66 FOR THERE WAS MILTON LIKE A SERAPH STRONG, -(TENNYSON)

Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were
In the parliament of man, in the federation of the world. [furled
There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.

[From "Locksley Hall."-This "grand prophetic passage" is said to
have won for the poet the respect and admiration of the late Sir Robert
Peel. "Locksley Hall,'" says Brimley, "is a grand hymn of human
progress, in which the discoveries of science, the inventions of art, the order
and movement of society, the sublime hopes and beliefs of religion, blend
in a magnificent vision of the age, and are sung with the rapture of a poet
to the noblest music."]

"AFTER-LOVES OF MAIDS AND MEN ARE BUT DAINTIES DREST AGAIN."-ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE THREE GODDESSES.

[Enone is a shepherdess in love with Paris, the beautiful son of Priam, king of Troy. The three goddesses, Juno, Minerva, and Venus-or Power, Wisdom, and Beauty-having disputed to whom the prize of loveliness, a golden apple, should be given, refer the decision to Paris. The appearance of the goddesses is thus described by Enone. Mount Ida is situated in the island of Crete.]

HERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier

Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.

The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,
And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand
The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down
Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars
The long brook falling through the clov'n ravine
In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Behind the valley topmost Gargarus

Stands up and takes the morning; but in front
The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
Troas and Ilion's columned citadel,

The crown of Troas.

Hither came at noon

Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn

Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.
Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck

BESIDE HIM SHAKESPEARE BLAND AND MILD."-TENNYSON.

"I THINK YOU HARDLY KNOW THE TENDER RHYME OF TRUST ME NOT AT ALL, OR ALL IN ALL." "IBID.

"TEARS FROM THE DEPTH OF SOME DIVINE DESPAIR RISE IN THE HEART, AND GATHER TO THE EYES,-(TENNYSON)

TEARS, Idle TEARS, I KNOW NOT WHAT THEY MEAN."-TENNYSON.

THE THREE GODDESSES.

Floated her hair or seemed to float in rest.
She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,
Sang to the stillness, till the mountain shade

Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud

Had lost his way between the piney sides
Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came,

Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower,
And at their feet the crocus brake like fire,
Violet, amaracus, and asphodel,
Lotos and lilies: and a wind arose,

And overhead the wandering ivy and vine,
This way and that, in many a wild festoon
Ran riot, garlanding the gnarlèd boughs

465

With bunch and berry and flower through and through.

O mother Ida, harken ere I die.
On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit,

And o'er him flowed a golden cloud, and leaned
Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew.
Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom
Coming through Heaven, like a light that grows
Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods
Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made
Proffer of royal power, ample rule
Unquestioned, overflowing revenue

Wherewith to embellish state, "from many a vale
And river-sundered champaign clothed with corn,
Or laboured mines undrainable of ore.
Honour," she said, "and homage, tax and toll,
From many an inland town and haven large,
Mast-thronged beneath her shadowing citadel,

In glassy bays among her tallest towers."

"MAN DREAMS OF FAME WHILE WOMAN WAKES TO LOVE."-TENNYSON.

32

IN LOOKING ON THE HAPPY AUTUMN FIELDS, AND THINKING OF THE DAYS THAT ARE NO MORE."-TENNYSON.

AND EVER WIDENING SLOWLY SILENCE ALL. THE LITTLE RIFT WITHIN THE LOVER'S LUTE,-(TENNYSON)

466

IT IS THE LITTLE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE,

ALFRED TENNYSON.

O mother Ida, harken ere I die :

Still she spake on, and still she spake of power,

"Which in all action is the end of all;

Power fitted to the season; wisdom-bred
And throned of wisdom-from all neighbour crowns

Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand

Fail from the sceptre staff. Such boon from me,
From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee king-born,
A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born,
Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power
Only, are likest gods, who have attained
Rest in a happy place and quiet seats
Above the thunder, with undying bliss
In knowledge of their own supremacy."

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit
Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power
Flattered his spirit; but Pallas, where she stood
Somewhat apart, her clear and barèd limbs
O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear
Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold,
The while, above, her full and earnest eye
Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek
Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply:

"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,
These three alone lead life to sovereign power.
Yet not for power (power of herself
Would come uncalled for), but to live by law,
Acting the law we live by without fear;
And, because right is right, to follow right
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence."

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

THAT BY-AND-BY WILL MAKE THE MUSIC MUTE,

OR LITTLE PITTED SPECK IN GARNERED FRUIT, THAT ROTTING INWARD SLOWLY MOULDERS ALL."-TENNYSON.

"BUT ANY MAN THAT WALKS THE MEAD, IN BUD, OR BLADE, OR BLOOM, MAY FIND,

MUSING ON THE LITTLE LIVES OF MEN, (ALFRED TENNYSON)

And Paris pondered, and I cried, "O Paris,
Give it to Pallas!" but he heard me not,
Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida,
Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
Idalian Aphrodite beautiful,

Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,
With rosy slender fingers backward drew
From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair
Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat
And shoulder: from the violets her light foot
Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form
Between the shadows of the vine-bunches
Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved.

Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes,

AND HOW THEY MAR THIS LITTLE BY THEIR FEUDS."-TENNYSON.

ACCORDING AS HIS HUMOURS LEAD, A MEANING SUITED TO HIS MIND."-TENNYSON.

467

"IS IT SO TRUE THAT SECOND THOUGHTS ARE BEST?-(TENNYSON)

The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh,
Half-whispered in his ear, "I promise thee
The fairest and most loving wife in Greece,"

She spoke and laughed: I shut my sight for fear
But when I looked, Paris had raised his arm,
And I beheld great Herè's angry eyes,
As she withdrew into the golden cloud,
And I was left alone within the bower;
And from that time to this I am alone,
And I shall be alone until I die.

;

[From "Poems," library edition, 1872.-"Enone' is akin in spirit to Keats's 'Endymion' and 'Hyperion'; but its verse is more majestic, and its luxuriant pictorial richness more controlled by definite conception, more articulated by fine drawing, than even the latter and greater of Keats's two poems. Gorgeous mountain and figure-painting stand here as the predominant aim, as clearly as in any picture by Titian or Turner; only poetry will not lose her prerogative of speech, and will paint her mountains and her figures in a medium of passion to which the artist upon canvas vainly aspires. Round Ida and its valleys, round Troas and its windy citadel, Enone can pour the enchantment of her memories of love and grief. To her come the naked goddesses-painted as Rubens could not paint them: life, motion, and floating lights-utter celestial music, and grand thoughts ally themselves with splendid pictures."-GEORGE BRIMLEY.]

"OH, TO WHAT USES SHALL WE PUT THE WILDWEED-FLOWER THAT SIMPLY BLOWS?

AND IS THERE ANY MORAL SHUT WITHIN THE BOSOM OF THE ROSE?"-TENNYSON.

B

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.

REAK, break, break,

On the cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

NOT FIRST, AND THIRD, WHICH ARE A RIPER FIRST?"-TENNYSON.