Macmillan in 1859,
without alteration; and in 1893 in the appendix to a reprint of _Poems
by Two Brothers_].
without alteration; and in 1893 in the appendix to a reprint of _Poems
by Two Brothers_].
Tennyson
Suggested by reading an article in a newspaper
l. _'God bless our Prince and Bride'_
li. The Ringlet
lii. Song _'Home they brought him slain with spears'_
liii. 1865-1866
THE LOVER'S TALE, 1833.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
_Note_
_To those unacquainted with Tennyson's conscientious methods, it may
seem strange that a volume of 160 pages is necessary to contain those
poems written and published by him during his active literary career,
and ultimately rejected as unsatisfactory. Of this considerable body
of verse, a great part was written, not in youth or old age, but while
Tennyson's powers were at their greatest. Whatever reasons may once
have existed for suppressing the poems that follow, the student of
English literature is entitled to demand that the whole body of
Tennyson's work should now be open, without restriction or impediment,
to the critical study to which the works of his compeers are
subjected. _
_The bibliographical notes prefixed to the various poems give, in every
case, the date and medium of first publication. _
_J. C. T. _
=Timbuctoo=
A Poem Which Obtained The Chancellor's Medal At The
_Cambridge Commencement_ MDCCCXXIX
By
A. Tennyson
Of Trinity College
[Printed in Cambridge _Chronicle and Journal_ of Friday, July 10,
1829, and at the University Press by James Smith, among the
_Prolusiones Academicae Praemiis annuis dignatae et in Curia
Cantabrigiensi Recitatae Comitiis Maximis_, MDCCCXXIX. Republished in
_Cambridge Prize Poems_, 1813 to 1858, by Messrs.
Macmillan in 1859,
without alteration; and in 1893 in the appendix to a reprint of _Poems
by Two Brothers_].
=Timbuctoo=
Deep in that lion-haunted inland lies
A mystic city, goal of high Emprize. [A]
--CHAPMAN.
I stood upon the Mountain which o'erlooks
The narrow seas, whose rapid interval
Parts Afric from green Europe, when the Sun
Had fall'n below th' Atlantick, and above
The silent Heavens were blench'd with faery light,
Uncertain whether faery light or cloud,
Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep, deep blue
Slumber'd unfathomable, and the stars
Were flooded over with clear glory and pale.
I gaz'd upon the sheeny coast beyond,
There where the Giant of old Time infixed
The limits of his prowess, pillars high
Long time eras'd from Earth: even as the sea
When weary of wild inroad buildeth up
Huge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves.
And much I mus'd on legends quaint and old
Which whilome won the hearts of all on Earth
Toward their brightness, ev'n as flame draws air;
But had their being in the heart of Man
As air is th' life of flame: and thou wert then
A center'd glory-circled Memory,
Divinest Atalantis, whom the waves
Have buried deep, and thou of later name
Imperial Eldorado root'd with gold:
Shadows to which, despite all shocks of Change,
All on-set of capricious Accident,
Men clung with yearning Hope which would not die.
As when in some great City where the walls
Shake, and the streets with ghastly faces throng'd
Do utter forth a subterranean voice,
Among the inner columns far retir'd
At midnight, in the lone Acropolis.
Before the awful Genius of the place
Kneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the while
Above her head the weak lamp dips and winks
Unto the fearful summoning without:
Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees,
Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth on
Those eyes which wear no light but that wherewith
Her phantasy informs them.
Where are ye
Thrones of the Western wave, fair Islands green?
Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glooms,
The blossoming abysses of your hills?
Your flowering Capes and your gold-sanded bays
Blown round with happy airs of odorous winds?
Where are the infinite ways which, Seraphtrod,
Wound thro' your great Elysian solitudes,
Whose lowest depths were, as with visible love,
Fill'd with Divine effulgence, circumfus'd,
Flowing between the clear and polish'd stems,
And ever circling round their emerald cones
In coronals and glories, such as gird
The unfading foreheads of the Saints in Heaven?
For nothing visible, they say, had birth
In that blest ground but it was play'd about
With its peculiar glory. Then I rais'd
My voice and cried 'Wide Afric, doth thy Sun
Lighten, thy hills enfold a City as fair
As those which starr'd the night o' the Elder World?
Or is the rumour of thy Timbuctoo
A dream as frail as those of ancient Time? '
A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light!
l. _'God bless our Prince and Bride'_
li. The Ringlet
lii. Song _'Home they brought him slain with spears'_
liii. 1865-1866
THE LOVER'S TALE, 1833.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
_Note_
_To those unacquainted with Tennyson's conscientious methods, it may
seem strange that a volume of 160 pages is necessary to contain those
poems written and published by him during his active literary career,
and ultimately rejected as unsatisfactory. Of this considerable body
of verse, a great part was written, not in youth or old age, but while
Tennyson's powers were at their greatest. Whatever reasons may once
have existed for suppressing the poems that follow, the student of
English literature is entitled to demand that the whole body of
Tennyson's work should now be open, without restriction or impediment,
to the critical study to which the works of his compeers are
subjected. _
_The bibliographical notes prefixed to the various poems give, in every
case, the date and medium of first publication. _
_J. C. T. _
=Timbuctoo=
A Poem Which Obtained The Chancellor's Medal At The
_Cambridge Commencement_ MDCCCXXIX
By
A. Tennyson
Of Trinity College
[Printed in Cambridge _Chronicle and Journal_ of Friday, July 10,
1829, and at the University Press by James Smith, among the
_Prolusiones Academicae Praemiis annuis dignatae et in Curia
Cantabrigiensi Recitatae Comitiis Maximis_, MDCCCXXIX. Republished in
_Cambridge Prize Poems_, 1813 to 1858, by Messrs.
Macmillan in 1859,
without alteration; and in 1893 in the appendix to a reprint of _Poems
by Two Brothers_].
=Timbuctoo=
Deep in that lion-haunted inland lies
A mystic city, goal of high Emprize. [A]
--CHAPMAN.
I stood upon the Mountain which o'erlooks
The narrow seas, whose rapid interval
Parts Afric from green Europe, when the Sun
Had fall'n below th' Atlantick, and above
The silent Heavens were blench'd with faery light,
Uncertain whether faery light or cloud,
Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep, deep blue
Slumber'd unfathomable, and the stars
Were flooded over with clear glory and pale.
I gaz'd upon the sheeny coast beyond,
There where the Giant of old Time infixed
The limits of his prowess, pillars high
Long time eras'd from Earth: even as the sea
When weary of wild inroad buildeth up
Huge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves.
And much I mus'd on legends quaint and old
Which whilome won the hearts of all on Earth
Toward their brightness, ev'n as flame draws air;
But had their being in the heart of Man
As air is th' life of flame: and thou wert then
A center'd glory-circled Memory,
Divinest Atalantis, whom the waves
Have buried deep, and thou of later name
Imperial Eldorado root'd with gold:
Shadows to which, despite all shocks of Change,
All on-set of capricious Accident,
Men clung with yearning Hope which would not die.
As when in some great City where the walls
Shake, and the streets with ghastly faces throng'd
Do utter forth a subterranean voice,
Among the inner columns far retir'd
At midnight, in the lone Acropolis.
Before the awful Genius of the place
Kneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the while
Above her head the weak lamp dips and winks
Unto the fearful summoning without:
Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees,
Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth on
Those eyes which wear no light but that wherewith
Her phantasy informs them.
Where are ye
Thrones of the Western wave, fair Islands green?
Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glooms,
The blossoming abysses of your hills?
Your flowering Capes and your gold-sanded bays
Blown round with happy airs of odorous winds?
Where are the infinite ways which, Seraphtrod,
Wound thro' your great Elysian solitudes,
Whose lowest depths were, as with visible love,
Fill'd with Divine effulgence, circumfus'd,
Flowing between the clear and polish'd stems,
And ever circling round their emerald cones
In coronals and glories, such as gird
The unfading foreheads of the Saints in Heaven?
For nothing visible, they say, had birth
In that blest ground but it was play'd about
With its peculiar glory. Then I rais'd
My voice and cried 'Wide Afric, doth thy Sun
Lighten, thy hills enfold a City as fair
As those which starr'd the night o' the Elder World?
Or is the rumour of thy Timbuctoo
A dream as frail as those of ancient Time? '
A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light!
