The Works of Alfred Lord Tennyson, Poet Laureate

She comes from another stiller world of Then to strike him and lay him low,

the dead,

Stiller, not fairer than mine.

VIII.

But I know where a garden grows,
Fairer than aught in the world beside,
All made up of the lily and rose

That blow by night, when the season is
good,

To the sound of dancing music and flutes:
It is only flowers, they had no fruits,
And I almost fear they are not roses, but
blood;

For the keeper was one, so full of pride,
He linkt a dead man there to a spectral
bride;

For he, if he had not been a Sultan of brutes,

Would he have that hole in his side?

That were a public merit, far,
Whatever the Quaker holds, from sin;
But the red life spilt for a private blow—
I swear to you, lawful and lawless war
Are scarcely even akin.

XI.

O me, why have they not buried me deep enough?

Is it kind to have made me a grave so
rough,

Me, that was never a quiet sleeper?
Maybe still I am but half-dead;
Then I cannot be wholly dumb;

I will cry to the steps above my head
And somebody, surely, some kind heart
will come

To bury me, bury me
Deeper, ever so little deeper.

PART III.

VI.

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.

II.

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 his 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.

III.

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.

IV.

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 wrath 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 peace, that I deem'd no 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.

Let it flame or fade, and the war roll down like a wind,
We have proved we have hearts in a case, we are noble still,
And myself have awaked, as it seems, to the better mind;
It is better to fight for the good than to rail at the ill;
I have felt with my native land, I am one with my kind,
I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assign'd.

THESE to His Memory--since he held | Before a thousand peering littlenesses,

In that fierce light which beats upon a

throne,

And blackens every blot: for where is he,
Who dares foreshadow for an only son
A lovelier life, a more unstain'd, than his?
Or how should England dreaming of his

sons

Hope more for these than some inheritance Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine, Thou noble Father of her Kings to be, Laborious for her people and her poorVoice in the rich dawn of an ampler dayFar-sighted summoner of War and Waste To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peaceSweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art, Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed, Beyond all titles, and a household name, Hereafter, thro' all times, Albert the Good.

Break not, O woman's-heart, but still

endure;

Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure, Remembering all the beauty of that star Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made

One light together, but has past and leaves The Crown a lonely splendour.

May all love, His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee, The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee, The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee, The love of all Thy people comfort Thee, Till God's love set Thee at his side again!

THE COMING OF ARTHUR.

LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard, Had one fair daughter, and none other child;

And she was fairest of all flesh on earth, Guinevere, and in her his one delight.

For many a petty king ere Arthur came Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war Each upon other, wasted all the land; And still from time to time the heathen host

Swarm'd overseas, and harried what was

left.

And so there grew great tracts of wilder

ness,

Wherein the beast was ever more and

more,

To human sucklings; and the children, housed

In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,

And mock their foster-mother on four feet, Till, straighten'd, they grew up to wolflike men,

Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran

Groan'd for the Roman legions here again, And Cæsar's eagle: then his brother king, Urien, assail'd him: last a heathen horde, Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood,

And on the spike that split the mother's heart

But man was less and less, till Arthur Spitting the child, brake on him, till,

came.

For first Aurelius lived and fought and

died,

And after him King Uther fought and died, But either fail'd to make the kingdom

one.

And after these King Arthur for a space, And thro' the puissance of his Table Round,

Drew all their petty princedoms under him,

Their king and head, and made a realm,

and reign'd.

And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,

Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,

And none or few to scare or chase the beast;

So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear

Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,

And wallow'd in the gardens of the King. And ever and anon the wolf would steal The children and devour, but now and

then,

Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat

amazed,

He knew not whither he should turn for aid.

But for he heard of Arthur newly crown'd,

Tho' not without an uproar made by those Who cried, 'He is not Uther's son '-the King

Sent to him, saying, 'Arise, and help us thou!

For here between the man and beast we die.'

And Arthur yet had done no deed of

arms,

But heard the call, and came: and Guinevere

Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass;

But since he neither wore on helm or shield

The golden symbol of his kinglihood,
But rode a simple knight among his

knights,

And many of these in richer arms than he, She saw him not, or mark'd not, if she

saw,

One among many, tho' his face was bare. But Arthur, looking downward as he past, Felt the light of her eyes into his life

Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitch'd

His tents beside the forest. Then he drave

The heathen; after, slew the beast, and fell'd

Victor and lord. her,

But were I join'd with

Then might we live together as one life, And reigning with one will in everything Have power on this dark land to lighten it,

The forest, letting in the sun, and made And power on this dead world to make Broad pathways for the hunter and the

knight

And so return'd.

For while he linger'd there, A doubt that ever smoulder'd in the hearts Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm

it live.'

Thereafter-as he speaks who tells the tale

When Arthur reach'd a field-of-battle bright

With pitch'd pavilions of his foe, the world

Flash'd forth and into war: for most of Was all so clear about him, that he saw

King Uther's son? for lo! we look at him, And shouts, and clarions shrilling unto And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor

voice,

Are like to those of Uther whom we knew.

blood,

The long-lanced battle let their horses

run.

This is the son of Gorloïs, not the King; And now the Barons and the kings preThis is the son of Anton, not the King.'

And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt

Travail, and throes and agonies of the life, Desiring to be join'd with Guinevere ; And thinking as he rode, 'Her father said That there between the man and beast they die.

Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts Up to my throne, and side by side with me?

What happiness to reign a lonely king, Vext O ye stars that shudder over me, O earth that soundest hollow under me, Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be

join'd

To her that is the fairest under heaven,
I seem as nothing in the mighty world,
And cannot will my will, nor work my
work

Wholly, nor make myself in mine own

realm

vail'd,

And now the King, as here and there that war

Went swaying; but the Powers who walk the world

Made lightnings and great thunders over him,

And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might,

And mightier of his hands with every blow,

And leading all his knighthood threw the kings

Carádos, Urien, Cradlemont of Wales, Claudias, and Clariance of Northumber

land,

The King Brandagoras of Latangor, With Anguisant of Erin, Morganore, And Lot of Orkney. Then, before a voice As dreadful as the shout of one who sees To one who sins, and deems himself alone And all the world asleep, they swerved and brake

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