]
[Footnote 14: It is curious that a poet so scrupulous as Tennyson should
have retained to the last the italics.
[Footnote 14: It is curious that a poet so scrupulous as Tennyson should
have retained to the last the italics.
Tennyson
]
[Footnote 8: 1833 to 1851. Though. ]
[Footnote 9: 1833. Did roof noonday with doubt and fear. ]
[Footnote 10: 1833.
As waves that from the outer deep
Roll into a quiet cove,
There fall away, and lying still,
Having glorious dreams in sleep,
Shadow forth the banks at will. ]
[Footnote 11: 'Cf. ' Horace, 'Odes', iii. , xxvii. , 66-8:
Aderat querenti
Perfidum ridens Venus, et _remisso_
Filius _arcu_. ]
[Footnote 12: 1833.
I gaze on thee the cloudless noon
Of mortal beauty. ]
[Footnote 13: 1833. Then I faint, I swoon. The latter part of the eighth
stanza is little more than an adaptation of Sappho's famous Ode,
filtered perhaps through the version of Catullus.
]
[Footnote 14: It is curious that a poet so scrupulous as Tennyson should
have retained to the last the italics. ]
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER
First published in 1833. It was greatly altered when republished in
1842, and in some respects, so Fitzgerald thought, not for the better.
No alterations of much importance were made in it after 1842. The
characters as well as the scenery were, it seems, purely imaginary.
Tennyson said that if he thought of any mill it was that of Trumpington,
near Cambridge, which bears a general resemblance to the picture here
given.
In the first edition the poem opened with the following stanza, which
the 'Quarterly' ridiculed, and which was afterwards excised. Its
omission is surely not to be regretted, whatever Fitzgerald may have
thought.
I met in all the close green ways,
While walking with my line and rod,
The wealthy miller's mealy face,
Like the moon in an ivy-tod.
He looked so jolly and so good--
While fishing in the milldam-water,
I laughed to see him as he stood,
And dreamt not of the miller's daughter.
* * * * * *
I see the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size,
And who that knew him could forget
The busy wrinkles round his eyes?
The slow wise smile that, round about
His dusty forehead drily curl'd,
Seem'd half-within and half-without,
And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cup--
I see his gray eyes twinkle yet
At his own jest--gray eyes lit up
With summer lightnings of a soul
So full of summer warmth, so glad,
So healthy, sound, and clear and whole,
His memory scarce can make me [1] sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:
My own sweet [2] 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.
[Footnote 8: 1833 to 1851. Though. ]
[Footnote 9: 1833. Did roof noonday with doubt and fear. ]
[Footnote 10: 1833.
As waves that from the outer deep
Roll into a quiet cove,
There fall away, and lying still,
Having glorious dreams in sleep,
Shadow forth the banks at will. ]
[Footnote 11: 'Cf. ' Horace, 'Odes', iii. , xxvii. , 66-8:
Aderat querenti
Perfidum ridens Venus, et _remisso_
Filius _arcu_. ]
[Footnote 12: 1833.
I gaze on thee the cloudless noon
Of mortal beauty. ]
[Footnote 13: 1833. Then I faint, I swoon. The latter part of the eighth
stanza is little more than an adaptation of Sappho's famous Ode,
filtered perhaps through the version of Catullus.
]
[Footnote 14: It is curious that a poet so scrupulous as Tennyson should
have retained to the last the italics. ]
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER
First published in 1833. It was greatly altered when republished in
1842, and in some respects, so Fitzgerald thought, not for the better.
No alterations of much importance were made in it after 1842. The
characters as well as the scenery were, it seems, purely imaginary.
Tennyson said that if he thought of any mill it was that of Trumpington,
near Cambridge, which bears a general resemblance to the picture here
given.
In the first edition the poem opened with the following stanza, which
the 'Quarterly' ridiculed, and which was afterwards excised. Its
omission is surely not to be regretted, whatever Fitzgerald may have
thought.
I met in all the close green ways,
While walking with my line and rod,
The wealthy miller's mealy face,
Like the moon in an ivy-tod.
He looked so jolly and so good--
While fishing in the milldam-water,
I laughed to see him as he stood,
And dreamt not of the miller's daughter.
* * * * * *
I see the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size,
And who that knew him could forget
The busy wrinkles round his eyes?
The slow wise smile that, round about
His dusty forehead drily curl'd,
Seem'd half-within and half-without,
And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cup--
I see his gray eyes twinkle yet
At his own jest--gray eyes lit up
With summer lightnings of a soul
So full of summer warmth, so glad,
So healthy, sound, and clear and whole,
His memory scarce can make me [1] sad.
Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:
My own sweet [2] 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.
