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Tenayson. A PAPER RRAD BEFORE THE EPWORTH LEAGUE BY MR. HENRY SMITH, JR. A few days ago all that was mortal of the immortal Tennyson was laid to rest |in Westminster Abbey, that burial place of

‘England’s kings, and warriors, and poets | Phere now like a king in atate he lies, with

Spencer,and Milton,and Rare Ben Johnson,

/ and all the glorieus cxmpany of the poets | that occupy grand old abbey.

“Poets Corner” in the

The tribute paid by Tennyson to England's greatest warrior, may now, with peculiar appropriateness, be paplied to the poet hijpeself :

the

“On God, and (God-like men we build our trust, Hush, the Dead March wails ia the people's eare: The derk crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears ; The biack earth yawns; the mortal dis. appears ;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

He is gone who seemed so great—

Gone ; but nothing can bereave him

Of the force he made his own

Being here, and we believe him

Something far advanced in State,

And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave him.”

Tennyson is dead, but he has left to the English-speaking people of all lands a rich legacy; the works ‘* of himthat uttered noth- ing base.” Those,therefore, who wish to form an acquaintance with this truly great man may do so by studying the poems he has thus bequeathed to them.

Tennyson began his career in 1829, when as an undergraduate of Trinity College, Cambridge, he won the Chan- cellur'a medal for a poem on Timbucto. When his first volums appeared, in 1830, the critics of the day set up a cry of affect- ation, and scarcely one of them seemed willing to recognize in him a poet. Two years later he published a secood volume, which contained, in addition to corrected reprints of some former poems, a number of new ones, showing a marked improve- ment both in style and thought. This, too, met with only an indiffsrent reception. He then waited ten years before he pub- lished another volume, and by that time England had learned to fully appreciate his genius, pathos and power. In 1833, just | asthe poet had begun his life’s work, a, great sorrow befel him. The companion of} his youth and bosom friend at college, one whom he loved dear as his life, died sud- denly at Vienna. Tennyson long refused to be comforted. Seventeen years after the death of his friend he published that beautiful group of poems—133 in all— which go to make up “In Mamoriam’’—a tribute to the memary of his dear dead friznd. Here in those chaste and pathetic stanzas he gives to the reader the pent up feelings of sorrow, which had for so many years saddened his life. Even at that late date he says :

**T sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief [ feel; For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within.

Bat for the unquiet heart and brain A use in measured language lies; ‘The sad mechanic exercise

Like dull narcotio’s numbing pain.

In words like weeds I'll wrap me o’er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; Bat that large grief which these enfold,

Is given in ontline and no more,”

‘In Memoriam” taken as a whole may be

—if not ‘his greatest. touch he draws a beautiful picture of his friend. It isa picture without a blemish, but it is a true one nevertheless, for he presents to the world the idea he has in his own mind of what that friend was. In his college days Tennyson met and mingled with numbers of the best young men of England, many of whom no doubt possess- ed rare talents in their respective spheres, but he saw no qualities in any of them equal to those possessed by his friend. His opinion of that friend, in comparison with his college mates, if fully brought out in the verses where he says ;

‘*T passed beside the reverend walls n which of old I wore the gown; I roved at random through the town And saw the tumult of the halls;

Where once we held debate, a band Of youthfal friends, on mind and art, And labor, and the changing mart, And all the framework of the land.

When one would aim an arrow fair, But send it slackly from the string, And one would piéree an outer ring

And one an inner here and there;

And \ast the master-bowmaa, he, Would cleave the mark Awilling ear We ient him. Who but huag to hear The rapt oration flowing free

From point to point with ;power and grace And music in the bounds of law, lo those conclusions when we saw

The God within him light his face,

And seem to lift the form, and glow In azure orbits beavenly-wise; And over those ethereal eyes

The bar of Michael Angelo.

This poem is not a mere obituary of the death of Arthur Hallum, Tennyscn’s friend. In it we find food for thought and reflec- tion, and an iucentive to assist us in many of the perplexing problems of life. The introduction to **In Memoriam” is one of the finest hymns in the English language. In it we find the grandest thoughts ex- pressed in simple Angio-Saxoa words, but so arranged as to make this prayer—for it is a prayer—thevery poetry of poetry. It touches upon some of the great questivas which aff-ct the present and future of our lives— such as the Fatherhood of Gud, the divin- ity of Christ, the immortality of the soul, the free agency of mar; and, above all, it

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shows asimple trust ia the providencs of

—a—

God. The whole poem sounds like. the strain of a noble anthem :

“Strong Son of God, immortal Love Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace Believing where we cannot prove.

Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou madest Life in man and brute; Thou madest Death; ani lo, thy foot

Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust; Thou madest man, he knows not why; He thinks he was not made to die;

And thou hast made him; thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood thou; Our wills are ours, w2 know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day: They have their day and cease to be; They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith; we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in da:kuess: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dweil; That mind and soul according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight; We mock thee when we do not fear; But help thy foolish oves to bear;

ee). thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

ive what seemed my sin in me; What seemed my worth since 1 began; Por merit lives from man to man, And not from man, O Lord, to thee.”

All through ‘‘In Memoriam” we find many of the great religious truths dis- cussed, which occupy the attention and stir the energies of so many of the thinkers of the present day.

‘*T held it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping stones

Of their dead selves to higher things.”

Here the poet teaches that we may, through our mistakes, inconsistancies and weaknesses, become better men and women than we would have been had we never known such failings, nor experienced such weaknesses. That is to say, that although

said to be one of Tennyson's greatest works | Here with loving |

mistakes are made, and failures experienced, (in trying to act our part in the sphere in | which we are found, the lesson taught and ‘the information obtained are valuable, and we have made more advancement than if we had done nething and made no mis- takes. Orit may mean the mistakes we make in our belief. We may have wrong views or erroneous opinions, which we honestly hold, but who will not say we are better men and women if we live our opinions in our lives rather than hide them because they are not popular. The apostle Paul was a nobler man and a grander character, because as Saul of Tarsus he lived an earnest, faithful life with the light he had. How often we find men honestly trying to find the light, who are looked upon as sceptics and unbelievers because they cannot see just as the majority do. One of the best men that it was my privi- lege to know, whose society was always a real pleasure and whose conversation was often an inspiration, was, in the truest sense of the word, an honest doubter. He lived an almost blamelees life, earnestly seeking to know the truth, and striving with all his noble manhood to live the views he held.

** You tell me doubt is Devil-born,

I know not; one indeed I knew Ip many a subtle question versed, Who touched a jarring lyre at first, But ever strove to make it true;

Perplexed in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, thanin half the creeds.

He fought his doubts and gathered strength, He would net make his judgement bliad; He faced the spectres of the mind

And laid them; thas he came at length

To find a stronger faith his own ; And Power was with him ia the night Which makes the darkness and the light, And dwells not in the light alone,

But in the darkness and the cloud,

As o’er Sinai’s peaks of old,

While Israel made their gods of gold, Although the trumpet blew so loud,

It must not, however, be understood from these selections that Tennyson does not re- cognize or appreciate the simple faith of the humblest christian. Iu this whole poem, which may be taken as a mental hie- tory of seventeen years of the poet’s own life, Tennyson shows that he is by no means narrow or bigoted. While he ap- preciates the views of the more advanced thinkers, and may permit the thought “that only good will be the final goal of ill,” he can see good in # religion which is one of unquestioned obedience to form He believes that such obedience is better than doubt, and that whether the belief be shrowded in mystery or be of the simplest form, if the heart be pure and the life be right, that religion is worthy of respect. He has no sympathy with those who feel so self sufficient in their own opinions that they have no regard for the opinions of others. Like all great men he treats with respect and even reverence, a true and honest life no matter in how humble a form it may manifest itself. How beauti- fully this idea is brought out where he Says :

O thou that after teil and storm May’st seem to have reached a purer air, Whose faith has centre everywhere

Nor cares to fix itself to form,

Leave thou thy sister when she prays, Her early heaven, her happy views ; Nor thon with shadowed hint confuse

A life that leads melodious days,

Her faith through form is pure as thine,

Her hands are quicker unto good,

O sacred be the flesh and blood To which ebe links a truth divine!

See thou, that countlest reeson ripe Ja holding by a law within Thou fail not in a world of sin,

And even want for such a type.

This whole poem is full of modern scien- tific thought, and like most of Tennyson’s other poems the ideas are expressed in simple but beautifully musical language.

I have taken up ** In Memoriam ” as one of the best of Tennyson’s longer poems. i can only mention some of the others. ** Idyils of the King ” is one of his greatest efforts, and if he had written nothing else it would have placed him among the first poets of his time. It includes the Dedica- tion, The Coming of Arthur, The Round Table and The Passing of Arthur. The story is beautifully told, although the end- ing is somewhat sad. King Arthur, de- prived of his knights, forsaken by his wife, and wounded himself, slowly answers from the barge :

‘** The old order changeth yielding place to new

And God fulfils Himself in many ways

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.

Comfort thyself : what comfcrt is in me?

I have lived my life, and that which I have done

May he within himself make pure; but thou

If thou shcould’st see my face again,

Pray for my soul.

More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefcre let thy voice

Rise for me like a fountain night and day.

For what are men better than sheep or goats

That nourish a blind life within the brain

if, knowing God, they lift not hands of

prayer

Both, themselves and those who call them friend /

For so the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.

Among Tennyson’s earlier productions ‘Enoch Arden” and ‘‘Locksley Hall” are, perhaps, his best, although **The Palace of Art” and ‘‘Maud” are both poems of a very high order, and may be read and studied with pleasure and profit.

Unhke many great men, Tennyson's poetic genius was not confined to any par- ticular period of his life. ‘*Locksley Hall” and “Locktey Hall Sixty Years After,” in themselves sufficiently illustrate this fact. These two poems, taken together and studied as one, will give a large insight into the poet’s own life. In the first “‘Locksley Hall” the young man looks forward to life eagerheartrd as a boy when first he leaves his father’s field ;

And his spirit ieaps within him to be gone before him then,

Underneath the light he looks at in among the throngs of men.”

In the second, es Hall,” the old man looks back upon life and, he reviews the hopes and aspirations of his youth, he sees that life anticipated, and life lived differ very widely from each other. While the second “Locksley Hall” may lack eume of the fire and passion of the first, it certainly excels in maturer thought ond more sublime language. I will quote two of the closi.g stanzas :—

Follow you the Star that lights a desert path- way, yours and mine;

Forward till you see the highest Human- nature is divi

Follow Light and a the Right for man can half control his doom—

Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant tomb.

When it is remembered that these poems were written with an interval of sixty years between, all must admit that they are won- derful productions.

Like the patriarch of old, Tennyson stands on Pisca’s top,his pro hetie eye is not dimmed nor his poetic force abated.

I may now mention « few ot the poet's shorter poems. Of these “*Ulysses,” written in the early part of Tenayeoa’ 8 life, is, in may ways, his best, and is the poem that won tor him the office of Poet Laureate to the Queen “Lady Clata Vere de Vere”’—also one of his earlier productions—is a contradic- tion to the charge often brought against Tennyson that h« paid respect to rank at the cost of truth, and that ate a is not in sympathy with the spirit of the age. Among his more recent poems ‘*Rizpah,” ‘The De- fence of Lucknow” and ‘‘Emmy in the Chil- dren’s Hospital” may be mentioned as those of most merit. The poem on ‘‘Sieep,” for which Tennyson recsived at the rate of 10 « word, is a very pretty fragment, although some critics thought the price rather high. The poem is as follows :—

To wy ! to sleep ! the long, bright day is one And darkness rises from the fallen sun.

To sleep! to sleep!

Whate’er thy joys they vanish with the day; Whate’er thy griets in sleep they fade away. To sleep ! to sleep !

Sleep troubled soul and let the past be past; Sleep happy heart, all life shali sleep at last. To sleep ! to sleep |

As poet laureate Tennyson has written 4 number of patriotic poems. Of these * ‘The Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington” is by far the best, and is one of the finest of the kind written in the present century. I will close with an extract from it : ”

Not once or twice in our rough island story The path of duty was the way to glory.

He that walks it only thirsting

For the right, and learns to deaden

Love of self, before his journey closes

He shal! find the stubborn thistie bursting Into glossy purples, which outredden

All voluptuous garden roses.

Not once or twice in our fair island story

The path of duty was the way to glory.

He that ever following her commands

Oo with toil of heart, and knees, and haads, ane the long gorge to the far light has

His oat reuse and prevailed, Shall find the loppling crags of Duty scaled, Are close upon the shining tablelands,

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