Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub

pings, and inexplicable openings and shuttings of doors.

At another time, in low, sad tones, and with eyes fixed intently upon the leaping flames in the huge fire-place, he profoundly moved his hearer's heart with the story that lay behind those lines so deeply furrowed by sorrow on his rugged features. Twice, it seemed, had he found a woman sufficiently fond and brave to share his strange, solitary life, but alas ! both had fallen

tain Hamilton had sufficiently recovered his strength Gamache took him up on his own sloop to Rimouski, where they parted with many expressions of

esteem.

On his return to Quebec, emptyhanded, the Captain had, of course, to run the gauntlet of his friends' raillery. Considerably to their surprise he not only bore this trial with altogether unwonted patience, but even championed

[graphic]
[blocks in formation]

case was that of his second wife, who had died suddenly in midwinter while he was absent on a hunting trip, rendered necessary by urgent need of food, and he had returned heavily laden with game, only to find her prostrate form before the extinguished fire with her two children huddled close to her, all three frozen into statues of death.

"They will find me like that some day," added Gamache mournfully as he concluded his moving narrative. "I have

[blocks in formation]
[ocr errors]
[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

DRAWN BY J. S. O'HIGGINS.

"They will find me like that some day."

the cause of the famous wrecker at every opportunity, suffering no aspersion upon his reputation to pass unchallenged.

Some time elapsed, however, before he mustered up courage to tell the story of his trip to the one person of all others whose verdict upon it was of most importance to him.

When he did make the venture, to his bewildering joy, instead of merry banter he was given tender sympathy, and this so heartened him that he dared to put his fate to the touch with the happy issue of winning the prize he sought.

In the following spring there came

tidings from the Isle of Shipwrecks that touched him deeply. Gamache's mournful prediction as to his own fate had been fulfilled during the winter. Some fishermen who had run into the cove for shelter, seeing no sign of life about the house; had finally made bold to investigate. They found the body of the old man lying in all the dignity of death upon his own bed. With no one near to close his eyes he had gently passed away, the last of his race, bequeathing by a will written in a fair clerkly hand his entire possessions to his good friend, Captain Hamilton, "as some small compensation for his futile voyage to Anticosti."

J. Macdonald Oxley.

"CR

TENNYSON'S "CROSSING THE BAR."

BY PROFESSOR WILLIAM CLARK, D.C.L., F.R.S.C.

ROSSING THE BAR" is now usually printed as the last poem in the collected edition of Lord Tennyson's works. And with perfect propriety. Yet it did not originally appear in the last published of his volumes. It was first put forth in the volume entitled "Demeter and Other Poems," in 1889. Two others appeared subsequently: the one containing the charming play of "The Foresters, in 1892, and the other, the last we were destined to receive from his hand, entitled "The Death of Onone, Akbar's Dream, and other poems," also in 1892. This volume contained a poem, "The Silent Voices," pointing also to the "dumb hour clothed in black;" but it is the earlier poem, "Crossing the Bar," which will always

be associated with the death of the poet.

[ocr errors]

It is hardly too much to say that this exquisite gem was received with delight, and even with surprise, by the lovers of Tennyson and by the world at large. We were to have another surprise when the play of "The Foresters appeared, a work which was as youthful and fresh in its tone as though its author had been five-andtwenty, and not over four score years of age. Tennyson had done so much good work that we might have expected anything of him Yet there were some ready to say that the precise note of "Crossing the Bar" was now heard for the first time. Without discussing this question, or even inquiring too nicely into its meaning, we can have

no hesitation in speaking of the poem with a kind of enthusiasm.

mere

Nevertheless, as it so often happens, as it has almost always happened with Tennyson (even the glorious "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington" was scoffed at!), there arose voices, carping at some lines in this perfect poem, showing, for the most part, a want of understanding of the allusions or of insight into the significance of the imagery. For this reason it may not be entirely superfluous to offer a few remarks which may help to bring the meaning out a little more clearly, with the hope that something better may be done by some one better qualified. But first let us have the poem before us.

CROSSING THE BAR.

Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar
When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless

deep

[blocks in formation]

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.

The title of the poem at once demands comment. What is "the bar ?" Without asking how many such objects may exist, the present writer knows at least one, the Harbour Bar at the mouth of the river near Bideford, in Devonshire. It is probably this which Tennyson intended; and this is certainly what Kingsley meant in his poem of the "Three Fishers." The bar is a ridge of sand, pebbles and mud, which runs across the river and stops navigation except when the tide is high. At low water the tide, washing backwards or forwards, strikes against this obstruction, producing a dull, resonant sound, which may properly be described as moaning. Tennyson compares the passage from time to eternity to the outflow of the

river to the ocean, or to the sailing on the river out into the boundless deep. When the tide is high the bar is unseen, and no sound comes from it: there is "no moaning of the bar❞— "But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam."

And the poet prays that his passage from the temporal to the eternal may, likewise, be calm and peaceful.

A similar thought is expressed, with a different reference, in the nineteenth and twentieth cantos or sonnets of "In Memoriam," where the poet compares the deeper griefs which can find no utterance to the almost total silence of the Wye passing into the Severn; and the lesser griefs to the "babbling" of the river entering the estuary at low

water.

"The Wye is hushed, nor moved along,
And hushed my deepest grief of all,
When filled with tears that cannot fall,
I brim with sorrow, drowning song."

So it is when the Severn fills, and the salt water

"Hushes half the bubbling Wye,

And makes a silence in the hills."
But again :

"The tide flows down, the wave again
Is vocal in its wooded walls;
My deeper anguish also falls,
And I can speak a little then."

The reference, of course, is different, although the imagery is substantially the same. Then he asks that his voyage to the unseen may be as quiet as the passage over the bar in a high tide.

This is all quite clear, and there cannot be much difficulty in explaining the rest of the poem in the light of these considerations. But still a difficulty has been raised in regard to one phrase in the last two lines:

[ocr errors][merged small]

dedicated "In Memoriam," that great Light of whom our little systems are but broken lights, "human and divine," "the highest holiest, manhood."

But a still stranger mistake has been made, when the objection is offered, and it has been offered gravely, that it is inaccurate to speak of meeting his Pilot face to face, after passing away from earth and putting out into the ocean. It is not on the ocean, say these critical persons, but when we are coming into port or going out, that we need the pilot. Very well; but here is a most thorough misunderstanding of the poet's meaning. As it seems by some to be so misunderstood, let us try to make it clear.

[ocr errors]

Whither is the poet bound? He is bound for home. The ocean is his home. It is at once the vast infinite and the "harbour where he would do." There is no contradiction, for the Ocean is God-"the Ocean of His love; and He is also the Refuge of the soul when the tempest is high. From the eternal he had come. His soul is "that which drew from out the boundless deep." And now it goes back to the eternity from which it came; it "turns again home." And to this home in the bosom of the Eternal the soul is guided by its Pilot, by Him who is "the Way" to the Father. therefore, may he say:

Well,

"I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crost the bar."

So far, it is hoped, all is quite clear. One other point may be noted, chiefly of practical interest. If we compare the first and third stanzas, we shall see something of progression in the thought. In the first he writes:

"Sunset, and evening star,

And one clear call for me!"

In the third the night is creeping further on, the sun has set, and then

come

"Twilight, and evening bell,

And after that the dark."

So also there is a correspondence in the thoughts connected with these moments. In the first place the prayer

is:

"May there be no moaning of the bar
When I put forth to sea."

In the thitd stanza there is a sense of being nearer to separation from the things of time and the dear ones here: 66 May there be no sadness of farewell When I embark."

Doubtless there is much more here to be dwelt upon, for we can see how every word in this beautiful utterance of that great soul deserves to be meditated.

The prayer of the poet was answered. "Sadness of farewell," in such cases, must ever be present; but if sadness, then also true gladness and thankfulness, first from her who has now gone to join him, and then from all who loved and honoured him ; and they are a great number not easy to number. He fell asleep, his hand resting on the page of him who is the master of all the poets, the glory of English literature and of human genius, on the volume of Shakespeare, of Cymbeline, on the dirge of that play which he had asked to have read to him. The volume lies with him in his grave in Westminster Abbey. With these great words we may well conclude and cover some of the weakness of our own: "Fear no more the heat o' the sun,

Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done,

Home art gone and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must

As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. "Fear no more the frown o' the great;

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this and come to dust.
"Fear no more the lightning flash,

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee and come to dust.

"No exorciser harm thee !
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renowned be thy grave."
(Act iv., Scene 2.)

William Clark.

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

HE approaching visit to Washing

THE

ton by representatives of the Government to obtain a reciprocity treaty recalls previous efforts of the same kind. For many years these attempts have been made. On one occasion only were they successful, and then under conditions which are not likely to be repeated. The result of the negotiations now about to begin must surely determine for long years to come the policy of Canada in this matter, since the self-respect of this country, and the common sense of its commercial men, ought to hasten the conclusion that, if we fail to obtain a treaty this year, our future course should leave reciprocity with the United States entirely out of the calculation as a practical question.

As everyone knows, the adoption by England of free trade and the abolition of preferential duties with her colonies led Canada to consider seriously the development of trade with the United States. The famous annexation manifesto of 1849 was one of the early episodes of the agitation which culminated in the visit to Washington of Lord Elgin and Sir Francis Hincks. The prospects in 1854 looked as black for reciprocity as they have done at any period since. Both President Pierce and Mr. Marcy, the Secretary of State, were of opinion that as long as the Democratic majority in the Senate opposed reciprocity with Canada, it was useless to send down a treaty for their consideration. But Lord Elgin

He was determined to make a treaty. had had, as history records, a slight difference of opinion with one element in Canada, and this element, with colonial exuberance, had expressed its vigourous condemnation of him both in epithets and eggs. He knew that a treaty would be popular in all the British provinces, and he met the objections of the President with characteristic audacity: "If I can convince you that a majority of Senators are not hostile, will you consider our proposition?" And Mr. Marcy, who thought himself safely entrenched behind Democratic opposition, made this conditional promise, which he was forced afterwards reluctantly to redeem. Lord Elgin, assisted by Sir Philip Crampton, the British Minister, then set himself to work to cultivate the friendship of the Senators. He flung himself into the social life of the Capital with zest and energy.

We owe to the agreeable indiscretions of his secretary, Lawrence Oliphant, a record of the plan of campaign. The secretary could not at first perceive what, to use a familiar expression, his chief was driving at, and remarked one day, with some wonderment, that their most intimate friends appeared to be Democrats. Lord Elgin retorted drily that he observed this fact also. Practising all the arts of the courtier and man of the world he set himself to win friends for his proposed treaty. To the rather

« PředchozíPokračovat »