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Alfred Tennyson

1869 Carbon print by Julia Margaret Cameron
Born 6 August 1809(1809-08-06)
Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, UK
Died 6 October 1892 (aged 83)
Haslemere, Surrey, England
Occupation Poet laureate

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892), much better known as "Alfred, Lord Tennyson," was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom during much of Queen Victoria's reign and remains one of the most popular poets in the English language.

Tennyson excelled at penning short lyrics, "In the valley of Cauteretz", "Break, Break, Break", "The Charge of the Light Brigade", "Tears, Idle Tears" and "Crossing the Bar". Much of his verse was based on classical mythological themes, such as Ulysses, although In Memoriam A.H.H. was written to commemorate his best friend Arthur Hallam, a fellow poet and fellow student at Trinity College, Cambridge, who was engaged to Tennyson's sister, but died from a cerebral hemorrhage before they were married. Tennyson also wrote some notable blank verse including Idylls of the King, Ulysses, and Tithonus. His use of blank verse, rare in his day, may be related to his complete tone deafness which made it hard for him to follow the conventional rhythms of the poetry of his day.[1] During his career, Tennyson attempted drama, but his plays enjoyed little success.

Tennyson wrote a number of phrases that have become commonplaces of the English language, including: "Nature, red in tooth and claw", "'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all", "Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do and die", "My strength is as the strength of ten, / Because my heart is pure", "Knowledge comes, but Wisdom lingers", and "The old order changeth, yielding place to new". He is the second most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations after Shakespeare.[2]

Contents

Early life

Tennyson was born in Somersby, Lincolnshire, a rector's son and fourth of 12 children. He was a descendant of King Edward III of England.[3] Reportedly, "the pedigree of his grandfather, George Tennyson, is traced back to the middle-class line of the Tennysons, and through Elizabeth Clayton ten generations back to Edmund, Duke of Somerset, and farther back to Edward III."[4]

His father, George Clayton Tennyson (1778–1831), was a rector for Somersby (1807–1831), also rector of Benniworth and Bag Enderby, and vicar of Grimsby (1815). The reverend was the elder of two sons, but was disinherited at an early age by his own father, the landowner George Tennyson (1750–1835) (who belonged to the Lincolnshire gentry as the owner of Bayons Manor and Usselby Hall), in favour of his younger brother Charles, who later took the name Charles Tennyson d'Eyncourt. Rev. George Clayton Tennyson raised a large family and "was a man of superior abilities and varied attainments, who tried his hand with fair success in architecture, painting, music, and poetry."Rev. Tennyson was "comfortably well off for a country clergyman and his shrewd money management enabled the family to spend summers at Mablethorpe and Skegness, on the eastern coast of England."[4] His mother, Elizabeth Fytche (1781–1865) was the daughter of Stephen Fytche (1734–1799), vicar of St. James Church, Louth (1764) and rector of Withcall (1780), a small village between Horncastle and Louth. Tennyson's father "carefully attended to the education and training of his children."

Tennyson and two of his elder brothers were writing poetry in their teens, and a collection of poems by all three was published locally when Alfred was only 17. One of those brothers, Charles Tennyson Turner later married Louisa Sellwood, the younger sister of Alfred's future wife; the other poet brother was Frederick Tennyson. One of Tennyson's other brothers, Edward Tennyson, was institutionalised at a private mental asylum, where he died.

Education and first publication

Tennyson was first a student of Louth Grammar School for four years (1816–1820)[4] and then attended Scaitcliffe School, Englefield Green and King Edward VI Grammar School, Louth. He entered Trinity College, Cambridge in 1827,[5] where he joined a secret society called the Cambridge Apostles. At Cambridge Tennyson met Arthur Henry Hallam, who became his best friend. His first publication was a collection of "his boyish rhymes and those of his elder brother Charles" entitled Poems by Two Brothers published in 1827.[4]

In 1829 he was awarded the Chancellor's Gold Medal at Cambridge for one of his first pieces, "Timbuctoo".[6][7] Reportedly, "it was thought to be no slight honour for a young man of twenty to win the chancellor's gold medal."[4] He published his first solo collection of poems, Poems Chiefly Lyrical in 1830. "Claribel" and "Mariana", which later took their place among Tennyson's most celebrated poems, were included in this volume. Although decried by some critics as overly sentimental, his verse soon proved popular and brought Tennyson to the attention of well-known writers of the day, including Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Return to Lincolnshire and second publication

Tennyson with his wife Emily (1813-1896) and his sons Hallam (1852-1928) and Lionel (1854-1886).

In the spring of 1831, Tennyson's father died, requiring him to leave Cambridge before taking his degree. He returned to the rectory, where he was permitted to live for another six years, and shared responsibility for his widowed mother and the family. Arthur Hallam came to stay with his family during the summer and became engaged to Tennyson's sister, Emilia Tennyson.

In 1833, Tennyson published his second book of poetry, which included his well-known poem, The Lady of Shalott. The volume met heavy criticism, which so discouraged Tennyson that he did not publish again for 10 more years, although he continued to write. That same year, Hallam died suddenly and unexpectedly after suffering a cerebral haemorrhage while on vacation in Vienna.[8] Hallam's sudden and unexpected death in 1833 had a profound impact on Tennyson, and inspired several masterpieces, including "In the Valley of Cauteretz" and In Memoriam A.H.H., a long poem detailing the 'Way of the Soul'.[9]

Tennyson and his family were allowed to stay in the rectory for some time, but later moved to Essex. An unwise investment in an ecclesiastical wood-carving enterprise soon led to the loss of much of the family fortune. He then moved to London.

Third publication and recognition

In 1842, while living modestly in London, Tennyson published two volumes of Poems, the first of which included works already published and the second of which was made up almost entirely of new poems. They met with immediate success. Poems from this collection, such as Locksley Hall, "Tithonus", and "Ulysses" have met enduring fame. The Princess: A Medley, a satire of women's education, which came out in 1847, was also popular for its lyrics. W. S. Gilbert later adapted and parodied the piece twice: in The Princess (1870) and in Princess Ida (1884).

It was in 1850 that Tennyson reached the pinnacle of his career, finally publishing his masterpiece, In Memoriam A.H.H., dedicated to Hallam. Later the same year he was appointed Poet Laureate in succession to William Wordsworth. In the same year (13 June), Tennyson married Emily Sellwood, whom he had known since childhood, in the village of Shiplake. They had two sons, Hallam Tennyson (b. 11 August 1852) — named after his friend — and Lionel (b. 16 March 1854).

Farringford - Lord Tennyson's residence on the Isle of Wight

The Poet Laureate

After William Wordsworth's death in 1850, Tennyson succeeded to the position of Poet Laureate, which he held until his own death in 1892, by far the longest tenure of any laureate before or since. He fulfilled the requirements of this position by turning out appropriate but often uninspired verse, such as a poem of greeting to Alexandra of Denmark when she arrived in Britain to marry the future King Edward VII. In 1855, Tennyson produced one of his best known works, "The Charge of the Light Brigade", a dramatic tribute to the British cavalrymen involved in an ill-advised charge on 25 October 1854, during the Crimean War. Other esteemed works written in the post of Poet Laureate include Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington and Ode Sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition.

Statue of Lord Tennyson in the chapel of Trinity College, Cambridge.

Queen Victoria was an ardent admirer of Tennyson's work, and in 1884 created him Baron Tennyson, of Aldworth in the County of Sussex and of Freshwater in the Isle of Wight. Tennyson initially declined a baronetcy in 1865 and 1868 (when tendered by Disraeli), finally accepting a peerage in 1883 at Gladstone's earnest solicitation. He took his seat in the House of Lords on 11 March 1884.[4]

Tennyson also wrote a substantial quantity of non-official political verse, from the bellicose "Form, Riflemen, Form", of the French crisis of 1852, to "Steersman, be not precipitate in thine act/of steering", deploring Gladstone's Home Rule Bill.

Virginia Woolf wrote a play Freshwater, showing Tennyson as host to his friends Julia Margaret Cameron and G.F.Watts;[10] Tennyson was the first to be raised to a British Peerage for his writing. A passionate man with some peculiarities of nature, he was never particularly comfortable as a peer, and it is widely held that he took the peerage in order to secure a future for his son Hallam.[citation needed] Thomas Edison made sound recordings of Tennyson reading his own poetry, late in his life. They include recordings of The Charge of the Light Brigade, and excerpts from "The splendour falls" (from The Princess), "Come into the garden" (from Maud), "Ask me no more", "Ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington", "Charge of the Heavy Brigade", and "Lancelot and Elaine"; the sound quality is as bad as wax cylinder recordings usually are.

Sketch of Alfred Tennyson published one year after his death in 1892, seated in his favourite arbour at his Farringford House home in the village of Freshwater, Isle of Wight.

Towards the end of his life Tennyson revealed that his "religious beliefs also defied convention, leaning towards agnosticism and pandeism":[11] Famously, he wrote in In Memoriam: "There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds." [The context directly contradicts the apparent meaning of this quote.] In Maud, 1855, he wrote: "The churches have killed their Christ." In "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," Tennyson wrote: "Christian love among the churches look'd the twin of heathen hate." In his play, Becket, he wrote: "We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may, Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites and private hates with our defence of Heaven." Tennyson recorded in his Diary (p. 127): "I believe in Pantheism of a sort." His son's biography confirms that Tennyson was not an orthodox Christian, noting that Tennyson praised Giordano Bruno and Spinoza on his deathbed, saying of Bruno, "His view of God is in some ways mine," in 1892.[12]

Tennyson continued writing into his eighties, and died on 6 October 1892, aged 83. He was buried at Westminster Abbey. A memorial was erected in All Saints' Church, Freshwater. His last words were; "Oh that press will have me now!".[13]

He was succeeded as 2nd Baron Tennyson by his son, Hallam, who produced an authorised biography of his father in 1897, and was later the second Governor-General of Australia.

The art of Tennyson's poetry

Tennyson used a wide range of subject matter, ranging from medieval legends to classical myths and from domestic situations to observations of nature, as source material for his poetry. The influence of John Keats and other Romantic poets published before and during his childhood is evident from the richness of his imagery and descriptive writing. He also handled rhythm masterfully. The insistent beat of Break, Break, Break emphasizes the relentless sadness of the subject matter. Tennyson's use of the musical qualities of words to emphasize his rhythms and meanings is sensitive. The language of "I come from haunts of coot and hern" lilts and ripples like the brook in the poem and the last two lines of "Come down O maid from yonder mountain height" illustrate his telling combination of onomatopoeia, alliteration and assonance:

The moan of doves in immemorial elms
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

Tennyson was a craftsman who polished and revised his manuscripts extensively. Few poets have used such a variety of styles with such an exact understanding of metre; like many Victorian poets, he experimented in adapting the quantitative metres of Greek and Latin poetry to English. He reflects the Victorian period of his maturity in his feeling for order and his tendency towards moralizing and self-indulgent melancholy. He also reflects a concern common among Victorian writers in being troubled by the conflict between religious faith and expanding scientific knowledge. Like many writers who write a great deal over a long time, he can be pompous or banal, but his personality rings throughout all his works—work that reflects a grand and special variability in its quality. Tennyson possessed the strongest poetic power; he put great length into many works, most famous of which are Maud and Idylls of the King, the latter one of literature's treatments of the legend of King Arthur and The Knights of the Round Table.[citation needed]

Partial list of works

References

  1. ^ Elson, Arthur; Woman's Work in Music; p. 93; reprint published 2007 by BiblioBazaar (original 1903). ISBN 1-4346-7444-4
  2. ^ The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (5th ed.). Oxford University Press. 1999. 
  3. ^ Genealogists Discover Royal Roots for All
  4. ^ a b c d e f Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson. Eugene Parsons (Introduction). New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1900.
  5. ^ Tennyson, Alfred in Venn, J. & J. A., Alumni Cantabrigienses, Cambridge University Press, 10 vols, 1922–1958.
  6. ^ Friedlander, Ed. "Enjoying "Timbuctoo" by Alfred Tennyson"
  7. ^ "Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809 - 1892". bbc.co.uk. Retrieved on 27 October 2007.
  8. ^ H. Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son, New York, MacMillan, 1897.
  9. ^ H. Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son, New York, MacMillan, 1897.
  10. ^ play
  11. ^ Cambridge Book and Print Gallery
  12. ^ Freethought of the Day, 6 August 2006, Alfred Tennyson
  13. ^ Andrew Motion, BBC Radio 4, "Great Lives: Alfred, Lord Tennyson", broadcast on 4th August 2009
  14. ^ Alfred Lord Tennyson (1899). Hallam Tennyson. ed. The life and works of Alfred Lord Tennyson. 8. Macmillan. pp. 261-263. http://books.google.com/books?id=CbQCAAAAIAAJ&lpg=PA261&ots=SAkl2mGbQ5&dq=Alfred%20Lord%20Tennyson%20%22Kapiolani&pg=PA261. 

External links

Honorary titles
Preceded by
William Wordsworth
British Poet Laureate
1850–1892
Succeeded by
Alfred Austin
Peerage of the United Kingdom
Preceded by
New creation
Baron Tennyson Succeeded by
Hallam Tennyson
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Alfred Tennyson
File:Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson by George Frederic
Born 6 August 1809(1809-08-06)
Somersby, Lincolnshire, England, UK
Died 6 October 1892 (aged 83)
Haslemere, Surrey, England
Occupation Poet laureate

Alfred Tennyson, 1st Baron Tennyson, FRS (6 August 1809 – 6 October 1892) was Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom and remains one of the most popular poets in the English language.

Tennyson excelled at penning short lyrics, including "In the valley of Cauteretz", "Break, break, break", "The Charge of the Light Brigade", "Tears, idle tears" and "Crossing the Bar". Much of his verse was based on classical mythological themes, although In Memoriam A.H.H. was written to commemorate his best friend Arthur Hallam, a fellow poet and classmate at Trinity College, Cambridge, who was engaged to Tennyson's sister, but died from a cerebral hemorrhage before they were married. Tennyson also wrote some notable blank verse including Idylls of the King, Ulysses, and Tithonus. During his career, Tennyson attempted drama, but his plays enjoyed little success.

Tennyson wrote a number of phrases that have become commonplaces of the English language, including: "Nature, red in tooth and claw", "'Tis better to have loved and lost / Than never to have loved at all", "Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to do and die", "My strength is as the strength of ten, / Because my heart is pure", "Knowledge comes, but Wisdom lingers", and "The old order changeth, yielding place to new". He is the second most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations, after Shakespeare.[1]

Contents

Early life

Tennyson was born in Somersby, Lincolnshire, a rector's son and fourth of 12 children. He was a descendant of King Edward III of England.[2] Reportedly, "the pedigree of his grandfather, George Tennyson, is traced back to the middle-class line of the Tennysons, and through Elizabeth Clayton ten generations back to Edmund, Duke of Somerset, and farther back to Edward III."[3]

His father, George Clayton Tennyson (1778–1831), was a rector for Somersby (1807–1831), also rector of Benniworth and Bag Enderby, and vicar of Grimsby (1815). The reverend was the elder of two sons, but was disinherited at an early age by his own father, the landowner George Tennyson (1750–1835) (who belonged to the Lincolnshire gentry as the owner of Bayons Manor and Usselby Hall), in favour of his younger brother Charles, who later took the name Charles Tennyson d'Eyncourt. Rev. George Clayton Tennyson raised a large family and "was a man of superior abilities and varied attainments, who tried his hand with fair success in architecture, painting, music, and poetry."Rev. Tennyson was "comfortably well off for a country clergyman and his shrewd money management enabled the family to spend summers at Mablethorpe and Skegness, on the eastern coast of England."[3] His mother, Elizabeth Fytche (1781–1865) was the daughter of Stephen Fytche (1734–1799), vicar of St. James Church, Louth (1764) and rector of Withcall (1780), a small village between Horncastle and Louth. Tennyson's father "carefully attended to the education and training of his children.

Tennyson and two of his elder brothers were writing poetry in their teens, and a collection of poems by all three was published locally when Alfred was only 17. One of those brothers, Charles Tennyson Turner later married Louisa Sellwood, the younger sister of Alfred's future wife; the other poet brother was Frederick Tennyson. One of Tennyson's other brothers, Edward Tennyson, was institutionalised at a private mental asylum, where he later died.

Education and first publication

Tennyson was first a student of Louth Grammar School for four years (1816–1820)[3] and then attended Scaitcliffe School, Englefield Green and King Edward VI Grammar School, Louth. He entered Trinity College, Cambridge in 1827,[4] where he joined a secret society called the Cambridge Apostles. At Cambridge Tennyson met Arthur Henry Hallam, who became his best friend. His first publication was a collection of "his boyish rhymes and those of his elder brother Charles" entitled Poems by Two Brothers published in 1827.[3]

In 1829 he was awarded the Chancellor's Gold Medal at Cambridge for one of his first pieces, "Timbuctoo".[5][6] Reportedly, "it was thought to be no slight honour for a young man of twenty to win the chancellor's gold medal."[3] He published his first solo collection of poems, Poems Chiefly Lyrical in 1830. "Claribel" and "Mariana", which later took their place among Tennyson's most celebrated poems, were included in this volume. Although decried by some critics as overly sentimental, his verse soon proved popular and brought Tennyson to the attention of well-known writers of the day, including Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Return to Lincolnshire and second publication

In the spring of 1831, Tennyson's father died, requiring him to leave Cambridge before taking his degree. He returned to the rectory, where he was permitted to live for another six years, and shared responsibility for his widowed mother and the family. Arthur Hallam came to stay with his family during the summer and became engaged to Tennyson's sister, Emilia Tennyson.

In 1833, Tennyson published his second book of poetry, which included his well-known poem, The Lady of Shalott. The volume met heavy criticism, which so discouraged Tennyson that he did not publish again for 10 more years, although he continued to write. That same year, Hallam died suddenly and unexpectedly after suffering a cerebral haemorrhage while on vacation in Vienna. Though scholars are mostly of the view that Tennyson's friendship with Hallam was close but platonic, some have questioned the nature of the relationship.[7] There is no dispute, however, that Hallam's sudden death in 1833 had a profound impact on Tennyson, and inspired several masterpieces, including In Memoriam A.H.H., a long poem detailing the 'Way of the Soul'.[8]

Tennyson and his family were allowed to stay in the rectory for some time, but later moved to Essex. An unwise investment in an ecclesiastical wood-carving enterprise soon led to the loss of much of the family fortune. He then moved to London.

Third publication and recognition

In 1842, while living modestly in London, Tennyson published two volumes of Poems, the first of which included works already published and the second of which was made up almost entirely of new poems. They met with immediate success. Poems from this collection, such as Locksley Hall, "Tithonus", and "Ulysses" have met enduring fame. The Princess: A Medley, a satire of women's education, which came out in 1847, was also popular for its lyrics. W. S. Gilbert later adapted and parodied the piece twice: in The Princess (1870) and in Princess Ida (1884).

It was in 1850 that Tennyson reached the pinnacle of his career, finally publishing his masterpiece, In Memoriam A.H.H., dedicated to Hallam. Later the same year he was appointed Poet Laureate in succession to William Wordsworth. In the same year (13 June), Tennyson married Emily Sellwood, whom he had known since childhood, in the village of Shiplake. They had two sons, Hallam Tennyson (b. 11 August 1852) — named after his friend — and Lionel (b. 16 March 1854).

- Lord Tennyson's residence on the Isle of Wight]]

The Poet Laureate

After William Wordsworth's death in 1850, Tennyson succeeded to the position of Poet Laureate, which he held until his own death in 1892, by far the longest tenure of any laureate before or since. He fulfilled the requirements of this position by turning out appropriate but often uninspired verse, such as a poem of greeting to Alexandra of Denmark when she arrived in Britain to marry the future King Edward VII. In 1855, Tennyson produced one of his best known works, "The Charge of the Light Brigade", a dramatic tribute to the British cavalrymen involved in an ill-advised charge on 25 October 1854, during the Crimean War. Other esteemed works written in the post of Poet Laureate include Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington and Ode Sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition. .]] Queen Victoria was an ardent admirer of Tennyson's work, and in 1884 created him Baron Tennyson, of Aldworth in the County of Sussex and of Freshwater in the Isle of Wight. Tennyson initially declined a baronetcy in 1865 and 1868 (when tendered by Disraeli), finally accepting a peerage in 1883 at Gladstone's earnest solicitation. He took his seat in the House of Lords on 11 March 1884.[3]

Tennyson's life at Freshwater features in Virginia Woolf's play of the same name, in which Tennyson mingles with his friend Julia Margaret Cameron and G.F.Watts.[9] He was the first English writer raised to the Peerage. A passionate man with some peculiarities of nature, he was never particularly comfortable as a peer, and it is widely held that he took the peerage in order to secure a future for his son Hallam.[citation needed] Recordings exist of Tennyson declaiming his own poetry, which were made by Thomas Edison, but they are of understandably poor quality. These were made in the last few years of Tennyson's life and include recordings of The Charge of the Light Brigade, and excerpts from "The splendour falls" (from The Princess), "Come into the garden" (from Maud), "Ask me no more", "Ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington", "Charge of the Heavy Brigade", and "Lancelot and Elaine".

published one year after his death in 1892, seated in his favourite arbour at his Farringford House home in the village of Freshwater, Isle of Wight.]] 

Towards the end of his life Tennyson revealed that his "religious beliefs also defied convention, leaning towards agnosticism and pandeism":[10] Famously, he wrote in In Memoriam: "There lives more faith in honest doubt, believe me, than in half the creeds." [The context directly contradicts the apparent meaning of this quote.] In Maud, 1855, he wrote: "The churches have killed their Christ." In "Locksley Hall Sixty Years After," Tennyson wrote: "Christian love among the churches look'd the twin of heathen hate." In his play, Becket, he wrote: "We are self-uncertain creatures, and we may, Yea, even when we know not, mix our spites and private hates with our defence of Heaven." Tennyson recorded in his Diary (p. 127): "I believe in Pantheism of a sort." His son's biography confirms that Tennyson was not an orthodox Christian, noting that Tennyson praised Giordano Bruno and Spinoza on his deathbed, saying of Bruno: "His view of God is in some ways mine." D. 1892.[11]

Tennyson continued writing into his eighties, and died on 6 October 1892, aged 83. He was buried at Westminster Abbey. A memorial was erected in All Saints' Church, Freshwater.

He was succeeded as 2nd Baron Tennyson by his son, Hallam, who produced an authorised biography of his father in 1897, and was later the second Governor-General of Australia.

The art of Tennyson's poetry

Tennyson used a wide range of subject matter, ranging from medieval legends to classical myths and from domestic situations to observations of nature, as source material for his poetry. The influence of John Keats and other Romantic poets published before and during his childhood is evident from the richness of his imagery and descriptive writing. He also handled rhythm masterfully. The insistent beat of Break, Break, Break emphasizes the relentless sadness of the subject matter. Tennyson's use of the musical qualities of words to emphasize his rhythms and meanings is sensitive. The language of "I come from haunts of coot and hern" lilts and ripples like the brook in the poem and the last two lines of "Come down O maid from yonder mountain height" illustrate his telling combination of onomatopoeia, alliteration and assonance:

The moan of doves in immemorial elms
And murmuring of innumerable bees.

Tennyson was a craftsman who polished and revised his manuscripts extensively. Few poets have used such a variety of styles with such an exact understanding of metre. He reflects the Victorian period of his maturity in his feeling for order and his tendency towards moralizing and self-indulgent melancholy. He also reflects a concern common among Victorian writers in being troubled by the conflict between religious faith and expanding scientific knowledge. Like many writers who write a great deal over a long time, he can be pompous or banal, but his personality rings throughout all his works—work that reflects a grand and special variability in its quality. Tennyson possessed the strongest poetic power; he put great length into many works, most famous of which are Maud and Idylls of the King, the latter one of literature's treatments of the legend of King Arthur and The Knights of the Round Table[citation needed].

Partial list of works

References

  1. ^ The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations (5th ed.). Oxford University Press. 1999. 
  2. ^ Genealogists Discover Royal Roots for All
  3. ^ a b c d e f Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson. Eugene Parsons (Introduction). New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1900.
  4. ^ Tennyson, Alfred in Venn, J. & J. A., Alumni Cantabrigienses, Cambridge University Press, 10 vols, 1922–1958.
  5. ^ Friedlander, Ed. "Enjoying "Timbuctoo" by Alfred Tennyson"
  6. ^ "Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809 - 1892". bbc.co.uk. Retrieved on 27 October 2007.
  7. ^ C. Ricks, Tennyson, London, 1972; Jack Kolb Hallam, Tennyson, homosexuality and the critics Philological Quarterly, 2000, University of Iowa; Jeff Nunokawa, In Memoriam and the Extinction of the Homosexual, 1991, The Johns Hopkins University Press; John Hughes, Tennyson's Feminine Imaginings, Volume 45, Number 2, Summer 2007, West Virginia University Press
  8. ^ H. Tennyson, Alfred Lord Tennyson: A Memoir by His Son, New York, MacMillan, 1897.
  9. ^ play
  10. ^ Cambridge Book and Print Gallery
  11. ^ Freethought of the Day, 6 August 2006, Alfred Tennyson

External links

Wikisource has original works written by or about:
Honorary titles
Preceded by
William Wordsworth
British Poet Laureate
1850–1892
Succeeded by
Alfred Austin
Peerage of the United Kingdom
Preceded by
New creation
Baron Tennyson Succeeded by
Hallam Tennyson


Quotes

Up to date as of January 14, 2010
(Redirected to Alfred Tennyson article)

From Wikiquote

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1st Baron Tennyson) (1809-08-061892-10-06) was the Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom after William Wordsworth and is one of the most popular English poets in literature.

See also:
Idylls of the King (1856 to 1885)
In Memoriam A.H.H. (1850)
The Two Voices (1832; 1842)

Contents

Sourced

Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die...
  • Where Claribel low-lieth
    The breezes pause and die,
    Letting the rose-leaves fall
    :
    But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
    Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
    With an ancient melody
    Of an inward agony,
    Where Claribel low-lieth.
    • "Claribel" (1830)
"My life is dreary, He cometh not," she said; She said, "I am aweary, aweary, I would that I were dead!"
  • With blackest moss the flower plots
    Were thickly crusted, one and all;
    The rusted nails fell from the knots
    That held the pear to the gable wall.
    The broken sheds looked sad and strange:
    Unlifted was the clinking latch;
    Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
    Upon the lonely moated grange.
    She only said, "My life is dreary,
    He cometh not," she said;
    She said, "I am aweary, aweary,
    I would that I were dead!'
  • He often lying broad awake, and yet
    Remaining from the body, and apart
    In intellect and power and will, hath heard
    Time flowing in the middle of the night,
    And all things creeping to a day of doom.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: my own sweet Alice, we must die. There's somewhat in this world amiss shall be unriddled by and by.
  • Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:
    My own sweet Alice, we must die.
    There's somewhat in this world amiss
    Shall be unriddled by and by.

    There's somewhat flows to us in life,
    But more is taken quite away.
    Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,
    That we may die the self-same day.
  • Have I not found a happy earth?
    I least should breathe a thought of pain.
    Would God renew me from my birth
    I'd almost live my life again.
    So sweet it seems with thee to walk,
    And once again to woo thee mine —
    It seems in after-dinner talk
    Across the walnuts and the wine —
    • "The Miller's Daughter" (1832)
O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.
  • O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida,
    Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

    For now the noonday quiet holds the hill:
    The grasshopper is silent in the grass:
    The lizard, with his shadow on the stone,
    Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead.
    The purple flower droops: the golden bee
    Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.
    My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love,
    My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim,
    And I am all aweary of my life.
Acting the law we live by without fear; and, because right is right, to follow right were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.
  • Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,
    These three alone lead life to sovereign power.

    Yet not for power (power of herself
    Would come uncall'd 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.
    • "Oenone", st. 14
  • I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
    Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
    I said, "O Soul, make merry and carouse,
    Dear soul, for all is well."
  • You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
    Tomorrow 'ill be the happiest time of all the glad New-year;
    Of all the glad New-year, mother, the maddest merriest day,
    For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.
  • Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
    Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
    The spacious times of great Elizabeth
    With sounds that echo still.
At length I saw a lady within call, stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there; A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair.
  • At length I saw a lady within call,
    Stiller than chisell'd marble, standing there;
    A daughter of the gods, divinely tall,
    And most divinely fair.
    • "A Dream of Fair Women", st. 22
  • The great brand
    Made lightnings in the splendour of the moon
    ,
    And flashing round and round, and whirl'd in an arch,
    Shot like a streamer of the northern morn,
    Seen where the moving isles of winter shock
    By night, with noises of the northern sea.
    So flash'd and fell the brand Excalibur.
  • Half light, half shade,
    She stood, a sight to make an old man young.
The trance gave way to those caresses, when a hundred times in that last kiss, which never was the last, farewell, like endless welcome, lived and died.
  • Of love that never found his earthly close,
    What sequel?
    Streaming eyes and breaking hearts?
    Or all the same as if he had not been?
    Not so. Shall Error in the round of time
    Still father Truth? O shall the braggart shout
    For some blind glimpse of freedom work itself
    Thro' madness, hated by the wise, to law
    System and empire? Sin itself be found
    The cloudy porch oft opening on the Sun?
    And only he, this wonder, dead, become
    Mere highway dust? or year by year alone
    Sit brooding in the ruins of a life,
    Nightmare of youth, the spectre of himself!
    If this were thus, if this, indeed, were all,
    Better the narrow brain, the stony heart,
    The staring eye glazed o'er with sapless days,
    The long mechanic pacings to and fro,
    The set gray life, and apathetic end.
    But am I not the nobler thro' thy love?
    O three times less unworthy! likewise thou
    Art more thro' Love, and greater than thy years.
  • The slow sweet hours that bring us all things good,
    The slow sad hours that bring us all things ill,
    And all good things from evil, brought the night
    In which we sat together and alone,
    And to the want, that hollow'd all the heart,
    Gave utterance by the yearning of an eye,
    That burn'd upon its object thro' such tears
    As flow but once a life. The trance gave way
    To those caresses, when a hundred times
    In that last kiss, which never was the last,
    Farewell, like endless welcome, lived and died.
    • "Love and Duty" l. 57 - 67 (1842)
  • Meet is it changes should control
    Our being, lest we rust in ease.

    We all are changed by still degrees,
    All but the basis of the soul.
My good blade carves the casques of men, My tough lance thrusteth sure, My strength is as the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure.
  • But we grow old. Ah! when shall all men's good
    Be each man's rule, and universal Peace
    Lie like a shaft of light across the land,
    And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,
    Thro' all the circle of the golden year?
  • My good blade carves the casques of men,
    My tough lance thrusteth sure,
    My strength is as the strength of ten,
    Because my heart is pure.
  • I grow in worth, and wit, and sense,
    Unboding critic-pen,
    Or that eternal want of pence,
    Which vexes public men
    ,
    Who hold their hands to all, and cry
    For that which all deny them —
    Who sweep the crossings, wet or dry,
    And all the world go by them.
  • As shines the moon in clouded skies,
    She in her poor attire was seen;
    One praised her ankles, one her eyes,
    One her dark hair and lovesome mien.
    So sweet a face, such angel grace,
    In all that land had never been.
    Cophetua sware a royal oath:
    "This beggar maid shall be my queen!"
  • All the windy ways of men
    Are but dust that rises up,
    And is lightly laid again.
  • Then some one spake: "Behold! it was a crime
    Of sense avenged by sense that wore with time."
    Another said: "The crime of sense became
    The crime of malice, and is equal blame."
    And one: "He had not wholly quench'd his power;
    A little grain of conscience made him sour."
    At last I heard a voice upon the slope
    Cry to the summit, "Is there any hope?"
    To which an answer peal'd from that high land,
    But in a tongue no man could understand;
    And on the glimmering limit far withdrawn
    God made Himself an awful rose of dawn.
    • "The Vision of Sin", sec. 5 (1842)
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
  • Break, break, break,
    On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
    And I would that my tongue could utter
    The thoughts that arise in me.
  • Break, break, break
    At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
    But the tender grace of a day that is dead
    Will never come back to me.
    • "Break, Break, Break", st. 4
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands...
  • He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
    Close to the sun in lonely lands,
    Ring'd with the azure world, he stands
    .

    The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
    He watches from his mountain walls,
    And like a thunderbolt he falls.

  • We love not this French God, the child of hell,
    Wild War, who breaks the converse of the wise;
    But though we love kind Peace so well,
    We dare not even by silence sanction lies.
    It might be safe our censures to withdraw,
    And yet, my Lords, not well; there is a higher law.
Men may come and men may go, but I go on forever...
  • I come from haunts of coot and hern,
    I make a sudden sally,
    And sparkle out among the fern,
    To bicker down a valley.
  • And draw them all along, and flow
    To join the brimming river,
    For men may come and men may go,
    But I go on forever.
    • "The Brook", st. 5
Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
And after many a summer dies the swan...
  • The woods decay, the woods decay and fall,
    The vapours weep their burthen to the ground,
    Man comes and tills the field and lies beneath,
    And after many a summer dies the swan.

    Me only cruel immortality
    Consumes: I wither slowly in thine arms,
    Here at the quiet limit of the world,
    A white-hair'd shadow roaming like a dream
    The ever-silent spaces of the East,
    Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn.
  • His deeds yet live, the worst is yet to come.
    Yet let your sleep for this one night be sound:
    I do forgive him!
  • And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise,
    That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies,
    That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright,
    But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.
  • Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet —
    Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet.
Little flower — but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is.
  • Flower in the crannied wall,
    I pluck you out of the crannies,
    I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
    Little flower — but if I could understand
    What you are, root and all, and all in all,
    I should know what God and man is.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt,
And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith!
  • Thou that singest wheat and woodland, tilth and vineyard, hive and horse and herd;
    All the charm of all the Muses often flowering in a lonely word.
  • For nothing worthy proving can be proven,
    Nor yet disproven
    : wherefore thou be wise,
    Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt,
    And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith!
I am Merlin Who follow The Gleam.
  • First pledge our Queen this solemn night,
    Then drink to England, every guest;
    That man's the best Cosmopolite
    Who loves his native country best.
  • O young Mariner,
    You from the haven
    Under the sea-cliff,
    You that are watching
    The gray Magician
    With eyes of wonder,
    I am Merlin,
    And I am dying,
    I am Merlin
    Who follow The Gleam.
  • Once at the croak of a Raven who crost it,
    A barbarous people,
    Blind to the magic,
    And deaf to the melody,
    Snarl’d at and cursed me.
    A demon vext me,
    The light retreated,
    The landskip darken’d,
    The melody deaden’d,
    The Master whisper’d
    ‘Follow The Gleam.’
    • "Merlin and the Gleam", st. 3 (1889)
  • Well, Gosse, would you like to know what I think of Churton Collins? I think he's a Louse on the Locks of Literature.
    • Evan Charteris, Life and Letters of Sir Edmund Gosse (1931), p. 197
  • This laurel greener from the brows
    Of him that uttered nothing base.
    • To the Queen, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • And statesmen at her council met
    Who knew the seasons, when to take
    Occasion by the hand, and make
    The bounds of freedom wider yet.
    • To the Queen, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • Broad based upon her people’s will,
    And compassed by the inviolate sea.
    • To the Queen, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • For it was in the golden prime
    Of good Haroun Alraschid.
    • Recollections of the Arabian Nights, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
  • A man had given all other bliss,
    And all his worldly worth for this,
    To waste his whole heart in one kiss
        Upon her perfect lips.
    • Sir Launcelot and Queen Guinevere

Ode to Memory (1830)

"Written very early in life" — first published in 1830
With youthful fancy reinspired, we may hold converse with all forms of the many-sided mind, and those whom passion hath not blinded, subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.
  • Thou who stealest fire,
    From the fountains of the past,
    To glorify the present; oh, haste,
    Visit my low desire!
    Strengthen me, enlighten me!

    I faint in this obscurity,
    Thou dewy dawn of memory.
  • In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest
    Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope.

    The eddying of her garments caught from thee
    The light of thy great presence; and the cope
    Of the half-attain'd futurity,
    Though deep not fathomless,
    Was cloven with the million stars which tremble
    O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.
  • Come forth I charge thee, arise,
    Thou of the many tongues, the myriad eyes!

    Thou comest not with shows of flaunting vines
    Unto mine inner eye,
    Divinest Memory!
  • Whither in after life retired
    From brawling storms,
    From weary wind,
    With youthful fancy reinspired,
    We may hold converse with all forms
    Of the many-sided mind,
    And those whom passion hath not blinded,
    Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.

The Poet (1830)

The poet in a golden clime was born, with golden stars above; Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.
So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Tho' one did fling the fire;
Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.
  • The poet in a golden clime was born,
    With golden stars above;
    Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
    The love of love.

    He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill,
    He saw thro' his own soul.
    The marvel of the everlasting will,
    An open scroll,
    Before him lay; with echoing feet he threaded
    The secretest walks of fame:
    The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
    And wing'd with flame,
    Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue...
Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise her beautiful bold brow, when rites and forms before his burning eyes melted like snow.
  • So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
    Tho' one did fling the fire;
    Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
    Of high desire.
  • Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world
    Like one great garden show'd,
    And thro' the wreaths of floating dark up-curl'd,
    Rare sunrise flow'd.

    And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise
    Her beautiful bold brow,
    When rites and forms before his burning eyes
    Melted like snow.

  • There was no blood upon her maiden robes
    Sunn'd by those orient skies;
    But round about the circles of the globes
    Of her keen
    And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
    WISDOM, a name to shake
    All evil dreams of power — a sacred name.

    And when she spake,
    Her words did gather thunder as they ran,
    And as the lightning to the thunder
    Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
    Making earth wonder,
    So was their meaning to her words. No sword
    Of wrath her right arm whirl'd,
    But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
    She shook the world.

Lady Clara Vere de Vere (1832)

  • Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
    Of me you shall not win renown:
    You thought to break a country heart
    For pastime, ere you went to town.
    At me you smiled, but unbeguiled
    I saw the snare, and I retired;
    The daughter of a hundred earls,
    You are not one to be desired.
    • St. 1
  • A simple maiden in her flower
    Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms.
    • St. 2
  • You sought to prove how I could love,
    And my disdain is my reply.
    The lion on your old stone gates
    Is not more cold to you than I.
    • St. 3
  • Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere,
    From yon blue heavens above us bent
    The gardener Adam and his wife
    Smile at the claims of long descent.
    Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
    'Tis only noble to be good.
    Kind hearts are more than coronets,
    And simple faith than Norman blood.
    • St. 7

The Lotos-Eaters (1832)

  • In the afternoon they came unto a land
    In which it seemed always afternoon.
    • St. 1
  • There is sweet music here that softer falls
    Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
    Or night-dews on still waters between walls
    Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
    Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
    Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes.
    • Choric Song, st. 1
  • There is no joy but calm!
    • Choric Song, st. 2
  • Death is the end of life; ah, why
    Should life all labour be?

    Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
    And in a little while our lips are dumb.
    Let us alone. What is it that will last?
    All things are taken from us, and become
    Portions and parcels of the dreadful past.

    Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
    To war with evil? Is there any peace
    In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
    All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
    In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
    Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.
    • Choric Song, st. 4
  • Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
    In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie reclined
    On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
    • Choric Song, st. 8
  • Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
    Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
    O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
    • Choric Song, st. 8

The Lady of Shalott (1832)

And as the boat-head wound along the willowy hills and fields among, they heard her singing her last song, the Lady of Shalott...
  • On either side the river lie
    Long fields of barley and of rye,
    That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
    And through the field the road runs by
    To many-towered Camelot.
    • Pt. I, st. 1
  • Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
    Little breezes dusk and shiver
    Through the wave that runs for ever
    By the island in the river
    Flowing down to Camelot.
    • Pt. I, st. 2
  • All in the blue unclouded weather
    Thick-jewelled shone the saddle-leather,
    The helmet and the helmet-feather
    Burned like one burning flame together,
    As he rode down to Camelot.
    • Pt. III, st. 3
  • From the bank and from the river
    He flashed into the crystal mirror,
    "Tirra lirra," by the river
    Sang Sir Lancelot.
    • Pt. III, st. 4
  • She left the web, she left the loom,
    She made three paces through the room,
    She saw the water-lily bloom,
    She saw the helmet and the plume,
    She looked down to Camelot.

    Out flew the web and floated wide;
    The mirror cracked from side to side;
    "The curse is come upon me," cried
    The Lady of Shalott.
    • Pt. III, st. 5
  • Lying, robed in snowy white
    That loosely flew to left and right —
    The leaves upon her falling light —
    Thro' the noises of the night,
    She floated down to Camelot:
    And as the boat-head wound along
    The willowy hills and fields among,
    They heard her singing her last song,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
    Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
    Till her blood was frozen slowly,
    And her eyes were darkened wholly,
    Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.

    For ere she reach'd upon the tide
    The first house by the water-side,
    Singing in her song she died,
    The Lady of Shalott.

  • Out upon the wharfs they came,
    Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
    And around the prow they read her name,
    The Lady of Shalott.

    Who is this? And what is here?
    And in the lighted palace near
    Died the sound of royal cheer;
    And they crossed themselves for fear,
    All the Knights at Camelot;
    But Lancelot mused a little space
    He said, "She has a lovely face;
    God in his mercy lend her grace,
    The Lady of Shalott."

    • Pt. IV, st. 6

Locksley Hall (1842)

I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and move:
Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.
  • Comrades, leave me here a little, while as yet 'tis early morn:
    Leave me here, and when you want me, sound upon the bugle horn.
  • In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove;
    In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.
  • He will hold thee, when his passion shall have spent its novel force,
    Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.
  • Never, tho' my mortal summers to such length of years should come
    As the many-winter'd crow that leads the clanging rookery home.
  • I remember one that perish'd: sweetly did she speak and move:
    Such a one do I remember, whom to look at was to love.
  • Comfort? comfort scorn'd of devils! this is truth the poet sings,
    That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.
  • Like a dog, he hunts in dreams, and thou art staring at the wall,
    Where the dying night-lamp flickers, and the shadows rise and fall.
  • O, I see thee old and formal, fitted to thy petty part,
    With a little hoard of maxims preaching down a daughter's heart.
  • What is that which I should turn to, lighting upon days like these?
    Every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys.

    Every gate is thronged with suitors, all the markets overflow.
    I have but an angry fancy: what is that which I should do?

    I had been content to perish, falling on the foeman's ground,
    When the ranks are rolled in vapour, and the winds are laid with sound.

    But the jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honour feels,
    And the nations do but murmur, snarling at each other's heels.

For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,
Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be...
  • Make me feel the wild pulsation that I felt before the strife,
    When I heard my days before me, and the tumult of my life
    ;
    Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield,
    Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's field
I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.
  • Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new:
    That which they have done but earnest of the things that they shall do:

    For I dipped into the future, far as human eye could see,
    Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;

    Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
    Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales
    ;

    Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rained a ghastly dew
    From the nations' airy navies grappling in the central blue;

    Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
    With the standards of the peoples plunging through the thunderstorm;

    Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furled
    In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.

    There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
    And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapped in universal law.

  • So I triumphed ere my passion sweeping through me left me dry,
    Left with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye
    ;

    Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint:
    Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point:

    Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion creeping nigher,
    Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.

    Yet I doubt not through the ages one increasing purpose runs,
    And the thoughts of men are widened with the process of the suns.

Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
  • Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore,
    And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
  • Woman is the lesser man, and all thy passions, match'd with mine,
    Are as moonlight unto sunlight, and as water unto wine —
  • There the passions cramp'd no longer shall have scope and breathing-space;
    I will take some savage woman, she shall rear my dusky race.
  • Mated with a squalid savage — what to me were sun or clime?
    I the heir of all the ages, in the foremost files of time —
  • Not in vain the distance beacons. Forward, forward let us range.
    Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change.
  • Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day:
    Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.
  • Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt,
    Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt.

    Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow;
    For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go.

Ulysses (1842)

I am become a name; For always roaming with a hungry heart much have I seen and known
  • It little profits that an idle king,
    By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
    Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
    Unequal laws unto a savage race,
    That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
    • l. 1-5
I am a part of all that I have met; Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades for ever and forever when I move.
  • I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
    Life to the lees
    : all times I have enjoy'd
    Greatly, have suffer'd greatly, both with those
    That loved me, and alone, on shore, and when
    Thro' scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
    Vext the dim sea: I am become a name;
    For always roaming with a hungry heart
    Much have I seen and known; cities of men
    And manners, climates, councils, governments,
    Myself not least, but honour'd of them all
    ;
    And drunk delight of battle with my peers,
    Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
    • 13 -17
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
  • I am part of all that I have met;
    Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
    Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
    For ever and for ever when I move.
    • l. 18 - 21
  • How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
    To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
    As tho' to breath were life.
    Life piled on life
    Were all too little, and of one to me
    Little remains: but every hour is saved
    From that eternal silence, something more,
    A bringer of new things; and vile it were
    For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
    And this gray spirit yearning in desire
    To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
    Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
    • l. 22-32
  • Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me —
    That ever with a frolic welcome took
    The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
    Free hearts, free foreheads — you and I are old;
    Old age hath yet his honor and his toil.
    Death closes all; but something ere the end,
    Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
    Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
    • l. 46-53
Though much is taken, much abides; and though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are...
  • The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks;
    The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs; the deep
    Moans round with many voices.
    Come, my friends.
    'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
    Push off, and sitting well in order smite
    The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
    To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
    Of all the western stars, until I die.
    • l. 54-62
  • It may be that the gulfs will wash us down;
    It may be that we shall touch the Happy Isles,
    And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
    Though much is taken, much abides; and though
    We are not now that strength which in old days
    Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are —
    One equal temper of heroic hearts,
    Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
    To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
    • l. 63-70

The Day-Dream (1842)

The many fail: the one succeeds.
  • The bodies and the bones of those
    That strove in other days to pass,
    Are wither'd in the thorny close,
    Or scatter'd blanching on the grass.
    He gazes on the silent dead:
    "They perish'd in their daring deeds."
    This proverb flashes thro' his head,
    "The many fail: the one succeeds."
    • The Arrival, st. 2
  • And on her lover's arm she leant,
    And round her waist she felt it fold,
    And far across the hills they went
    In that new world which is the old:
    Across the hills, and far away
    Beyond their utmost purple rim,
    And deep into the dying day
    The happy princess follow'd him.
    • The Departure, st. 1
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?
  • O eyes long laid in happy sleep!
    O happy sleep, that lightly fled!
    O happy kiss, that woke thy sleep!
    O love, thy kiss would wake the dead!
    • The Departure, st. 3
  • And o'er the hills, and far away
    Beyond their utmost purple rim,
    Beyond the night, across the day,
    Thro' all the world she follow'd him.
    • The Departure, st. 4
  • So, Lady Flora, take my lay,
    And if you find no moral there,
    Go, look in any glass and say,
    What moral is in being fair.
    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?
    • Moral, st. 1

Lady Clare (1842)

Full text online
She clad herself in a russet gown,
She was no longer Lady Clare:
She went by dale, and she went by down,
With a single rose in her hair.
  • It was the time when lilies blow,
    And clouds are highest up in air.
    Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
    To give his cousin, Lady Clare.
  • "He does not love me for my birth
    Nor for my lands so broad and fair;
    He loves me for my own true worth,
    And that is well," said Lady Clare.
  • "If I'm a beggar born," she said
    "I will speak out, for I dare not lie,
    Pull off, pull off the brooch of gold,
    And fling the diamond necklace by."

    "Nay now, my child," said Alice the nurse,
    "But keep the secret all you can."
    She said, "Not so; but I will know
    If there be any faith in man."

  • She clad herself in a russet gown,
    She was no longer Lady Clare:
    She went by dale, and she went by down,
    With a single rose in her hair.

    The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had brought
    Leapt up from where she lay.
    Dropped her head in the maiden's hand.
    And followed her all the way.

  • "If I come dressed like a village maid,
    I am but as my fortunes are:
    I am a beggar born," she said,
    "And not the Lady Clare."
  • "If you are not the heiress born,
    And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
    We two will wed to-morrow morn,
    And you shall still be Lady Clare."

The Princess (1847)

  • And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight
    If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt
    With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,
    And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.
    • Prologue, stanza 9.
  • A rosebud set with little wilful thorns,
    And sweet as English air could make her, she.
    • Prologue, stanze 10.
  • With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans,
    And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.
    • Prologue. Line 141.
  • As thro' the land at eve we went,
    And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
    We fell out, my wife and I,
    O we fell out I know not why,
    And kiss'd again with tears.
    • Pt. II, Song: As Through the Land, l. 1-5.
  • And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long
    That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time
    Sparkle for ever.
    • Pt. II, l. 355-357.
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever...
  • Sweet and low, sweet and low,
    Wind of the western sea,
    Low, low, breathe and blow,
    Wind of the western sea!

    Over the rolling waters go,
    Come from the dying moon, and blow,
    Blow him again to me;
    While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
    • Pt. III, Song: Sweet and Low, st. 1.
  • Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes flying!
    Blow, bugle! answer, echoes! dying, dying, dying.
    • Part III, line 352.
  • The splendour falls on castle walls
    And snowy summits old in story:
    The long light shakes across the lakes,
    And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
    Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
    Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
    • Pt. IV, Song: The Splendor Falls, st. 1.
  • There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.
    • Part IV, line 1.
  • O love, they die in yon rich sky,
    They faint on hill or field or river:
    Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
    And grow for ever and for ever.
    • Pt. IV, Song: The Splendor Falls, st. 3.
  • Unto dying eyes
    The casement slowly grows a glimmering square.
    • Part IV, line 33.
  • Dear as remembered kisses after death,
    And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
    On lips that are for others; deep as love,—
    Deep as first love, and wild with all regret.
    Oh death in life, the days that are no more!
    • Part IV, line 36.
  • Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
    Tears from the depth of some divine despair
    Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
    In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
    And thinking of the days that are no more.
    • Pt. IV, Song: Tears, Idle Tears, st. 1.
  • Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
    And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd
    On lips that are for others; deep as love,
    Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
    O Death in Life, the days that are no more.
    • Pt. IV, Song: Tears, Idle Tears, st. 4.
  • O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South,
    Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
    And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee.
    • Pt. IV, Song: O Swallow, st. 1.
  • Man is the hunter; woman is his game:
    The sleek and shining creatures of the chase,
    We hunt them for the beauty of their skins;
    They love us for it, and we ride them down.
    • Pt. V, l. 147-150.
  • Man for the field and woman for the hearth:
    Man for the sword and for the needle she:
    Man with the head and woman with the heart:
    Man to command and woman to obey;
    All else confusion.
    • Pt. V, l. 427-431.
  • Home they brought her warrior dead:
    She nor swoon'd, nor utter'd cry:
    All her maidens, watching, said,
    "She must weep or she will die."
    • Pt. VI, Song: Home They Brought Her Warrior, st. 1.
  • You wrong yourselves — the woman is so hard
    Upon the woman.
    • Pt. VI, l. 205-206.
  • Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd:
    I strove against the stream and all in vain:
    Let the great river take me to the main:
    No more, dear love, for at a touch I yield;
    Ask me no more.
    • Pt. VII, Song: Ask Me No More, st. 3.
  • Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
    Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
    Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
    The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.
    • Pt. VII, Song: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal, st. 1.
  • Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
    And all thy heart lies open unto me.
    • Pt. VII, Song: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal, st. 3.
  • Sweet is every sound,
    Sweeter thy voice, but every sound is sweet;
    Myriads of rivulets hurrying thro' the lawn,
    The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
    And murmuring of innumerable bees.
    • Pt. VII, l. 203-207.
  • Happy he
    With such a mother! faith in womankind
    Beats with his blood, and trust in all things high
    Comes easy to him
    ; and tho’ he trip and fall,
    He shall not blind his soul with clay.
    • Pt. VII, l. 308-311.
  • God bless the narrow sea which keeps her off,
    And keeps our Britain, whole within herself,
    A nation yet, the rulers and the ruled —
    Some sense of duty, something of a faith,
    Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made.
    Some patient force to change them when we will,
    Some civic manhood firm against the crowd.
    • Conclusion, l. 51-57.

Tears, Idle Tears (1850)

  • Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
    Tears from the depth of some divine despair
    Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
    In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
    And thinking of the days that are no more.
    • St. 1
  • Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
    That brings our friends up from the underworld,
    Sad as the last which reddens over one
    That sinks with all we love below the verge;
    So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
    • St. 2
  • Dear as remembered kisses after death,
    And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
    On lips that are for others; deep as love,
    Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
    O Death in Life, the days that are no more!
    • St. 4

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington (1852)

The path of duty was the way to glory.
  • Bury the Great Duke
    With an empire's lamentation
    ;
    Let us bury the Great Duke
    To the noise of the mourning of a mighty nation;
    Mourning when their leaders fall,
    Warriors carry the warrior's pall,
    And sorrow darkens hamlet and hall.
    • St. I
  • Lead out the pageant: sad and slow,
    As fits an universal woe,
    Let the long, long procession go,
    And let the sorrowing crowd about it grow,
    And let the mournful martial music blow;
    The last great Englishman is low.
    • St. III
  • Rich in saving common-sense,
    And, as the greatest only are,
    In his simplicity sublime.

    O good gray head which all men knew,
    O voice from which their omens all men drew,
    O iron nerve to true occasion true,
    O fallen at length that tower of strength
    Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew!
    • St. IV
  • Yea, let all good things await
    Him who cares not to be great
    But as he saves or serves the state.
    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 shall find the stubborn thistle bursting
    Into glossy purples, which outredden
    All voluptuous garden-roses.
    • St. VIII
  • Speak no more of his renown,
    Lay your earthly fancies down,
    And in the vast cathedral leave him,
    God accept him, Christ receive him!
    • St. IX

The Charge of the Light Brigade (1854)

Based upon the military confrontation known as The Charge of the Light Brigade during the Battle of Balaclava of the Crimean War
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
  • Half a league half a league
    Half a league onward
    All in the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred:

    'Forward the Light Brigade
    Charge for the guns' he said
    Into the valley of Death
    Rode the six hundred.
    • St. 1
  • "Forward, the Light Brigade!"
    Was there a man dismay'd?
    Not tho' the soldier knew
    Some one had blunder'd:
    Theirs not to make reply,
    Theirs not to reason why,
    Theirs but to do and die:
    Into the valley of death
    Rode the six hundred.
    • St. 2
  • Cannon to right of them,
    Cannon to left of them,
    Cannon in front of them
    Volley'd and thunder'd;
    Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    Boldly they rode and well,
    Into the jaws of Death,
    Into the mouth of Hell
    Rode the six hundred.
    • St. 3
  • Storm'd at with shot and shell,
    While horse and hero fell,
    They that had fought so well
    Came thro' the jaws of Death
    Back from the mouth of Hell,
    All that was left of them,
    Left of six hundred.
    • St. 5

Maud; A Monodrama (1855)

All night have the roses heard the flute, violin, bassoon...
  • Perfectly beautiful: let it be granted her: where is the fault?
    All that I saw (for her eyes were downcast, not to be seen)
    Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null,
    Dead perfection, no more.
    • Part I, section ii.
  • That jewelled mass of millinery,
    That oiled and curled Assyrian Bull.
    • Part I, section vi, stanza 6.
  • One still strong man in a blatant land.
    • Part I, section x, stanza 5.
  • And ah for a man to arise in me,
    That the man I am may cease to be!
    • Part I, section x, stanza 6.
  • Who shall call me ungentle, unfair,
    I long'd so heartily then and there
    To give him the grasp of fellowship;
    But while I past he was humming an air,
    Stopt, and then with a riding whip,
    Leisurely tapping a glossy boot,
    And curving a contumelious lip,
    Gorgonised me from head to foot
    With a stony British stare.
    • Part I, section xiii, stanza 2.
  • Come into the garden, Maud,
    For the black bat, night, has flown,
    Come into the garden, Maud,
    I am here at the gate alone;
    And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
    And the musk of the rose is blown.
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 1.
  • For a breeze of morning moves,
    And the planet of Love is on high,
    Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
    On a bed of daffodil sky,
    To faint in the light of the sun she loves,
    To faint in his light, and to die.
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 2.
  • All night have the roses heard
    The flute, violin, bassoon;
    All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
    To the dancers dancing in tune;
    Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
    And a hush with the setting moon.
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 3.
  • Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
    Come hither, the dances are done,
    In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
    Queen lily and rose in one;
    Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
    To the flowers, and be their sun.
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 9.
  • There has fallen a splendid tear
    From the passion-flower at the gate.
    She is coming, my dove, my dear;
    She is coming, my life, my fate;
    The red rose cries, "She is near, she is near;"
    And the white rose weeps, "She is late;"
    The larkspur listens, "I hear, I hear;"
    And the lily whispers, "I wait."
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 10.
  • She is coming, my own, my sweet;
    Were it ever so airy a tread,
    My heart would hear her and beat,
    Were it earth in an earthy bed;
    My dust would hear her and beat,
    Had I lain for a century dead;
    Would start and tremble under her feet,
    And blossom in purple and red.
    • Part I, section xxii, stanza 11.
  • A shadow flits before me,
    Not thou, but like to thee:
    Ah Christ, that it were possible
    For one short hour to see
    The souls we loved, that they might tell us
    What and where they be.
    • Part II, section iv, stanza 3.

The Revenge (1878)

  • At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay,
    And a pinnace, like a fluttered bird, came flying from far away:
    "Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!"
    Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "'Fore God I am no coward;
    But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear,
    And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick.
    We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?"
    • St. 1
  • Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward;
    You fly them for a moment to fight with them again.
    But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore.
    I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard,
    To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain."
    • St. 2
  • "Shall we fight or shall we fly?
    Good Sir Richard, tell us now,
    For to fight is but to die!
    There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set."
    And Sir Richard said again: "We be all good English men.
    Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil,
    For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet."
    • St. 4
  • Sir Richard spoke and he laughed, and we roared a hurrah, and so
    The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe,
    With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below;
    For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen,
    And the little Revenge ran on through the long sea-lane between.
    • St. 5

Crossing the Bar (1889)

Though from out our bourne of Time and Place the flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face when I have crossed the bar.
  • Sunset and evening star,
    And one clear call for me!
    And may there be no moaning of the bar,
    When I put out to sea.
    • St. 1
  • But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
    Too full for sound and foam,
    When that which drew from out the boundless deep
    Turns again home.
    • St. 2
  • Twilight and evening bell,
    And after that the dark!
    And may there be no sadness of farewell,
    When I embark.
    • St. 3
  • For though from out our bourne of Time and Place
    The flood may bear me far,
    I hope to see my Pilot face to face
    When I have crossed the bar.
    • St. 4

The Foresters, Robin Hood and Maid Marion (1892)

  • Friends,
    I am only merry for an hour or two
    Upon a birthday: if this life of ours
    Be a good glad thing, why should we make us merry
    Because a year of it is gone? but Hope
    Smiles from the threshold of the year to come
    Whispering 'It will be happier;' and old faces
    Press round us, and warm hands close with warm hands,
    And thro' the blood the wine leaps to the brain
    Like April sap to the topmost tree, that shoots
    New buds to heaven, whereon the throstle rock'd
    Sings a new song to the new year — and you,
    Strike up a song, my friends, and then to bed.
    • Act I, Scene III

Misattributed

  • The happiness of a man in this life does not consist in the absence but in the mastery of his passions.
    • Quoted in A Dictionary of Quotations, in Most Frequent Use by D.E. Macdonnel (1809) translated from French:
      • Le bonheur de l'homme en cette vi ne consiste pas á être sans passions: il consiste à en être le maître.

About Alfred Tennyson

  • The news came to the village — the dire news which spread across the land, filling men's hearts with consternation — that Byron was dead. Tennyson was then about a boy of fifteen.

    "Byron was dead! I thought the whole world was at an end," he once said, speaking of those bygone days. "I thought everything was over and finished for everyone — that nothing else mattered. I remembered I walked out alone, and carved 'Byron is dead' into the sandstone."

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1911 encyclopedia

Up to date as of January 14, 2010

From LoveToKnow 1911

ALFRED TENNYSON, 1ST BARON TENNYSON, (1809-1892), English poet, was born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, on the 6th of August 1809. He was the fourth of the twelve children of the Rev. George Clayton Tennyson (1778-1831) and his wife Elizabeth Fytche (1781-1865). The Tennysons were an old Lincolnshire family settled at Bayon's Manor. The poet's grandfather, George Tennyson, M.P., had disinherited the poet's father, who was settled hard by in the rectory of Somersby, in favour of the younger son, Charles Tennyson D'Eyncourt. The rich pastoral scenery of this part of Lincolnshire influenced the imagination of the boy, and is plainly reflected in all his early poetry, although it has now been stated with authority that the localities of his subject-poems, which had been ingeniously identified with real brooks and granges, were wholly imaginary. At a very early age he began to write in prose and verse. At Christmas 1815 he was sent to the grammar school at Louth, his mother having kept up a connexion with this typical Lincolnshire borough, of which her father, the Rev. Stephen Fytche, had been vicar. Tennyson was at this school for five years, and then returned to Somersby to be trained by his father. Inthe rectory the boys had the run of an excellent library, and here the young poet based his wide knowledge of the English classics. The news of Byron's death (19th April 1824) made a deep impression on him: it was a day, he said, "when the whole world seemed to be darkened for me"; he went out into the woods and carved "Byron is dead" upon a rock. Tennyson was already writing copiously - "an epic of 6000 lines" at twelve, a drama in blank verse at fourteen, and so on: these exercises have, very properly, not been printed, but the poet said of them at the close of his life, "It seems to me, I wrote them all in perfect metre." The family was in the habit of spending the summer holidays at the coast of the county, commonly at Mablethorpe, and here Tennyson gained his impressions of the vastness of the sea. FitzGerald very justly attributed the landscape character of Tennyson's genius to the impress left on his imagination by "old Lincolnshire, where there were not only such good seas, but also such fine hill and dale among the wolds." In 1827 Frederick Tennyson (1807-1898), the eldest surviving brother, uniting with his younger brothers Charles and Alfred, published at Louth an anonymous collection of Poems by Two Brothers. The "two" were Charles and Alfred (whose contributions predominated), and who shared the surprising profits, X20. On the 10th February 1828 Charles and Alfred matriculated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where Frederick was already a student. The poet subsequently told Mr Edmund Gosse that his father would not let him leave Somersby till, on successive days, he had recited from memory the whole of the odes of Horace. The brothers took rooms at 12 Rose Crescent, and afterwards moved into Trumpington Street (now 157 Corpus Buildings). They were shy, and made at first few friends; but they gradually gathered selected associates around them, and Alfred grew to be looked up to in Cambridge "as to a great poet and an elder brother" by a group which included Richard Chenevix Trench, Monckton Milnes (Lord Houghton), James Spedding, W. H. Thompson, Edward FitzGerald, W. H. Brookfield, and, above all, A. H. Hallam (1811-1833). Charles Tennyson (1808-1879) afterwards took the additional name of Turner. He published four volumes of sonnets which have been highly praised. In June 1829 Alfred Tennyson won the Chancellor's prize medal for his poem called "Timbuctoo." With great imperfections, this study in Miltonic blank verse displays the genius of a poet, in spite of a curious obscurity both of thought and style. Here are already both richness and power, although their expression is not yet clarified by taste. But by this time Tennyson was writing lyrics of still higher promise, and, as Arthur Hallam early perceived, with an extraordinary earnestness in the worship of beauty. The results of this enthusiasm and this labour of the artist appeared in the volume of Poems, chiefly Lyrical, published in 1830. This book would have been astonishing as the production of a youth of twenty-one, even if, since the death of Byron six years before, there had not been a singular dearth of good poetry in England. Here at least, in the slender volume of 1830, was a new writer revealed, and in "Mariana," "The Poet," "Love and Death," and "Oriana," a singer of wonderful though still unchastened melody. Through these, and through less perfect examples, was exhibited an amazing magnificence of fancy, at present insufficiently under control, and a voluptuous pomp of imagery, tending to an over-sweetness. The veteran S. T. Coleridge, praising the genius in the book, blamed the metrical imperfection of it. For this criticism he has himself constantly been reproved, and Tennyson (whose impatience of anything like censure was phenomenal) continued to resent it to the end of his life. Yet Coleridge was perfectly just in his remark; and the metrical anarchy of the "Madelines" and "Adelines" of the 1830 volume showed that Tennyson, with all his delicacy of modulation, had not yet mastered the arts of verse.

In the summer of 1830 Tennyson and Hallam volunteered in the army of the Spanish insurgent Torrijos, and marched about a little in the Pyrenees, without meeting with an enemy. He came back to find his father ailing, and in February 1831 he left Cambridge for Somersby, where a few days later Dr George Tennyson died. The new incumbent was willing that the Tennysons should continue to live in the rectory, which they did not leave until six years later. Arthur Hallam was now betrothed to Emily Tennyson (afterwards Mrs Jesse, 1811-1889), and stayed frequently at Somersby. This was a very happy time, and one of great physical development on Alfred's part. He took his share in all kinds of athletic exercises, and it was now that Brookfield said, "It is not fair that you should be Hercules as well as Apollo." This high physical zest in life seems to have declined after 1831, when his eyes began to trouble him, and he became liable to depression. The poetical work of these three years, mainly spent at Somersby, was given to the world in the volume of Poems which (dated 1833) appeared at the end of 1832. This was certainly one of the most astonishing revelations of finished genius ever produced by a young man of less than four-and-twenty. Here were to be read "The Lady of Shalott," "The Dream of Fair Women," "Oenone," "The Lotos-Eaters," "The Palace of Art," and "The Miller's Daughter," with a score of other lyrics, delicious and divine. The advance in craftsmanship and command over the materiel of verse shown since the volume of 1830 is absolutely astounding. If Tennyson had died of the savage article which presently appeared in the Quarterly Review, literature would have sustained terrible losses, but his name would have lived for ever among those of the great English poets. Indeed, it may be doubted whether, in several directions, he ever surpassed the glorious things to be found in this most exquisite and most precious book. It was well that its publication was completed before the blow fell upon Tennyson which took for a while all the light out of him. In August 1833 Arthur Hallam started with his father, the great historian, for Tirol. They went no farther than Vienna, where Mr Hallam, returning to the hotel on the 15th of September 1833, found his son lying dead on a sofa: a blood-vessel had broken in his brain. His body was brought back to England, and buried at Clevedon on the 3rd of January 1834. These events affected Tennyson extremely. He grew less than ever willing to come forward and face the world; his health became "variable and his spirits indifferent." The earliest effect of Hallam's death upon his friend's art was the composition, in the summer of 1834, of The Two Voices; and to the same period belong the beginnings of the Idylls of the King and of In Memoriam, over both of which he meditated long. In 1835 he visited the Lakes, and saw much of Hartley Coleridge, but would not "obtrude on the great man at Rydal," although "Wordsworth was hospitably disposed." Careless alike of fame and of influence, Tennyson spent these years mainly at Somersby, in a uniform devotion of his whole soul to the art of poetry. In 1837, to their great distress, the Tennysons were turned out of the Lincolnshire rectory where they had lived so long. They moved to High Beech, in Epping Forest, which was their home until 1840. The poet was already engaged, or "quasi-betrothed," to Emily Sellwood, but ten years more had to pass before they could afford to marry. At Torquay, in 1838, he wrote Audley Court on one of his rare excursions, for he had no money for touring, nor did he wish for change: he wrote at this time, "I require quiet, and myself to myself, more than any man when I write." In 1840 the Tennysons moved to Tunbridge Wells, and a year later to Boxley, near Maidstone, to be close to Edmund Lushington, who had now married Cecilia Tennyson. Alfred was from this time more and more frequently a visitor in London.

In 1842 the two-volume edition of his Poems broke the ten years' silence which he had enforced himself to keep. Here, with many pieces already known to all lovers of modern verse, were found rich and copious additions to his work. These he had originally intended to publish alone, and an earlier privately printed Morte d'Arthur,- Dora, and other Idylls, of 1842, is the despair of book-collectors. Most of those studies of home-life in England, which formed so highly popular a section of Tennyson's work - such as "The Gardener's Daughter," "Walking to the Mail," and "The Lord of Burleigh" - were now first issued, and, in what we have grown to consider a much higher order, "Locksley Hall," "Ulysses," and "Sir Galahad." To the older and more luxurious lyrics, as reprinted in 1842, Tennyson did not spare the curbing and pruning hand, and in some cases went too far in restraining the wanton spirit of beauty in its youthful impulse. It is from 1842 that the universal fame of Tennyson must be dated; from the time of the publication of the two volumes he ceased to be a curiosity, or the darling of an advanced clique, and took his place as the leading poet of his age in England. Among the friends whom he now made, or for the first time cultivated, were Carlyle, Rogers, Dickens, and Elizabeth Barrett. Material difficulties now, however, for the first time intruded on his path. He became the victim of a certain "earnest-frothy" speculator, who induced him to sell his little Lincolnshire estate at Grasby, and to invest the proceeds, with all his other money, and part of that of his brothers and sisters, in a "Patent Decorative Carving Company": in a few months the whole scheme collapsed, and Tennyson was left penniless. He was attacked by so overwhelming a hypochondria that his life was despaired of, and he was placed for some time under the charge of a hydropathic physician at Cheltenham, where absolute rest and isolation gradually brought him round to health again. The state of utter indigence to which Tennyson was reduced greatly exercised his friends, and in September 1845, at the suggestion of Henry Hallam, Sir Robert Peel was induced to bestow on the poet a pension of f200 a year. Never was public money expended in a more patriotic fashion. Tennyson's health slowly became restored, and in 1846 he was hard at work on The Princess; in the autumn of this year he took a tour in Switzerland, and saw great mountains and such "stateliest bits of landskip" for the first time. In 1847 nervous prostration again obliged him to undergo treatment at Prestbury: "They tell me not to read, not to think; but they might as well tell me not to live." Dr Gully's water-cure was tried, with success. The Princess was now published, in a form afterwards considerably modified and added to. Carlyle and FitzGerald "gave up all hopes of him after The Princess," or pretended that they did. It was true that the bent of his genius was slightly altered, in a direction which seemed less purely and austerely that of the highest art; but his concessions to public taste vastly added to the width of the circle he now addressed. The home of the Tennysons was now at Cheltenham: on his occasional visits to London he was in the habit of seeing Thackeray, Coventry Patmore, Browning and Macready, as well as older friends, but he avoided "society." In 1848, while making a tour in Cornwall, Tennyson met Robert Stephen Hawker of Morwenstow, with whom he seems - but the evidence is uncertain - to have talked about King Arthur, and to have resumed his intention of writing an epic on that theme. In his absent-minded way Tennyson was very apt to mislay objects; in earlier life he had lost the MS. of Poems, chiefly Lyrical, and had been obliged to restore the whole from scraps and memory. Now a worse thing befell him, for in February 1850, having collected into one "long ledger-like book" all the elegies on Arthur Hallam which he had been composing at intervals since 1833, he left this only MS. in the cupboard of some lodgings in Mornington Place, Hampstead Road. By extraordinary good chance it had been overlooked by the landlady, and Coventry Patmore was able to recover it. In this way In Memoriam was dragged back from the very verge of destruction, and could be published, in its original anonymous form, in May 1850. The public was at first greatly mystified by the nature and object of this poem, which was not merely a chronicle of Tennyson's emotions under bereavement, nor even a statement of his philosophical and religious beliefs, but, as he long afterwards explained, a sort of Divina Commedia, ending with happiness in the marriage of his youngest sister, Cecilia Lushington. In fact, the great blemishes of In Memoriam, its redundancy and the dislocation of its parts, were largely due to the desultory manner of its composition. The poet wrote the sections as they occurred to him, and did not think of weaving them together into a single poem until it was too late to give them real coherency. The metre, which by a curious naivete Tennyson long believed that he had invented, served by its happy peculiarity to bind the sections together, and even to give an illusion of connected movement to the thought.

The sale of Tennyson's poems now made it safe for him to settle, and on the 13th of June 1850 he was married at Shiplake to Emily Sarah Sellwood (1813-1896). Of this union no more need be said than was recorded long afterwards by the poet himself, "The peace of God came into my life before the altar when I wedded her." Every species of good fortune was now to descend on the path of the man who had struggled against ill luck so long. Wordsworth died, and on the 19th of November 1850 Queen Victoria appointed Tennyson poet laureate. The salary connected with the post was very small, but it had a secondary value in greatly stimulating the sale of his books, which was his main source of income. The young couple took a house at Warninglid, in Sussex, which did not suit them, and then one in Montpelier Row, Twickenham, which did better. In April 1851 their first child was born dead. At this time Tennyson was brooding much upon the ancient world, and reading little but Milton, Homer and Virgil. This condition was elegantly defined by Carlyle as "sitting on a dungheap among innumerable dead dogs." In the summer of 1851 was made the tour in Italy, of which The Daisy is the immortal record. Of 1852 the principal events were the birth of his eldest son Hallam, the second Lord Tennyson, in August, and in November the publication of the Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington. In the winter of 1853 Tennyson entered into possession of a little house and farm called Farringford, near Freshwater, in the Isle of Wight, which he leased at first, and afterwards bought: this beautiful place, ringed round with ilexes and cedars, entered into his life and coloured it with its delicate enchantment. In 1854 he published The Charge of the Light Brigade, and was.busy composing Maud and its accompanying lyrics; and this volume was published in July 1855, just after he was made D.C.L. at Oxford: he was received on this occasion, which may be considered his first public appearance, with a "tremendous ovation." The reception of Maud from the critics, however, was the worst trial to his equanimity which Tennyson had ever had to endure, nor had the future anything like it in store fort him. He had risen in Maud far above his ordinary serenity of style, to ecstasies of passion and audacities of expression which were scarcely intelligible to his readers, and certainly not welcome. It is odd that this irregular poem, with its copious and varied music, its splendid sweep of emotion, its unfailing richness of texture - this poem in which Tennyson rises to heights of human sympathy and intuition which he reached nowhere else, should have been received with bitter hostility, have been styled "the dead level of prose run mad," and have been reproved more absurdly still for its "rampant and rabid bloodthirstiness of soul." There came a reaction of taste and sense, but the delicate spirit of Tennyson had been wounded. For some years the world heard nothing from him; he was at Farringford, busying himself with the Arthurian traditions. He had now become an object of boundless personal curiosity, being already difficult to find, and the centre of amusing legends. It was in 1857 that Bayard Taylor saw him, and carried away the impression of a man "tall and broad-shouldered as a son of Anak, with hair, beard and eyes of southern darkness." This period of somewhat mysterious withdrawal from the world embraced a tour in Wales in 1857, a visit to Norway in 1858, and a journey through Portugal in 1859. In 1857 two Arthurian poems had been tentatively and privately printed, as Enid and Nimue, or the True and the False, to see how the idyllic form would be liked by the inner circle of Tennyson's friends. In the summer of 1859 the first series of Idylls of the King was at length given to the world, and achieved a popular success far beyond anything experienced before by any English poets, save perhaps Byron and Scott. Within a month of publication, 10,000 copies had been sold. The idyls were four in number, "Enid," "Vivien" (no longer called "Nimue"), "Elaine" and "Guinevere." These were fragments of the epic of the fall of King Arthur and the Table Round which Tennyson was so long preparing, and which he can hardly be said to have ever completed, although nearly thirty years later he closed it. The public and the critics alike were entranced with the "sweetness" and the "purity" of the treatment. A few, like Ruskin, were doubtful about "that increased quietness of style"; one or two already suspected that the "sweetness" was obtained at some sacrifice of force, and that the "purity" involved a concession to Victorian conventionality. It was not perceived at the time that the four idyls were parts of a great historical or mystical poem, and they were welcomed as four polished studies of typical women: it must be confessed that in this light their even perfection of workmanship appeared to greater advantage than it eventually did in the general texture of the so-called "epic." In 1859 "Boadicea" was written, and "Riflemen, Form !" published in The Times. Urged by the duke of Argyll, Tennyson now turned his attention to the theme of the Holy Grail, though he progressed with it but fitfully and slowly. In 1861 he travelled in Auvergne and the Pyrenees, with Clough, who was to die a few months later; to this year belong "Helen's Tower" and the "Dedication" of the Idylls to the prince consort, "These to his Memory." The latter led to Tennyson's presentation in April 1862 to the queen, who "stood pale and statue-like before him, in a kind of stately innocence," which greatly moved his admiring homage. From this time forth the poet enjoyed the constant favour of the sovereign, though he could never be moulded into a conventional courtier. He now put the Arthurian legends aside fiat a time, and devoted himself to the composition, in 1862, of "Enoch Arden," which, however, did not appear until 1864, and then in a volume which also contained "Sea Dreams," "Aylmer's Field" and, above all, "The Northern Farmer," the first and finest of Tennyson's remarkable studies in dialect_ In April of this year Garibaldi visited Farringford; in February 1865 Tennyson's mother died at Hampstead in her eighty-fifth year; in the ensuing summer he travelled in Germany. The time slipped by with incidents but few and slight, Tennyson's popularity in Great Britain growing all the time to an extent unparalleled in the whole annals of English poetry. This universality of fame led to considerable practical discomfort; he was besieged by sightseers, and his nervous trepidation led him perhaps to exaggerate the intensity of the infliction. In 1867 he determined to make for himself a haven of refuge against the invading Philistine, and bought some land on Blackdown, above Haslemere, then a secluded corner of England; here 1'Ir (afterwards Sir) James Knowles began to build him a house, ultimately named Aldworth. This is the time of two of his rare, privately printed pamphlets, The Window; or, the Loves of the Wrens (1867), and The Victim (1868). The noble poem Lucretius, one of the greatest of Tennyson's versified monographs, appeared in May 1868, and in this year The Holy Grail was at last finished; it was published in 1869, together with three other idyls belonging to the Arthurian epic, and various miscellaneous lyrics, besides Lucretius. The reception of this volume was cordial, but not so universally respectful as that which Tennyson had grown to expect from his adoring public. The fact was that the heightened reputation of Browning, and still more the sudden vogue of Swinburne, Morris and Rossetti (1866-1870), considerably disturbed the minds of Tennyson's most ardent readers, and exposed himself to a severer criticism than he had lately been accustomed to endure. He went on quite calmly, however, sure of his mission and of his music. His next volume (1872), Gareth and Lynette and The Last Tournament, continued, and, as he then supposed, concluded The Idylls of the King, to the great satisfaction of the poet, who had found much difficulty in rounding off the last sections of the poem. Nor, as he was to find, was the poem yet completed, but for the time being he dismissed it from his mind. In 1873 he was offered a baronetcy by Gladstone, and again by Disraeli in 1874; in each case the honour was gracefully declined. Believing that his work with the romantic Arthurian epics was concluded, Tennyson now turned his attention to a department of poetry which had long attracted him, but which he had never seriously attempted - the drama. He put before him a scheme, which he cannot be said to have carried far, that of illustrating "the making of England" by a series of great historical tragedies. His Queen Mary, the first of these chronicle-plays was published in 1875, and played by Sir Henry Irving at the Lyceum in 1876. Although it was full of admirably dramatic writing, it was not theatrically well composed, and it failed on the stage. Extremely pertinacious in this respect, the poet went on attempting to storm the theatre, with assault upon assault, all practically failures until the seventh and last, which was unfortunately posthumous. To have really succeeded on the stage would have given Tennyson more gratification than anything else, but he was not permitted to live long enough to see this blossom also added to the heavy garland of his glory. Meanwhile Harold, a tragedy of doom, was published in 1876; but, though perhaps the finest of its author's dramas,- it has never been acted. During these years Tennyson's thoughts were largely occupied with the building of Aldworth. His few lyrics were spirited ballads of adventure, inspired by an exalted patriotism - "The Revenge" (1878), "The Defence of Lucknow" (1879) - but he reprinted and finally published his old suppressed poem, The Lover's Tale, and a little play of his, The Falcon, versified out of Boccaccio, was produced by the Kendals at their theatre in the last days of 1879. Tennyson had reached the limits of the threescore years and ten, and it was tacitly taken for granted that he would now retire into dignified repose. In point of fact, he now started on a new lease of poetical activity. In 1880 he published the earliest of six important collections of lyrics, this being entitled Ballads and other Poems, and containing the sombre and magnificent "Rizpah." In 1881 The Cup and in 1882 The Promise of May, two little plays, were produced without substantial success in London theatres: the second of these is perhaps the least successful of all the poet's longer writings, but its failure annoyed him unreasonably. This determination to be a working playwright, pushed on in the face of critical hostility and popular indifference, is a very curious trait in the character of Tennyson. In September 1883 Tennyson and Gladstone set out on a voyage round the north of Scotland, to Orkney, and across the ocean to Norway and Denmark. At Copenhagen they were entertained by the king and queen, and after much feting, returned to Gravesend: this adventure served to cheer the poet, who had been in low spirits since the death of his favourite brother Charles, and who now entered upon a phase of admirable vigour. During the voyage Gladstone had determined to offer Tennyson a peerage. After some demur, the poet consented to accept it, but added, "For my own part, I shall regret my simple name all my life." On the 11th of March 1884 he took his seat in the House of Lords as Baron Tennyson of Aldworth and Farringford. He voted twice, but never spoke in the House. In the autumn of this year his tragedy of Becket was published, but the poet at last despaired of the stage, and disclaimed any hope of "meeting the exigencies of our modern theatre." Curiously enough, after his death Becket was the one of all his plays which enjoyed a great success on the boards. In 1885 was published another interesting miscellany, Tiresias and other Poems, with a posthumous dedication to Edward FitzGerald. In this volume, it should be noted, The Idylls of the King was completed at last by the publication of "Balin and Balan"; it contained also the superb address "To Virgil." In April 1886 Tennyson suffered the loss of his second son, Lionel, who died in the Red Sea on his return from India. The untiring old poet was steadily writing on, and by 1886 he had another collection of lyrics ready, Locksley Hall Sixty Years After, &c.; his eyes troubled him, but his memory and his intellectual curiosity were as vivid as ever. Late in 1888 he had a dangerous attack of rheumatic gout, from which it seemed in December that he could scarcely hope to rally, but his magnificent constitution pulled him through. He was past eighty when he published the collection of new verses entitled Demeter and other Poems (1889), which appeared almost simultaneously with the death of Browning, an event which left Tennyson a solitary figure indeed in poetic literature. In 1891 it was observed that he had wonderfully recovered the high spirits of youth, and even a remarkable portion of physical strength. His latest drama, The Foresters, now received his attention, and in March 1892 it was produced at New York, with Miss Ada Rehan as Maid Marian. During this year Tennyson was steadily engaged on poetical composition, finishing "Akbar's Dream," "Kapiolani" and other contents of the posthumous volume called The Death of Oenone, 1892. In the summer he took a voyage to the Channel Islands and Devonshire; and even this was not his latest excursion from home, for in July 1892 he went up for a visit to London. Soon after entering his eightyfourth year, however, symptoms of weakness set in, and early in September his condition began to give alarm. He retained his intellectual lucidity and an absolute command of his faculties to the last, reading Shakespeare with obvious appreciation until within a few hours of his death. With the splendour of the full moon falling upon him, his hand clasping his Shakespeare, and looking, as we are told, almost unearthly in the majestic beauty of his old age, Tennyson passed away at Aldworth on the night of the 6th of October 1892. Cymbeline, the play he had been reading on the last afternoon, was laid in his coffin, and on the 12th he was publicly buried with great solemnity in Westminster Abbey. Lady Tennyson survived until August 1896.

The physical appearance of Tennyson was very remarkable. Of his figure at the age of thirty-three Carlyle has left a superb portrait: "One of the finest-looking men in the world. A great shock of rough, dusky, dark hair; bright, laughing, hazel eyes; massive aquiline face, most massive yet most delicate; of sallow brown complexion, almost Indian-looking, clothes cynically loose, free-and-easy, smokes infinite tobacco. His voice is musical, metallic, fit for loud laughter and piercing wail, and all that may lie between; speech and speculation free and plenteous; I do not meet in these late decades such company over a pipe." He was unusually tall, and possessed in advanced years a strange and rather terrifying air of sombre majesty. But he was, in fact, of a great simplicity in temperament, affectionate, shy, still exquisitely sensitive in extreme old age to the influences of beauty, melancholy and sweetness. Although exceedingly near-sighted, Tennyson was a very close observer of nature, and at the age of eighty his dark and glowing eyes, which were still strong, continued to permit him to enjoy the delicate features of country life around him, both at Aldworth and in the Isle of Wight. His Life, written with admirable piety and taste by his son, Hallam, second Lord Tennyson, was published in two volumes in 1897.

At the time of his death, and for some time after it, the enthusiastic recognition of the genius of Tennyson was too extravagant to be permanent. A reaction against this extravagance was perhaps inevitable, and criticism has of late been little occupied with the poet. The reason of this is easy to find. For an unusually long period this particular poetry had occupied public and professional opinion, and all the commonplace things about it had been said and re-said to satiety. It lacks for the moment the interest of freshness; it is like a wonderful picture seen so constantly that it fails any longer to concentrate attention. No living poet has ever held England - no poet but Victor Hugo has probably ever held any country - quite so long under his unbroken sway as Tennyson did. As he recedes from us, however, we begin to see that he has a much closer relation to the great Georgian writers than we used to be willing to admit. The distance between the generation of Wordsworth and Coleridge and that of Byron and Shelley is not less - it is even probably greater - than that which divides Keats from Tennyson, and he is more the last of that great school than the first of any new one. The qualities in which he seems to surpass his immediate predecessors are exactly those which should be the gift of one who sums up the labours of a mighty line of artists. He is remarkable among them for the breadth, the richness, the substantial accomplishment of his touch; he has something of all these his elders, and goes farther along the road of technical perfection than any of them. We still look to the earlier masters for supreme excellence in particular directions: to Wordsworth for sublime philosophy, to Coleridge for ethereal magic, to Byron for passion, to Shelley for lyric intensity, to Keats for richness. Tennyson does not excel each of these in his own special field, but he is often nearer to the particular man in his particular mastery than any one else can be said to be, and he has in addition his own field of supremacy. What this is cannot easily be defined; it consists, perhaps, in the beauty of the atmosphere which Tennyson contrives to cast around his work, moulding it in the blue mystery of twilight, in the opaline haze of sunset: this atmosphere, suffused over his poetry with inestimable skill and with a tact very rarely at fault, produces an almost unfailing illusion or mirage of loveliness, so that, even where (as must sometimes be the case with every poet) the thought and the imagery have little value in themselves, the fictive aura of beauty broods over the otherwise undistinguished verse. Hence, among all the English poets, it is Tennyson who presents the least percentage of entirely unattractive poetry. In his luminous subtlety and his broad undulating sweetness, his relationship with Virgil has long been manifest; he was himself aware of it. But he was also conscious that his exquisite devotion to mere lucidity and beauty might be a snare to him, and a happy instinct was always tlriving him to a study of mankind as well as of inanimate nature. Few English writers have known so adroitly as Tennyson how to bend the study of Shakespeare to the enrichment of their personal style. It should be added that he was a very deep and original student of literature of every description, and that the comparatively few specimens which have been preserved of his conversation contain some of the finest fragments of modern appreciation of the great poets which we possess. This is worthy of consideration in any attempt made to sketch the mind of a man who was above all other masters of recent literature an artist, and who must be studied in the vast and orbic fullness of his accomplishment in order to be appreciated at all. (E. G.) Alfred, Lord Tennyson: a Memoir (1897), by Hallam, second Baron Tennyson, is the authoritative source for the poet's biography. Mr R. H. Shepherd in his Tennysoniana (1866), supplied a list of criticisms on his work, and a bibliography issued separately in 1896. Among the numerous books on the subject of his life and writings may be mentioned: A Commentary on Tennyson's In Memoriam (1901), by Prof. A. C. Bradley; Canon Rawnsley's Memories of the Tennysons (1900); Alfred Tennyson (1901), by Mr Andrew Lang; an essay on "The Mission of Tennyson" in Mr W. S. Lilly's Studies in Religion and Literature (1904); and The Life of Lord Tennyson (1904), by Mr A. C. Benson, who gives a more critical estimate of the poet than was possible in the Memoir by his son.


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