise of medieval romance, corresponding to the Grecian Isles of the Blest. The germ of this poem is found, not in the Odyssey, but in the story which Dante makes Ulysses tell of his adventures (Inferno, XXVI, 91 ff.). It was written shortly after the death of Tennyson's friend, Arthur Hallam (see In Memoriam), and voiced, said Tennyson, his "feelings about the need of going forward and braving the struggle of life more simply than anything in In Memoriam." (Memoir, I, 196). It is an admirable complement to The Lotos-Eaters. Of lines 62-64 Carlyle said: "These lines do not make me weep, but there is in me what would fill whole Lachrymatories as I read." I cannot rest from travel; I will drink For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, Were all too little, and of one to me 30 Moans round with many voices.* Come, my friends, 60 "T is not too late to seek a newer world. we are, One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. 70 LOCKSLEY HALL‡ Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 't is early morn: Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle-horn. curlews call, For some three suns to store and hoard myself, "T is the place, and all around it, as of old, the This is my son, mine own Telemachus, To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle,Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil This labour, by slow prudence to make mild A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees Subdue them to the useful and the good. Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere Of common duties, decent not to fail In offices of tenderness, and pay Meet adoration to my household gods, When I am gone. He works his work, I mine. 40 There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail; There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners, Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me,— 50 That ever with a frolic welcome took 2 Stars in the constellation Taurus, supposed to be harbingers of rain. Eneid, 1, 744. Dreary gleams about the moorland flying over Locksley Hall; Locksley Hall, that in the distance overlooks the sandy tracts, And the hollow ocean-ridges roaring into Here about the beach I wander 'd, nourishing a youth sublime * Successive heavy monosyllables, long vowels, and full pauses, combine to make this a passage of remarkable weight and slowness. Compare note on preceding poem, 1. 259. This was intended to be a purely dramatic poem, giving expression to the conflicting and somewhat morbid feelings characteristic perhaps of introspective youth at any time, but with particular reference both to contemporary social conditions in England (it was published in 1842) and to the fresh spur given to im agination by the discoveries in science and mechanics. Some forty years later, Tennyson wrote a sequel, Locksley Hall Sixty Years After. With the fairy tales of science, and the long | Many a morning on the moorland did we hear result of time; Wher 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 my cousin, shallow-hearted! that would be. In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast; mine no more! O my Amy, 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 burnish'd dove; In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. 20 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 carne 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. 50 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 Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on Better thou wert dead before me, tho' I slew all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, past in music out of sight. 1 enclosed thee with my hand! Better thou and I were lying, hidden from the heart's disgrace, 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, Cursed be the social lies that warp us from Then a hand shall pass before thee, pointing the living truth! 60 Cursed be the sickly forms that err from honest 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," whisforehead 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 ringing 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. Am I mad, that I should cherish that which bears but bitter fruit? kindness on thy pain. 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. Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come tender voice will cry. "T is 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. 90 Can I part her from herself, and love her, as I O, the child too clothes the father with a dearknew her, kind? 70 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 exempt Truly, she herself had suffer 'd''s-Perish in thy self-contempt! That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remember- Overlive it-lower yet-be happy! wherefore truth the poet sings, ing happier things.2 Drug thy memories, lest thou learn it, lest thy heart be put to proof, In the dead unhappy night, and when the rain What is that which I should turn to, lighting |