The Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson Part 15

4

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!

Thou wert not nursed by the waterfall Which ever sounds and shines A pillar of white light upon the wall Of purple cliffs, aloof descried: Come from the woods that belt the grey hill-side, The seven elms, the poplars [4] four That stand beside my father's door, And chiefly from the brook [5] that loves To purl o'er matted cress and ribbed sand, Or dimple in the dark of rushy coves, Drawing into his narrow earthen urn, In every elbow and turn, The filter'd tribute of the rough woodland.

O! hither lead thy feet!

Pour round mine ears the livelong bleat Of the thick-fleeced sheep from wattled folds, Upon the ridged wolds, When the first matin-song hath waken'd [6] loud Over the dark dewy earth forlorn, What time the amber morn Forth gushes from beneath a low-hung cloud.

5

Large dowries doth the raptured eye To the young spirit present When first she is wed; And like a bride of old In triumph led, With music and sweet showers Of festal flowers, Unto the dwelling she must sway.

Well hast thou done, great artist Memory, In setting round thy first experiment With royal frame-work of wrought gold; Needs must thou dearly love thy first essay, And foremost in thy various gallery Place it, where sweetest sunlight falls Upon the storied walls; For the discovery And newness of thine art so pleased thee, That all which thou hast drawn of fairest Or boldest since, but lightly weighs With thee unto the love thou bearest The first-born of thy genius.

Artist-like, Ever retiring thou dost gaze On the prime labour of thine early days: No matter what the sketch might be; Whether the high field on the bushless Pike, Or even a sand-built ridge Of heaped hills that mound the sea, Overblown with murmurs harsh, Or even a lowly cottage [7] whence we see Stretch'd wide and wild the waste enormous marsh, Where from the frequent bridge, Like emblems of infinity, [8]

The trenched waters run from sky to sky; Or a garden bower'd close With plaited [9] alleys of the trailing rose, Long alleys falling down to twilight grots, Or opening upon level plots Of crowned lilies, standing near Purple-spiked lavender: 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 [10] whom pa.s.sion hath not blinded, Subtle-thoughted, myriad-minded.

My friend, with you [11] to live alone, Were how much [12] better than to own A crown, a sceptre, and a throne!

O strengthen, enlighten me!

I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory.

[Footnote 1: 1830. Cam'st.]

[Footnote 2: 1830. Kist.]

[Footnote 3: Transferred from 'Timbuctoo'.

And these with lavish'd sense Listenist the lordly music flowing from The illimitable years.]

[Footnote 4: The poplars have now disappeared but the seven elms are still to be seen in the garden behind the house. See Napier, 'The Laureate's County', pp. 22, 40-41.]

[Footnote 5: This is the Somersby brook which so often reappears in Tennyson's poetry, cf. 'Millers Daughter, A Farewell', and 'In Memoriam', 1 xxix. and c.]

[Footnote 6: 1830. Waked. For the epithet "dew-impearled" 'cf'.

Drayton, Ideas, sonnet liii., "amongst the dainty 'dew-impearled flowers'," where the epithet is more appropriate and intelligible.]

[Footnote 7: 1830. The few.]

[Footnote 8: 1830 and 1842. Thee.]

[Footnote 9: 1830. Methinks were, so till 1850, when it was altered to the present reading.]

[Footnote 10: The cottage at Maplethorpe where the Tennysons used to spend the summer holidays. (See 'Life', i., 46.)]

[Footnote 11: 1830. Emblems or Glimpses of Eternity.]

[Footnote 12: 1830. Pleached. The whole of this pa.s.sage is an exact description of the Parsonage garden at Somersby. See 'Life', i., 27.]

SONG

First printed in 1830.

The poem was written in the garden at the Old Rectory, Somersby; an autumn scene there which it faithfully describes. This poem seems to have haunted Poe, a fervent admirer of Tennyson's early poems.

1

A Spirit haunts the year's last hours Dwelling amid these yellowing bowers: To himself he talks; For at eventide, listening earnestly, At his work you may hear him sob and sigh In the walks; Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

2

The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, As a sick man's room when he taketh repose An hour before death; My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves At the moist rich smell of the rotting leaves, And the breath Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose.

Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the hollyhock, Heavily hangs the tiger-lily.

ADELINE

First printed in 1830.

1

Mystery of mysteries, Faintly smiling Adeline, Scarce of earth nor all divine, Nor unhappy, nor at rest, But beyond expression fair With thy floating flaxen hair; Thy rose-lips and full blue eyes Take the heart from out my breast.

Wherefore those dim looks of thine, Shadowy, dreaming Adeline?

2

Whence that aery bloom of thine, Like a lily which the sun Looks thro' in his sad decline, And a rose-bush leans upon, Thou that faintly smilest still, As a Naiad in a well, Looking at the set of day, Or a phantom two hours old Of a maiden pa.s.sed away, Ere the placid lips be cold?

Wherefore those faint smiles of thine, Spiritual Adeline?

3

What hope or fear or joy is thine?

Who talketh with thee, Adeline?

For sure thou art not all alone: Do beating hearts of salient springs Keep measure with thine own?

Hast thou heard the b.u.t.terflies What they say betwixt their wings?

Or in stillest evenings With what voice the violet woos To his heart the silver dews?

Or when little airs arise, How the merry bluebell rings [1]

To the mosses underneath?