No More Learning

I send you, Friend, a sort of allegory,
(You are an artist and will understand
Its many lesser meanings) of a soul. ]






THE PALACE OF ART

First published in 1833, but altered so extensively on its republication
in 1842 as to be practically rewritten. The alterations in it after 1842
were not numerous, consisting chiefly in the deletion of two stanzas
after line 192 and the insertion of the three stanzas which follow in
the present text, together with other minor verbal corrections, all of
which have been noted. No alterations were made in the text after 1853.
The allegory Tennyson explains in the dedicatory verses, but the
framework of the poem was evidently suggested by 'Ecclesiastes' ii.
1-17. The position of the hero is precisely that of Solomon. Both began
by assuming that man is self-sufficing and the world sufficient; the
verdict of the one in consequence being "vanity of vanities, all is
vanity," of the other what the poet here records. An admirable
commentary on the poem is afforded by Matthew Arnold's picture of the
Romans before Christ taught the secret of the only real happiness
possible to man. See 'Obermann Once More'. The teaching of the poem
has been admirably explained by Spedding. It "represents allegorically
the condition of a mind which, in the love of beauty and the triumphant
consciousness of knowledge and intellectual supremacy, in the intense
enjoyment of its own power and glory, has lost sight of its relation to
man and God". See 'Tennyson's Life', vol. i. , p. 226.



I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
I said, "O Soul, make merry and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well".

A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass,
I chose. The ranged ramparts bright
From level meadow-bases of deep grass [1]
Suddenly scaled the light.

Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf
The rock rose clear, or winding stair.
My soul would live alone unto herself
In her high palace there.

And "while the world [2] runs round and round,"
I said, "Reign thou apart, a quiet king,
Still as, while Saturn [3] whirls, his stedfast [4] shade
Sleeps on his luminous [5] ring. "

To which my soul made answer readily:
"Trust me, in bliss I shall abide
In this great mansion, that is built for me,
So royal-rich and wide"

* * * * *

Four courts I made, East, West and South and North,
In each a squared lawn, wherefrom
The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth
A flood of fountain-foam. [6]

And round the cool green courts there ran a row
Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods,
Echoing all night to that sonorous flow
Of spouted fountain-floods. [6]

And round the roofs a gilded gallery
That lent broad verge to distant lands,
Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky
Dipt down to sea and sands. [6]

From those four jets four currents in one swell
Across the mountain stream'd below
In misty folds, that floating as they fell
Lit up a torrent-bow. [6]

And high on every peak a statue seem'd
To hang on tiptoe, tossing up
A cloud of incense of all odour steam'd
From out a golden cup. [6]

So that she thought, "And who shall gaze upon
My palace with unblinded eyes,
While this great bow will waver in the sun,
And that sweet incense rise? " [6]

For that sweet incense rose and never fail'd,
And, while day sank or mounted higher,
The light aerial gallery, golden-rail'd,
Burnt like a fringe of fire. [6]

Likewise the deep-set windows, stain'd and traced,
Would seem slow-flaming crimson fires
From shadow'd grots of arches interlaced,
And tipt with frost-like spires. [6]

* * * * *

Full of long-sounding corridors it was,
That over-vaulted grateful gloom, [7]
Thro' which the livelong day my soul did pass,
Well-pleased, from room to room.

Full of great rooms and small the palace stood,
All various, each a perfect whole
From living Nature, fit for every mood [8]
And change of my still soul.

For some were hung with arras green and blue,
Showing a gaudy summer-morn,
Where with puff'd cheek the belted hunter blew
His wreathed bugle-horn. [9]

One seem'd all dark and red--a tract of sand,
And some one pacing there alone,
Who paced for ever in a glimmering land,
Lit with a low large moon. [10]

One show'd an iron coast and angry waves.
You seem'd to hear them climb and fall
And roar rock-thwarted under bellowing caves,
Beneath the windy wall. [11]

And one, a full-fed river winding slow
By herds upon an endless plain,
The ragged rims of thunder brooding low,
With shadow-streaks of rain. [11]

And one, the reapers at their sultry toil.
In front they bound the sheaves.
Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil,
And hoary to the wind. [11]

And one, a foreground black with stones and slags,
Beyond, a line of heights, and higher
All barr'd with long white cloud the scornful crags,
And highest, snow and fire. [12]

And one, an English home--gray twilight pour'd
On dewy pastures, dewy trees,
Softer than sleep--all things in order stored,
A haunt of ancient Peace. [13]

Nor these alone, but every landscape fair,
As fit for every mood of mind,
Or gay, or grave, or sweet, or stern, was there,
Not less than truth design'd. [14]

* * * *

Or the maid-mother by a crucifix,
In tracts of pasture sunny-warm,
Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx
Sat smiling, babe in arm. [15]

Or in a clear-wall'd city on the sea,
Near gilded organ-pipes, her hair
Wound with white roses, slept St. Cecily;
An angel look'd at her.

Or thronging all one porch of Paradise,
A group of Houris bow'd to see
The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes
That said, We wait for thee. [16]

Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son
In some fair space of sloping greens
Lay, dozing in the vale of Avalon,
And watch'd by weeping queens. [17]

Or hollowing one hand against his ear,
To list a foot-fall, ere he saw
The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king to hear
Of wisdom and of law. [18]

Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd,
And many a tract of palm and rice,
The throne of Indian Cama [19] slowly sail'd
A summer fann'd with spice.

Or sweet Europa's [20] mantle blew unclasp'd,
From off her shoulder backward borne:
From one hand droop'd a crocus: one hand grasp'd
The mild bull's golden horn. [21]

Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh
Half-buried in the Eagle's down,
Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky
Above [22] the pillar'd town.

Nor [23] these alone: but every [24] legend fair
Which the supreme Caucasian mind [25]
Carved out of Nature for itself, was there,
Not less than life, design'd. [26]

* * * *

Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung,
Moved of themselves, with silver sound;
And with choice paintings of wise men I hung
The royal dais round.

For there was Milton like a seraph strong,
Beside him Shakespeare bland and mild;
And there the world-worn Dante grasp'd his song,
And somewhat grimly smiled. [27]

And there the Ionian father of the rest; [28]
A million wrinkles carved his skin;
A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast,
From cheek and throat and chin. [29]

Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately set
Many an arch high up did lift,
And angels rising and descending met
With interchange of gift. [29]

Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd
With cycles of the human tale
Of this wide world, the times of every land
So wrought, they will not fail. [29]

The people here, a beast of burden slow,
Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and stings;
Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro
The heads and crowns of kings; [29]

Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind
All force in bonds that might endure,
And here once more like some sick man declined,
And trusted any cure. [29]

But over these she trod: and those great bells
Began to chime. She took her throne:
She sat betwixt the shining Oriels,
To sing her songs alone. [29]

And thro' the topmost Oriels' colour'd flame
Two godlike faces gazed below;
Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam,
The first of those who know. [29]

And all those names, that in their motion were
Full-welling fountain-heads of change,
Betwixt the slender shafts were blazon'd fair
In diverse raiment strange: [30]

Thro' which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue,
Flush'd in her temples and her eyes,
And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, [31] drew
Rivers of melodies.

No nightingale delighteth to prolong
Her low preamble all alone,
More than my soul to hear her echo'd song
Throb thro' the ribbed stone;

Singing and murmuring in her feastful mirth,
Joying to feel herself alive,
Lord over Nature, Lord of [32] the visible earth,
Lord of the senses five;

Communing with herself: "All these are mine,
And let the world have peace or wars,
Tis one to me". She--when young night divine
Crown'd dying day with stars,

Making sweet close of his delicious toils--
Lit light in wreaths and anadems,
And pure quintessences of precious oils
In hollow'd moons of gems,

To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried,
"I marvel if my still delight
In this great house so royal-rich, and wide,
Be flatter'd to the height. [33]

"O all things fair to sate my various eyes!
O shapes and hues that please me well!
O silent faces of the Great and Wise,
My Gods, with whom I dwell! [34]

"O God-like isolation which art mine,
I can but count thee perfect gain,
What time I watch the darkening droves of swine
That range on yonder plain. [34]

"In filthy sloughs they roll a prurient skin,
They graze and wallow, breed and sleep;
And oft some brainless devil enters in,
And drives them to the deep. " [34]

Then of the moral instinct would she prate,
And of the rising from the dead,
As hers by right of full-accomplish'd Fate;
And at the last she said:

"I take possession of man's mind and deed.
I care not what the sects may brawl,
I sit as God holding no form of creed,
But contemplating all. " [35]

* * *

Full oft [36] the riddle of the painful earth
Flash'd thro' her as she sat alone,
Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth,
And intellectual throne.

And so she throve and prosper'd: so three years
She prosper'd: on the fourth she fell, [37]
Like Herod, [38] when the shout was in his ears,
Struck thro' with pangs of hell.

Lest she should fail and perish utterly,
God, before whom ever lie bare
The abysmal deeps of Personality, [39]
Plagued her with sore despair.

When she would think, where'er she turn'd her sight,
The airy hand confusion wrought,
Wrote "Mene, mene," and divided quite
The kingdom of her thought. [40]

Deep dread and loathing of her solitude
Fell on her, from which mood was born
Scorn of herself; again, from out that mood
Laughter at her self-scorn. [41]

"What! is not this my place of strength," she said,
"My spacious mansion built for me,
Whereof the strong foundation-stones were laid
Since my first memory? "

But in dark corners of her palace stood
Uncertain shapes; and unawares
On white-eyed phantasms weeping tears of blood,
And horrible nightmares,

And hollow shades enclosing hearts of flame,
And, with dim fretted foreheads all,
On corpses three-months-old at noon she came,
That stood against the wall.

A spot of dull stagnation, without light
Or power of movement, seem'd my soul,
'Mid onward-sloping [42] motions infinite
Making for one sure goal.

A still salt pool, lock'd in with bars of sand;
Left on the shore; that hears all night
The plunging seas draw backward from the land
Their moon-led waters white.

A star that with the choral starry dance
Join'd not, but stood, and standing saw
The hollow orb of moving Circumstance
Roll'd round by one fix'd law.

Back on herself her serpent pride had curl'd.
"No voice," she shriek'd in that lone hall,
"No voice breaks thro' the stillness of this world:
One deep, deep silence all! "

She, mouldering with the dull earth's mouldering sod,
Inwrapt tenfold in slothful shame,
Lay there exiled from eternal God,
Lost to her place and name;

And death and life she hated equally,
And nothing saw, for her despair,
But dreadful time, dreadful eternity,
No comfort anywhere;

Remaining utterly confused with fears,
And ever worse with growing time,
And ever unrelieved by dismal tears,
And all alone in crime:

Shut up as in a crumbling tomb, girt round
With blackness as a solid wall,
Far off she seem'd to hear the dully sound
Of human footsteps fall.

As in strange lands a traveller walking slow,
In doubt and great perplexity,
A little before moon-rise hears the low
Moan of an unknown sea;

And knows not if it be thunder or a sound
Of rocks [43] thrown down, or one deep cry
Of great wild beasts; then thinketh, "I have found
A new land, but I die".

She howl'd aloud, "I am on fire within.
There comes no murmur of reply.
What is it that will take away my sin,
And save me lest I die? "

So when four years were wholly finished,
She threw her royal robes away.
"Make me a cottage in the vale," she said,
"Where I may mourn and pray. [44]

"Yet pull not down my palace towers, that are
So lightly, beautifully built:
Perchance I may return with others there
When I have purged my guilt. " [45]



[Footnote 1: 1833.

I chose, whose ranged ramparts bright
From great broad meadow bases of deep grass. ]


[Footnote 2: 1833. "While the great world. "]

[Footnote 3: "The shadow of Saturn thrown upon the bright ring that
surrounds the planet appears motionless, though the body of the planet
revolves. Saturn rotates on its axis in the short period of ten and a
half hours, but the shadow of this swiftly whirling mass shows no more
motion than is seen in the shadow of a top spinning so rapidly that it
seems to be standing still. " Rowe and Webb's note, which I gladly
borrow. ]

[Footnote 4: 1833 and 1842. Steadfast. ]

[Footnote 5: After this stanza in 1833 this, deleted in 1842:--

"And richly feast within thy palace hall,
Like to the dainty bird that sups,
Lodged in the lustrous crown-imperial,
Draining the honey cups. "]


[Footnote 6: In 1833 these eight stanzas were inserted after the stanza
beginning, "I take possession of men's minds and deeds"; in 1842 they
were transferred, greatly altered, to their present position. For the
alterations on them see 'infra. ']

[Footnote 7: 1833.

Gloom,
Roofed with thick plates of green and orange glass
Ending in stately rooms. ]


[Footnote 8: 1833.

All various, all beautiful,
Looking all ways, fitted to every mood. ]


[Footnote 9: Here in 1833 was inserted the stanza, "One showed an
English home," afterwards transferred to its present position 85-88. ]

[Footnote 10: 1833.

Some were all dark and red, a glimmering land
Lit with a low round moon,
Among brown rocks a man upon the sand
Went weeping all alone. ]


[Footnote 11: These three stanzas were added in 1842. ]

[Footnote 12: Thus in 1833:--

One seemed a foreground black with stones and slags,
Below sun-smitten icy spires
Rose striped with long white cloud the scornful crags,
Deep trenched with thunder fires. ]


[Footnote 13: Not inserted here in 1833, but the following in its
place:--

Some showed far-off thick woods mounted with towers,
Nearer, a flood of mild sunshine
Poured on long walks and lawns and beds and bowers
Trellised with bunchy vine. ]

[Footnote 14: Inserted in 1842. ]


[Footnote 15: Thus in 1833, followed by the note:--

Or the maid-mother by a crucifix,
In yellow pastures sunny-warm,
Beneath branch-work of costly sardonyx,
Sat smiling, babe in arm.


When I first conceived the plan of the Palace of Art, I intended to
have introduced both sculptures and paintings into it; but it is the
most difficult of all things to 'devise' a statue in verse. Judge
whether I have succeeded in the statues of Elijah and Olympias.


One was the Tishbite whom the raven fed,
As when he stood on Carmel steeps,
With one arm stretched out bare, and mocked and said,
"Come cry aloud-he sleeps".

Tall, eager, lean and strong, his cloak wind-borne
Behind, his forehead heavenly bright
From the clear marble pouring glorious scorn,
Lit as with inner light.

One, was Olympias: the floating snake
Rolled round her ancles, round her waist
Knotted, and folded once about her neck,
Her perfect lips to taste.

Round by the shoulder moved: she seeming blythe
Declined her head: on every side
The dragon's curves melted and mingled with
The woman's youthful pride
Of rounded limbs.

Or Venus in a snowy shell alone,
Deep-shadowed in the glassy brine,
Moonlike glowed double on the blue, and shone
A naked shape divine. ]


[Footnote 16: Inserted in 1842. ]

[Footnote 17: Thus in 1833:--

Or that deep-wounded child of Pendragon
Mid misty woods on sloping greens
Dozed in the valley of Avilion,
Tended by crowned queens.

The present reading is that of 1842. The reference is, of course, to
King Arthur, the supposed son of Uther Pendragon.

In 1833 the following stanza, excised in 1842, followed:--

Or blue-eyed Kriemhilt from a craggy hold,
Athwart the light-green rows of vine,
Poured blazing hoards of Nibelungen gold,
Down to the gulfy Rhine. ]


[Footnote 18: Inserted in 1842 thus:--

Or hollowing one hand against his ear,
To listen for a footfall, ere he saw
The wood-nymph, stay'd the Tuscan king to hear
Of wisdom and of law.

List a footfall, 1843. Ausonian for Tuscan, 1850. The reference is to
Egeria and Numa Pompilius. 'Cf. ' Juvenal, iii. , 11-18:--

Hic ubi nocturnae
Numa constituebat amicae
. . .
In vallem AEgeriae descendimus et speluneas
Dissimiles veris.

and the beautiful passage in Byron's 'Childe Harold', iv. , st.
cxv. -cxix. ]


[Footnote 19: This is Camadev or Camadeo, the Cupid or God of Love of the
Hindu mythology. ]

[Footnote 20: This picture of Europa seems to have been suggested by
Moschus, 'Idyll', ii. , 121-5:--

[Greek: Hae d' ar ephezomenae Zaenos Boeois epi n_otois tae men echen
taurou dolichon keras, en cheri d' allae eirue porphyreas kolpou
ptuchas. ]

"Then, seated on the back of the divine bull, with one hand did she
grasp the bull's long horn and with the other she was catching up the
purple folds of her garment, and the robe on her shoulders was swelled
out. "

See, too, the beautiful picture of the same scene in Achilles
Tatius, 'Clitophon and Leucippe', lib. i. , 'ad init. ;' and in Politian's
finely picturesque poem. ]


[Footnote 21: In 1833 thus:--

Europa's scarf blew in an arch, unclasped,
From her bare shoulder backward borne.

Off inserted in 1842. Here in 1833 follows a stanza, excised in 1842:--

He thro' the streaming crystal swam, and rolled
Ambrosial breaths that seemed to float
In light-wreathed curls. She from the ripple cold
Updrew her sandalled foot. ]


[Footnote 22: 1833. Over. ]

[Footnote 23: 1833. Not. ]

[Footnote 24: 1833. Many a. ]

[Footnote 25: The Caucasian range forms the north-west margin of the
great tableland of Western Asia, and as it was the home of those races
who afterwards peopled Europe and Western Asia and so became the fathers
of civilisation and culture, the "Supreme Caucasian mind" is a
historically correct but certainly recondite expression for the
intellectual flower of the human race, for the perfection of human
ability. ]


[Footnote 26: 1833. Broidered in screen and blind.

In the edition of 1833 appear the following stanzas, excised in 1842:--

So that my soul beholding in her pride
All these, from room to room did pass;
And all things that she saw, she multiplied,
A many-faced glass.

And, being both the sower and the seed,
Remaining in herself became
All that she saw, Madonna, Ganymede,
Or the Asiatic dame--

Still changing, as a lighthouse in the night
Changeth athwart the gleaming main,
From red to yellow, yellow to pale white,
Then back to red again.

"From change to change four times within the womb
The brain is moulded," she began,
"So thro' all phases of all thought I come
Into the perfect man.

"All nature widens upward: evermore
The simpler essence lower lies,
More complex is more perfect, owning more
Discourse, more widely wise.

"I take possession of men's minds and deeds.
I live in all things great and small.
I dwell apart, holding no forms of creeds,
But contemplating all. "

Four ample courts there were, East, West, South, North,
In each a squared lawn where from
A golden-gorged dragon spouted forth
The fountain's diamond foam.

All round the cool green courts there ran a row
Of cloisters, branched like mighty woods,
Echoing all night to that sonorous flow
Of spouted fountain floods.

From those four jets four currents in one swell
Over the black rock streamed below
In steamy folds, that, floating as they fell,
Lit up a torrent bow.

And round the roofs ran gilded galleries
That gave large view to distant lands,
Tall towns and mounds, and close beneath the skies
Long lines of amber sands.

Huge incense-urns along the balustrade,
Hollowed of solid amethyst,
Each with a different odour fuming, made
The air a silver mist.

Far-off 'twas wonderful to look upon
Those sumptuous towers between the gleam
Of that great foam-bow trembling in the sun,
And the argent incense-steam;

And round the terraces and round the walls,
While day sank lower or rose higher,
To see those rails with all their knobs and balls,
Burn like a fringe of fire.

Likewise the deepset windows, stained and traced.
Burned, like slow-flaming crimson fires,
From shadowed grots of arches interlaced,
And topped with frostlike spires. ]


[Footnote 27: 1833.

There deep-haired Milton like an angel tall
Stood limned, Shakspeare bland and mild,
Grim Dante pressed his lips, and from the wall
The bald blind Homer smiled.

Recast in its present form in
1842. After this stanza in 1833 appear the following stanzas, excised in
1842:--

And underneath fresh carved in cedar wood,
Somewhat alike in form and face,
The Genii of every climate stood,
All brothers of one race:

Angels who sway the seasons by their art,
And mould all shapes in earth and sea;
And with great effort build the human heart
From earliest infancy.

And in the sun-pierced Oriels' coloured flame
Immortal Michael Angelo
Looked down, bold Luther, large-browed Verulam,
The King of those who know. [A]

Cervantes, the bright face of Calderon,
Robed David touching holy strings,
The Halicarnassean, and alone,
Alfred the flower of kings.

Isaiah with fierce Ezekiel,
Swarth Moses by the Coptic sea,
Plato, Petrarca, Livy, and Raphael,
And eastern Confutzer.

[Sub-Footnote A: Il maestro di color chi sanno. --Dante, 'Inf. ',
iii. ]]


[Footnote 28: Homer. 'Cf. ' Pope's 'Temple of Fame', 183-7:--

Father of verse in holy fillets dress'd,
His silver beard wav'd gently o'er his breast,
Though blind a boldness in his looks appears,
In years he seem'd but not impaired by years. ]


[Footnote 29: All these stanzas were added in 1842. In 1833 appear the
following stanzas, excised in 1842:--

As some rich tropic mountain, that infolds
All change, from flats of scattered palms
Sloping thro' five great zones of climate, holds
His head in snows and calms--

Full of her own delight and nothing else,
My vain-glorious, gorgeous soul
Sat throned between the shining oriels,
In pomp beyond control;

With piles of flavorous fruits in basket-twine
Of gold, upheaped, crushing down
Musk-scented blooms--all taste--grape, gourd or pine--
In bunch, or single grown--

Our growths, and such as brooding Indian heats
Make out of crimson blossoms deep,
Ambrosial pulps and juices, sweets from sweets
Sun-changed, when sea-winds sleep.

With graceful chalices of curious wine,
Wonders of art--and costly jars,
And bossed salvers. Ere young night divine
Crowned dying day with stars,

Making sweet close of his delicious toils,
She lit white streams of dazzling gas,
And soft and fragrant flames of precious oils
In moons of purple glass

Ranged on the fretted woodwork to the ground.
Thus her intense untold delight,
In deep or vivid colour, smell and sound,
Was nattered day and night. [A]

[Sub-Footnote A: If the poem were not already too long, I should
have inserted in the text the following stanzas, expressive of the
joy wherewith the soul contemplated the results of astronomical
experiment.
In the centre of the four quadrangles rose an immense
tower.

Hither, when all the deep unsounded skies
Shuddered with silent stars she clomb,
And as with optic glasses her keen eyes
Pierced thro' the mystic dome,

Regions of lucid matter taking forms,
Brushes of fire, hazy gleams,
Clusters and beds of worlds, and bee-like swarms
Of suns, and starry streams.

She saw the snowy poles of moonless Mars,
That marvellous round of milky light
Below Orion, and those double stars
Whereof the one more bright

Is circled by the other, etc. ]



[Footnote 30: Thus in 1833:--

And many more, that in their lifetime were
Full-welling fountain heads of change,
Between the stone shafts glimmered, blazoned fair
In divers raiment strange. ]

[Footnote 31: The statue of Memnon near Thebes in Egypt when first
struck by the rays of the rising sun is said to have become vocal, to
have emitted responsive sounds. See for an account of this 'Pausanias',
i. , 42; Tacitus, 'Annals', ii. , 61; and Juvenal, 'Sat. ', xv. , 5:

"Dimidio magicae resonant ubi Memnone Chordae,"

and compare Akenside's verses,
'Plea. of Imag. ', i. , 109-113:--

Old Memnon's image, long renown'd
By fabling Nilus: to the quivering touch
Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Consenting, sounded thro' the warbling air
Unbidden strains. ]


[Footnote 32: 1833. O'. ]

[Footnote 33: Here added in 1842 and remaining till 1851 when they were
excised are two stanzas:--

"From shape to shape at first within the womb
The brain is modell'd," she began,
"And thro' all phases of all thought I come
Into the perfect man.

"All nature widens upward. Evermore
The simpler essence lower lies:
More complex is more perfect, owning more
Discourse, more widely wise. "]


[Footnote 34: These stanzas were added in 1851. ]

[Footnote 35: Added in
1842, with the following variants which remained till 1851, when the
present text was substituted:--

"I take possession of men's minds and deeds.
I live in all things great and small.
I sit apart holding no forms of creeds,
But contemplating all. "]


[Footnote 36: 1833. Sometimes. ]

[Footnote 37:

And intellectual throne
Of full-sphered contemplation. So three years
She throve, but on the fourth she fell.

And so the text remained till 1850, when the present
reading was substituted. ]


[Footnote 38: For the reference to Herod see
'Acts' xii. 21-23. ]

[Footnote 39: Cf. Hallam's 'Remains', p.
132: "That, i. e. Redemption," is in the power of God's election with
whom alone rest 'the abysmal secrets of personality'. ]

[Footnote 40:
See 'Daniel' v. 24-27. ]

[Footnote 41: In 1833 the following stanza,
excised in 1842:--

"Who hath drawn dry the fountains of delight,
That from my deep heart everywhere
Moved in my blood and dwelt, as power and might
Abode in Sampson's hair? "]


[Footnote 42: 1833. Downward-sloping. ]

[Footnote 43: 1833.

Or the sound
Of stones.

So till 1851, when "a sound of rocks" was substituted. ]


[Footnote 44: 1833. "Dying the death I die? " Present reading substituted
in 1842. ]

[Footnote 45: Because intellectual and aesthetic pleasures are
'abused' and their purpose and scope mistaken, there is no reason
why they should not be enjoyed. See the allegory in 'In Memoriam',
ciii. , stanzas 12-13. ]









LADY CLARA VERE DE VERE

Though this is placed among the poems published in 1833 it first
appeared in print in 1842. The subsequent alterations were very slight,
and after 1848 none at all were made.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Of me you shall not win renown:
You thought to break a country heart
For pastime, ere you went to town.
At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
I saw the snare, and I retired:
The daughter of a hundred Earls,
You are not one to be desired.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
I know you proud to bear your name,
Your pride is yet no mate for mine,
Too proud to care from whence I came.
Nor would I break for your sweet sake
A heart that doats on truer charms.
A simple maiden in her flower
Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
Some meeker pupil you must find,
For were you queen of all that is,
I could not stoop to such a mind.
You sought to prove how I could love,
And my disdain is my reply.
The lion on your old stone gates
Is not more cold to you than I.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You put strange memories in my head.
Not thrice your branching limes have blown
Since I beheld young Laurence dead.
Oh your sweet eyes, your low replies:
A great enchantress you may be;
But there was that across his throat
Which you hardly cared to see.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
When thus he met his mother's view,
She had the passions of her kind,
She spake some certain truths of you.

Indeed I heard one bitter word
That scarce is fit for you to hear;
Her manners had not that repose
Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
There stands a spectre in your hall:
The guilt of blood is at your door:
You changed a wholesome heart to gall.
You held your course without remorse,
To make him trust his modest worth,
And, last, you fix'd a vacant stare,
And slew him with your noble birth.

Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
From yon blue heavens above us bent
The grand old gardener and his wife [1]
Smile at the claims of long descent.
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good.
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.

I know you, Clara Vere de Vere:
You pine among your halls and towers:
The languid light of your proud eyes
Is wearied of the rolling hours.
In glowing health, with boundless wealth,
But sickening of a vague disease,
You know so ill to deal with time,
You needs must play such pranks as these.

Clara, Clara Vere de Vere,
If Time be heavy on your hands,
Are there no beggars at your gate,
Nor any poor about your lands?
Oh! teach the orphan-boy to read,
Or teach the orphan-girl to sew,
Pray Heaven for a human heart,
And let the foolish yoeman go.


[Footnote 1: 1842 and 1843. "The gardener Adam and his wife. " In 1845 it
was altered to the present text. ]






THE MAY QUEEN

The first two parts were first published in 1833.

The scenery is typical of Lincolnshire; in Fitzgerald's phrase, it is
all Lincolnshire inland, as 'Locksley Hall' is seaboard.

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad [1] New-year;
Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day;
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;
There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline:
But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say,
So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,
If you [2] do not call me loud when the day begins to break:
But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see,
But Robin [3] leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree?
He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,--
But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white,
And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.
They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be:
They say his heart is breaking, mother--what is that to me?
There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,
And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen;
For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;
And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows gray,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night-winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass,
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;
There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day,
And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still,
And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill,
And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,
To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year:
To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the maddest merriest day,
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.


[Footnote 1: 1833. "Blythe" for "glad". ]

[Footnote 2: 1883. Ye. ]

[Footnote 3: 1842. Robert. This is a curious illustration of Tennyson's
scrupulousness about trifles: in 1833 it was "Robin," in 1842 "Robert,"
then in 1843 and afterwards he returned to "Robin". ]





NEW-YEAR'S EVE

If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear,
For I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year.
It is the last New-year that I shall ever see,
Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind
The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;
And the New-year's coming up, mother, but I shall never see
The blossom on [1] the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day;
Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May;
And we danced about the may-pole and in the hazel copse,
Till Charles's Wain came out above the tall white chimney-tops.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane:
I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:
I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high:
I long to see a flower so before the day I die.

The building rook'll caw from the windy tall elm-tree,
And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea,
And the swallow'll come back again with summer o'er the wave.
But I shall lie alone, mother, within the mouldering grave.

Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine,
In the early, early morning the summer sun'll shine,
Before the red cock crows from the farm upon the hill,
When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still.

When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light
You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night;
When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool
On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool.

You'll bury me, [2] my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade,
And you'll come [3] sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid.
I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass,[4]
With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive [5] me now;
You'll kiss me, my own mother, and forgive me ere I go; [6]
Nay, nay, you must not weep, [7] nor let your grief be wild,
You should not fret for me, mother, you [8] have another child.

If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place;
Tho' you'll [9] not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face;
Tho' I cannot speak a word, 1 shall harken what you [10] say,
And be often, often with you when you think [11] I'm far away.

Good-night, good-night, when I have said good-night for evermore,
And you [12] see me carried out from the threshold of the door;
Don't let Effie come to see me till my grave be growing green:
She'll be a better child to you than ever I have been.

She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor:
Let her take 'em: they are hers: I shall never garden more:
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set
About the parlour-window and the box of mignonette.

Good-night, sweet mother: call me before the day is born. [13]
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New-year,
So, if your waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.


[Footnote 1: 1833. The may upon. ]

[Footnote 2: 1833. Ye'll bury me. ]

[Footnote 3: 1833. And ye'll come. ]

[Footnote 4: 1833. I shall not forget ye, mother, I shall hear ye when
ye pass. ]

[Footnote 5: 1833. But ye'll forgive. ]

[Footnote 6: 1833. Ye'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow.
1850. And foregive me ere I go. ]

[Footnote 7: 1833. Ye must not weep. ]

[Footnote 8: 1833. Ye . . . ye. ]

[Footnote 9: 1833. Ye'll. ]

[Footnote 10: 1833. Ye. ]

[Footnote 11: 1833. Ye when ye think. ]

[Footnote 12: 1833. Ye. ]

[Footnote 13: 1833. Call me when it begins to dawn. 1842. Before the day
is born. ]




CONCLUSION

Added in 1842.

I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am;
And in the fields all round I hear the bleating of the lamb.
How sadly, I remember, rose the morning of the year!
To die before the snowdrop came, and now the violet's here.

O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies,
And sweeter is the young lamb's voice to me that cannot rise,
And sweet is all the land about, and all the flowers that blow,
And sweeter far is death than life to me that long to go.

It seem'd so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun,
And now it seems as hard to stay, and yet His will be done!
But still I think it can't be long before I find release;
And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. [1]

O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair!
And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there!
O blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head!
A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed.

He taught me all the mercy, for he show'd [2] me all the sin.
Now, tho' my lamp was lighted late, there's One will let me in:
Nor would I now be well, mother, again, if that could be,
For my desire is but to pass to Him that died for me.

I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat,
There came a sweeter token when the night and morning meet:
But sit beside my bed, mother, and put your hand in mine,
And Effie on the other side, and I will tell the sign.

All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call;
It was when the moon was setting, and the dark was over all;
The trees began to whisper, and the wind began to roll,
And in the wild March-morning I heard them call my soul.

For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear;
I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here;
With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd,
And up the valley came a swell of music on the wind.

I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed,
And then did something speak to me--I know not what was said;
For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind,
And up the valley came again the music on the wind.

But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them: it's mine".
And if it comes [3] three times, I thought, I take it for a sign.
And once again it came, and close beside the window-bars,
Then seem'd to go right up to Heaven and die among the stars.

So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know
The blessed music went that way my soul will have to go.
And for myself, indeed, I care not if I go to-day.
But, Effie, you must comfort _her_ when I am past away.

And say to Robin [4] a kind word, and tell him not to fret;
There's many worthier than I, would make him happy yet.
If I had lived--I cannot tell--I might have been his wife;
But all these things have ceased to be, with my desire of life.

O look! the sun begins to rise, the heavens are in a glow;
He shines upon a hundred fields, and all of them I know.
And there I move no longer now, and there his light may shine--
Wild flowers in the valley for other hands than mine.

O sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done
The voice, that now is speaking, may be beyond the sun--
For ever and for ever with those just souls and true--
And what is life, that we should moan? why make we such ado?

For ever and for ever, all in a blessed home--
And there to wait a little while till you and Effie come--
To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast--
And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.



[Footnote 1: 1842.

But still it can't be long, mother, before I find release;
And that good man, the clergyman, he preaches words of peace.

Present reading 1843. ]


[Footnote 2: 1842-1848.

He show'd me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin.
Now, though, etc.

1850. For show'd he me all the sin. ]


[Footnote 3: 1889. Come. ]

[Footnote 4: 1842. Robert. 1843. Robin restored. ]






THE LOTOS-EATERS

First published in 1833, but when republished in 1842 the alterations in
the way of excision, alteration, and addition were very extensive. The
text of 1842 is practically the final text. This charming poem is
founded on 'Odyssey', ix. , 82 'seq. '

"On the tenth day we set foot on the land of the lotos-eaters who eat
a flowery food.