The Poetical Works of Alfred Tennyson

With one brief winter, and indue i' the spring

Hues of fresh youth, and mightily outgrow

Than wan dark coil of faded suffering

Forth in the pride of beauty issuing A sheeny snake, the light of vernal bowers,

Moving his crest to all sweet plots of flowers

And watered valleys where the young

birds sing; Could I thus hope my lost delight's renewing,

I straightly would command the tears

to creep From my charged lids; but inwardly I

weep;

SONNET.

THOUGH Night hath climbed her peak And bitter blasts the screaming autumn of highest noon,

whirl,

All night through archways of the bridged pearl,

And portals of pure silver, walks the

moon.

Walk on, my soul, nor crouch to

agony,

Turn cloud to light, and bitterness to joy,

And dross to gold with glorious alchemy,

Basing thy throne above the world's

annoy.

Reign thou above the storms of sorrow and ruth

That roar beneath; unshaken peace

hath won thee;

So shalt thou pierce the woven glooms of truth;

So shall the blessing of the meek be on thee;

So in thine hour of dawn, the body's youth,

An honorable eld shall come upon thee.

SONNET.

SHALL the hag Evil die with child of Good,

Or propagate again her loathéd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind,

Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood,

Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?

O that the wind which bloweth cold or heat

Would shatter and o'erbear the brazen beat

Of their broad vans, and in the solitude Of middle space confound them, and blow back

Their wild cries down their cavern

throats, and slake

With points of blast-borne hail their heated eyne!

So their wan limbs no more might come between

The moon and the moon's reflex in the night,

LOVE. I.

THOU, from the first, unborn, undying love,

Albeit we gaze not on thy glories near, Before the face of God didst breathe and move,

Though night and pain and ruin and death reign here.

Thou foldest, like a golden atmosphere, The very throne of the eternal God: Passing through thee the edicts of his fear

Are mellowed into music, borne abroad Nor blot with floating shades the solar By the loud winds, though they uprend light.

SONNET.

THE pallid thunder-stricken sigh for gain,

Down an ideal stream they ever float, And sailing on Pactolus in a boat, Drown soul and sense, while wistfully they strain

Weak eyes upon the glistening sands that robe

The understream. The wise, could he behold

Cathedraled caverns of thick-ribbéd gold

And branching silvers of the central globe,

Would marvel from so beautiful a sight

How scorn and ruin, pain and hate could flow:

But Hatred in a gold cave sits below; Pleached with her hair, in mail of argent light

Shot into gold, a snake her forehead clips,

And skins the color from her trembling lips.

the sea,

Even from its central deeps: thine

III.

And now-methinks I gaze upon thee

now,

As on a serpent in his agonies Awe-stricken Indians; what time laid low

And crushing the thick fragrant reeds he lies,

When the new year warm-breathed on the Earth,

Waiting to light him with her purple skies,

Calls to him by the fountain to uprise. Already with the pangs of a new birth Strain the hot spheres of his convulséd eyes,

And in his writhings awful hues begin To wander down his sable-sheeny sides, Like light on troubled waters: from within

Anon he rusheth forth with merry din, And in him light and joy and strength abides;

And from his brows a crown of living light Looks through the thick-stemmed woods by day and night.

For where is the heart and strength of slaves?

Oh! where is the strength of slaves? He is weak! we are strong: he a slave, we are free;

Come along! we will dig their graves.

CHO-Shout for England! etc.

There standeth our ancient enemy; Will he dare to battle with the free?

Spur along! spur amain! charge to the fight:

Charge! charge to the fight! Hold up the Lion of England on high! Shout for God and our right!

CHO.-Shout for England! etc.

NATIONAL SONG.

THERE is no land like England

Where'er the light of day be; There are no hearts like English hearts,

Such hearts of oak as they be. There is no land like England Where'er the light of day be; There are no men like Englishmen, So tall and bold as they be.

CHORUS.

For the French the Pope may shrive 'em
For the devil a whit we heed 'em :
As for the French, God speed 'em
Unto their heart's desire,
And the merry devil drive 'em
Through the water and the fire.

FULL CHORUS.

Our glory is our freedom, We lord it o'er the sea; We are the sons of freedom, We are free.

There is no land like England,

Where'er the light of day be; There are no wives like English wives, So fair and chaste as they be.

Hum a lovelay to the west-wind at
noontide

Both alike, they buzz together,
Both alike, they hum together,
Through and through the flowered
heather.

Where in a creeping cove the wave unshocked

'Lays itself calm and wide Over a stream two birds of glancing feather

Do woo each other, carolling
together

Both alike, they glide together,
Side by side;

Both alike, they sing together, Arching blue-glosséd necks beneath the purple weather

Two children lovelier than Love adown the lea are singing

As they gambol, lily-garlands ever stringing:

Both inblosm white silk are frockéd :
Like, unlike, they roam together
Under a summer vault of golden
weather:

Like, unlike, they sing together
Side by side,

Mid May's darling golden locked.
Summer's tanling diamond eyed.

WE ARE FREE.

THE winds, as at their hour of birth, Leaning upon the wingéd sea, Breathed low around the rolling earth

With mellow preludes, "We are free."

Whither

SONG.

away,

whither

whither away, away? Fly no more: Whither away wi' the singing sail? whither away wi' the oar?

Whither away from the high green field

and the happy blossoming shore?
Weary mariners, hither away,
One and all, one and all,
Weary mariners, come and play;
We will sing to you all the day;

Furl the sail and the foam will fall
From the prow! One and all
Furl the sail! Drop the oar !
Leap ashore,

Know danger and trouble and toil no