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Womanlike, taking revenge too deep for a transient wrong

Done but in thought to your beauty, and ever as pale as before
Growing and fading and growing upon me without a sound,

Luminous, gemlike, ghostlike, deathlike, half the night long
Growing and fading and growing, till I could bear it no more,

But arose, and all by myself in my own dark garden ground,
Listening now to the tide in its broad-flung shipwrecking roar,

Now to the scream of a madden'd beach dragg'd down by the wave,
Walk'd in a wintry wind by a ghastly glimmer, and found

The shining daffodil dead, and Orion low in his grave.”
He meets Maud abroad with her " Whom but Maud should I meet
brother as she rides by the moor, and Last night, when the sunset burn'd
be fancies that

On the blossom'd gable-ends

At the head of the village street, " The fire of a foolish pride flashed o'er her beautiful Wbom but Maud should I meet ? face;"

And she touch'd my hand with a smile so

sweet and so he contrasts her wealth with his

She made me divine amends own poor condition, and his pride leads

For a courtesy not return'd. him to philosopbise, and form such resolutions as lovers do, and he deter- ** And thus a delicate spark mines to flee from the cruel madness of Of glowing and growing light love. This phase of feeling is followed

Thro' the livelong hours of the dark by another, the trne exposition of

Kept itself warm in the heart of my dreams, which we are not quite sure that we

Ready to burst in a colour'd flame; have discovered. " A voice by the ce

Till at last when the morning came

In a cloud, it faded, and seems dar-tree” sings to him a passionate

But an ashen-gray delight." ballad

And then come two other casual en. Of men that in battle array, Ready in heart and ready in hand,

counters, which are told with such March with banner and bagle and fife

simple pathos, yet such picturesque To the death, for their native land."

vividness, that we cannot resist the pleasure of quoting them entire, Here

is the first; This voice seems an allegory—the spirit of war breathing into his soul. Be it what it may, it is full of delicious

"She came to the village church, cadences-wild and beautiful, and just

And sat by a pillar alone;

An angel watching an urn what Tennyson delights to throw off

Wept over her, carved in stone; contrasting strongly in the structure of

And once, but once, she lifted her eyes, its versification, as well as in its tone And suddenly, sweetly, strangely blush'd of feeling, from all that has preceded To find they were met by my own; it. Indeed it is quite evident that the And suddenly, sweetly, my heart beat poet has designed by a change in the

stronger whole style of his verse, to exhibit and And thicker, until I heard no longer illustrate a corresponding change in

The snowy-banded, dilettante, the heart and feeling of the lover for

Delicate-handed priest intone; lover now he is. The strong, rugged,

And thought, is it pride, and mused and

sigh'd nervous force of the long lines gives

No surely, now it cannot be pride." place to very sweet and tender measures of varying length, which, how

This is very exquisite word-painting. ever careless they may appear in their

One has the whole picture before the rhythm, are nevertheless managed with great skill; and from this out, through cil; and something more than the eye

eye, as if wrought by the artist's penthe progress of the poem and to its

can take in from form or colour-the end, we recognise these peculiar modes

subtle heart-emotions of love. The other of thought and expression, which are

picture is as briefly sketched, but not such distinctive characteristics of Ten

less perfect:nyson, as to have received his own name as designating a style. Thus

"I was walking å mile,
we have the next casual meeting of the More than a mile from the shore,
lovers described in true Tennysonian The sun look'd out with a smile
fasbion :-

Betwixt the cloud and the moor,

2 A

verses :

And riding at set of day

Look, a horse at the door, Over the dark moor land,

And little King Charles is snarling, Rapidly riding far away,

Go back, my lord, across the moor, She waved to me with her hand.

You are not her darling."
There were two at her side,
Something flash'd in the sun,

Then he leads home his love, having Down by the hill I saw them ride,

arranged to meet her on the more In a moment they were gone :

row night in her own rose-garden, Like a sudden spark

where her brother, the squire, is giving Struck vainly in the night, And back returns the dark

a grand political dinner. The thoughts With no more hope of light."

of the young man, as he waits her ar.

rival in the garden, are given in a sucThe two that are at the side of Maud

cession of charming verses, in which are her brother, “a jewelled mass of

the passionate fervour of manly love millinery,” an “oiled and curled Assy

are tempered and chastened with a rian Bull," and a suitor in the shape

sense of the pure; they are at once of a new-made lord, who has found out

voluptuous and delicate-such as are his jewel. The youth is sick at heart,

some of the fine songs of Shelley. jealous, and splenetic, and so he deals

We will quote one or two of these out harsh personalities against both, and declaims against the aristocrat in " I said to the rose, “The brief night goes the staple invective with which jealous In babble, and revel, and wine. and splenetic men assail wealth and O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, power. However, he meets Maud in For one that will never be thine ? the wood, and kisses her hand, and But mine, but mine,' so I sware to the rose, she takes the kiss sedately, whereby he

* For ever and ever, mine.' finds that his love is returned ; and so he sings, in the fulness of his heart, a

" And the soulof the rose went into my blood,

As the music clash'd in the hall; jubilant song, which is full of such charming fancies that we cannot re

And long by the garden lake I stood,

For I heard your rivulet fall sist quoting it:

From the lake to the meadow, and on to

the wood, “Birds in the high Hall-garden

Our wood, that is dearer than all.
When twilight was falling,
Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,

« The slender acacia would not shake
They were crying and calling.

One long milk-bloom on the tree;

The white lake-blossom fell into the lake, " Where was Maud ? in our wood;

As the pimpernel dozed on the lea; And I, who else, was with her,

But the rose was awake all night for your Gathering woodland lilies,

sake, Myriads blow together.

Knowing your promise to me; “ Birds in our woods sang

The lilies and roses were all awake-
Ringing thro' the vallies,

They sigh'd for the dawn and thee.
Maud is here, here, here
In among the lilies.

“Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,

Come hither, the dances are done, * I kiss'd her slender hand,

In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, She took the kiss sedately ;

Queen lily and rose in one; Maud is not seventeen,

Sbine out, little head, sunning over with But she is tall and stately.


To the flowers, and be their sun. "I to cry out on pride Who have won her favour!

" There has fallen a splendid tear O Maud were sure of Heaven

From the passion-flower at the gate. If lowliness could save her.

She is coming, my dove, my dear

She is coming, my life, my fate; “I know the way she went Home with her maiden posy,

The red rose cries, "She is near, she is

near;' For her feet have touch'd the meadows,

And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;' And left the daisies rosy.

The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;' "Birds in the high Hall-garden

And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'"
Were crying and calling to her,
Where is Maud, Maud, Maud,

Maud's brother surprises the lovers ;
One is come to woo her.

he is of course in a rage, gives the

young man the lie, and strikes bim, in

the mind of the unhappy lover is from the presence of the babe-faced lord. A time to time displayed, as some deep duel follows, and

stream is shown in a dark night

through the flashings of lightning. " Front to front in an hour we stood, From some of these ravings we learn And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke that Maud, too, dies: From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood, And thunder'd up into heaven the Christless “She is standing here at my head; code,

Not beautiful now, not even kind : That must have life for a blow."

He may take her now; for she never speaks

her mind, The brother is slain, and his murderer

But is ever the one thing silent here. flies to France, where he becomes a

She is not of us, as I divine;

She comes from another stiller world of the prey to remorse, and sorrow, and love;

dead, and visions of his lost Maud and her

Stiller, not fairer than mine." slain brother are ever haunting his brain and his heart by day and by At length the young man is restored night, in the solitude and in “ the to bis right mind, and he seeks in war hubbub of the market," till at length a new aim and a higher object than he is driven well-nigh mad. We fol- love, guided to that object by her low this course of feeling in the snatches whom he loved. We shall give the strange, wild thoughts through which concluding section of the poem :

"My life has crept so long on a broken wing
Thro' cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear,
That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing:
My mood is changed, for it fell at a time of year
When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs,
And the shining daffodil dies, and the Charioteer
And starry Gemini hang like glorious crowns
Over Orion's grave low

down in the west,
That like a silent lightning under the stars
She seem'd to divide in a dream from a band of the blest,
And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming wars-
* And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest,
Knowing I tarry for thee,' and pointed to Mars
As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's breast.
“ And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear delight!
To have look'd, tho' but in a dream, upon eyes so fair,
That had been in a weary world my one thing bright;
And it was but a dream, yet it lighten'd my despair
When I thought that a war would arise in defence of the right,
That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease,
The glory of manhood stand on bis ancient height,
Nor Britain's one sole God be the millionaire :
No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace
Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note,
And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase,
Nor the cannon-bullet rust on a slothful shore,
And the cobweb woven across the cannon's throat,
Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more.
" And as months ran on and rumour of battle grew,
* It is time, it is time, O passionate heart,' said I
(For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and true),
It is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye,
That old hysterical mock-disease should die.'
And I stood on a giant deck and mix'd my breath
With a loyal people shouting a battle cry,
Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly
Far into the North, and battle, and seas of death.
"Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims
Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold,
And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and shames,
Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told;

And hail once more to the banner of battle unroll’d!
Tho' many a light shall darken, and many shall weep
For those that are crush'd in the clash of jarring claims,
Yet God's just doom shall be wreak'd on a giant liar ;
And many a darkness into the light shall leap,
And shine in the sudden making of splendid names,
And noble thought be freer under the sun,
And the heart of a people beat with one desire ;
For the long, long canker of peace is over and done.
And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic deep,
And deathful-grinning mouths of the fortress, flames
The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire."

Such is Tennyson's "Maud”-in some Jealousy, down! cut off from the mind sort a romance of love, but with a The bitter springs of anger and fear; deeper meaning and object. It is a Down, too, down at your own fireside, vehicle for something more than sweet

With the evil tongue and the evil ear, erotic thoughts and gentle heart emo

For each is at war with mankind." tions: it is a medium by which the poet seeks to send throughout the

When they shall have done all this, or world his thoughts upon one of those

the half of this, they shall have the great and perplexing social problems

human mind in a very fit state to reWar. He would teach us that Peace

ceive the seeds of their peace philohas its evils, its temptations for man;

sophy; but till this reform is worked that it brings the lust of gain, making out, the broad-brimm'd hawker of the spirit sordid; soiling the purity of holy things" will preach in vain. They the soul; teaching, men to lie and

that will cheat, and plunder, and do cheat; cankering the heart, making violence, in the small things of the the body effeminate, and filling society world, will do so in the greater. There with internal strife and hatred, with

is no restraint in the one case but the “the spirit of Cain,” which is worse

sword of the civil power, in the other than open warfare. He would teach

but the sword of war. us, too, that war, like the tempest in

Still we are not prepared to yield a the hands of God, is not a minister of full assent to the philosophy enunciated unalloyed evil; that it purifies the in this poem. If Peace have its vices moral atmosphere, while it devastates ;

and its evils, they are those which grow that if its cause be holy, it brings its

rather out of the frailty and feebleness own sanctification ; that it energises,

of humanity, than from anything posiexalts, ennobles, by giving occasion

tively detrimental in a state of quiet. for the exercise and display of the

Neither can we believe that the rust manlier virtues- courage, and endu.

which the mind contracts is to be rance, and self-reliance, and generosity.

washed out by blood. The best that How far this philosophy is right, this

can be said is, that the all-adjusting is scarcely the place to discuss. Un.

wisdom of God has decreed that War doubtedly in the dispensations of God shall bring its compensating blessings, we see little provision, as the world is

as Peace is not exempt from its qualinow constituted, for the total cessation fying evils — that each, like the waves of warfare ; nor can we look for such of the in-flowing ocean, move forward a consummation till the time arrive, if

on their destined course, though they it ever shall, when the voice of Reason often seem to recede from it. shall be heard above that of passion

Butit is not the philosophy of “Maud" and self-interest, and Right, by her

that we mean to discuss, but its poetic intrinsic excellence, shall dominate

merits, from which we have somehow over Might. And so it is that our

been seduced for a moment. As a peace-preachers all begin at the wrong

poem we must rank it decidedly below end ; they must first reform the human

i The Princess." It has not the same heart; they must do what Tennyson,

continuity and sustained power; on in his caustic sarcasm against them,

the contrary, it is broken and abrupt, bids them to do :

reminding us of a beautiful landscape

seen upon the face of some agitated “Put down the passions that make earth

lake--diffracted and shattered makhell!

ing us feel how lovely it would be if all Down with ambition, avarica, pride, the fractured parts were united on a

"With many a curve my banks I fret

By many a field and fallow; And many a fairy foreland sct

With willow-weed and mallow.

“ I chatter, chatter, as I flow

To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

“I wind about, and in and out,

With here a blossom sailing; And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling;

“And here and there a foamy fake

Upon me, as I travel With many a silvery waterbreak

Above the golden gravel.

calm surface into one continuous picture. The merit, too, of the parts is various both in power and in versification. We do not think the rhymed hexameters are very effective. They appear to us to be forced and exotic, and do not readily acclimatise to the atmosphere of English poetry. Besides, as we have already observed, the rhythm is sometimes rough, if it is not actually imperfect, and the sentiment is unpoetic and commonplace, if it be not something worse than that-actu. ally vulgar. These faults we would not tolerate in one of inferior abilities to Tennyson — shall we receive them with complacency or condonation, because, in the caprice of an affluent and prodigal genius, he turns from richer food to feed on husks ? From these we turn with delight to those portions in which, when he comes to himself,” he displays his incomparable gifts of pathos, and fancy, and melody, with unabated power, and feel that the Laureate is still as vigorous and as poetic as he was when we first listened to the charm of his song,

Besides the tale of “ Maud," the vo. lume now under our consideration contains three or four smaller poems, all, we believe with one exception, now for the first time published. « The Brook” is one of those sweet idyls of rural life which Tennyson sings with such incomparable sweetness. It has much of the simplicity of “Dora," though not equal to it in pathos. Through the tale is interwoven at intervals the song of the Brook, the parts of which we will collect, so as to present it altogether :

“And draw them all along, and flow

To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

" I steal by lawns and grassy plots,

I slide by hazel covers ;
I move the sweet forget-me-nots

That grow for happy lovers.

" I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,

Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance

Against my sandy shallows.

“I murmur under moon and stars

In brambly wildernesses ;
I linger by my shingly bars-

I loiter round my cresses.
" And out again I curve and flow

To join the brimming river ; For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever."

"I come from haunts of coot and hern,

I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,

To bicker down a valley.

"By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.

" Till last by Philip's farm I flow,

To join the brimming river, For men may come and men may go,

But I go on for ever.

It would be difficult to find anything sweeter than these lines. Their flow and cadence is perfect music—remind. ing us of the charming tuneful song in “ The Miller's Daughter,” which one can never read without a feeling of melody flooding the heart, as sunlight floods the sky in summer.

We shall not say much in the way of criticism of the “ Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington.” It would come too late, seeing that the poem has been now some years before the public.

This much, however, we may observe in passing, that it is not altogether worthy of the high fame of the dead, or of the living the great Duke, or the great poet. It is not

" I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles ; I bubble into eddying bays

I babble on the pebbles.

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