The Poetical Works of Alfred Tennyson. Complete Edition. New York: T. The dramatic works in 4 vols. Pocket Edition, without the plays. Tennyson for the Young , i vol. With introduction and notes by Alfred Ainger, reprinted six times between this date and This contains the poems and illustrations of the Illustrated Edition published in The People's Edition.
Edition de Luxe. Poetical Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Globe Edition. This Edition was supplied to Messrs. Warne and published by them as the Albion Edition. Even when they rose to cheek or to repel Tides of aggressive war, oft served as well Greedy ambition, armed to treat with scorn Just limits; but yon Tower, whose smiles adorn This perilous bay, stands clear of all offence; Blest work it is of love and innocence, A Tower of refuge built for the else forlorn. Spare it, ye waves, and lift the mariner, Struggling for life. Spare, too, the human helpers! Do they stir 'Mid your fierce shook like men afraid to die?
WHY stand we gazing on the sparkling Brine, With wonder emit by its transparency, And all-enraptured with its purity? Scarcely the hand forbears to dip its palm For beverage drawn as from a mountain well. Temptation centres in the liquid Calm; Our daily raiment, seems no obstacle To instantaneous plunging in deep Sea! And revelling in long embrace with thee 1. A YOUTH too certain of his power to wade On the smooth bottom of this clear bright sea, To sight so shallow, with a bather's glee, Leapt from this rock, and but for timely aid He by the alluring element betrayed, Had perished.
Then might Sea-nymphs and with sighs Of self-reproach have chanted elegies Bewailing his sad fate, when he was laid In peaceful earth. DID Pangs of grief for lenient time too keen, Grief that devouring waves had caused or guilt Which they had witnessed, sway the man who built This Homestead, placed where nothing could be seen, Nought heard, of ocean troubled or serene? A tired Ship-soldier on paternal land, That o'er the channel holds august command, The dwelling raised,-a veteran Marine.
He, in disgust, turned from the neighbouring sea To shun the memory of a listless life That hung between two callings;. May no strife More hurtful here beset him, doomed though free, Self-doomed, to worse inaction, till his eye Shrink from the daily sight of earth and sky! From early youth I ploughed the restless Main My mind as restless and as apt to change; Through every clime and ocean did I range, In hope at length a competence to gain; For poor to Sea I went and poor I remain.
Year after year I strove, but strove in And hardships manifold did I endure, For Fortune on me never deigned to smile; Yet I at last a resting-place have found With just enough life's comforts to procure, In a snug Cove on this our favoured Isle. Broken in fortune, but in mind entire And sound in principle, I seek repose Where ancient trees this convent-pile enclose 2 , In ruin beautiful. When vain desire Intrudes on peace, I pray the eternal Sire To Cast a soul-subduing shade on me, A grey-haired, pensive, thankful Refugee A shade--but with some sparks of heavenly fire Once to these cells vouchsafed.
And when I note The old Towers brow yellowed as with the beams Of sunset ever there,.
ONCE on the top of Tynwald's formal mound Still marked with green turf circles narrowing Stage above stage would sit this Island's King, The laws to Promulgate, enrobed and crowned; While, compassing the little mound around, Degrees and Orders stood, each under each: Now, like to things within fate's easiest reach, The power is merged, the pomp a grave has found. Learn from thy course, where'er their own be taken, 'To look on tempests, and be never shaken;' To keep with faithful step the appointed way Eclipsing or eclipsed, by night or day, And from example of thy monthly range Gently to brook decline and fatal change; Meek, patient, stedfast, and with loftier scope, Than thy revival yields, for gladsome hope!
Adieu, Rydalian Laurels! War should the Enthusiast, journeying through this Isle. Repine as if his hour were come too late? Not unprotected in her mouldering state, Antiquity salutes him with a smile, Mid fruitful fields that ring with jocund toil, And pleasure-grounds where Taste, refined Co-mate. They called Thee Merry England, in old time;. A happy people won for thee that name. And, spite of change, for me thou keep'st the same.
To the heart's fond belief; though some there are. Forbid it, Heaven! Greta, what fearful listening! Among the mountains were we nursed, loved Stream!
A Point of life between my Parents' dust, And yours, my buried Little-ones! Death to the innocent is more than just, And, to the sinner, mercifully bent; So may I hope, if truly I repent And meekly bear the ills which bear I must: And You, my Offspring!
Erewhile a sterner link United us; when thou, in boyish play, Entering my dungeon, didst become a prey To soul-appalling darkness. Not a blink Of light was there;—and thus did I, thy Tutor, Make thy young thoughts acquainted with the grave; While thou wert chasing the wing'd butterfly Throughmygreencourts; orclimbing,a bold suitor, Up to the flowers whose golden progeny Still round my shattered brow in beauty wave. Pastor and PatriotI-- at whose bidding rise These modest walls, amid a flock that need, For one who comes to watch them and to feed, A fixed Abode—keep down presageful sighs.
Threats, which the unthinking only can despise, Perplex the Church; but be thou firms —be true To thy first hope, and this good work pursue, Poor as thou art. A welcome sacrifice Dost Thou prepare, whose sign will be the smoke Of thy new hearth; and sooner shall its wreaths, Mountingwhileearth hermorning incense breathes, From wandering fiends of air receive a yoke, And straightway cease to aspire, than God disdain This humble tribute as ill-timed or vain.
Dear to the Loves, and to the Graces vowed, The Queen drew back the wimple that she wore; And to the throng, that on the Cumbrian shore Her landing hailed, how touchingly she bowed! And like a Star that, from a heavy cloud Of pine-tree foliage poised in air, forth darts, When a soft summer gale at evening parts The gloom that did its loveliness enshroud She smiled; but Time, the old Saturnian seer, Sighed on the wing as her foot pressed the strand, With step prelusive to a long array Of woes and degradations hand in hand— Weeping captivity, and shuddering fear Stilled by the ensanguined block of Fotheringay!
This independence upon oar and sail, This new indifference to breeze or gale, This straight-lined progress, furrowing a flat lea, And regular as if locked in certainty— Depress the hours. Up, Spirit of the storm!
That Courage may find something to perform; That Fortitude, whose blood disdains to freeze At Danger's bidding, may confront the seas, Firm as the towering Headlands of St. Dread cliff of Baruth! Yet, while each useful Art augments her store, What boots the gain if Nature should lose more! And Wisdom, as she holds a Christian place In man's intelligence sublimed by grace!