Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize, With Death and Morning on the Silver Horns, Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine, smoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air. "So she, low-toned; while with shut eyes I lay The bosom with long sighs labor'd; and meek In surrendering herself Ida surrenders all. Her lover, however, restores to her the substance of her early hope, now purified from presumption and ambition; and, learning as well as teaching through the sympathies, assures her that there had been a heart of truth in her aspiring creed. (Pp. 156, 157.) For woman is not undevelopt man, The reader will have been enabled, by our analysis of the story, and still more by our extracts, to form a judgment of Mr. Tennyson's poem. He will perceive that, although the discordant materials of the tale are put together with much skill, it does not propose to itself the highest objects of narrative poetry. He will discover, also, that it is equally far from being a burlesque. The work, which is eminently original in its conception, is in narrative poetry much what the comedy of poetry and character, as distinguished from that of wit and manners, is in dramatic. The "Midsummer Night's Dream" and the "Tempest" include a serious meaning, although the tragic element enters not into them. They contemplate human life in the main from the sunny side; but, even from faeryland, it is still human life which they regard. So it is with Mr. Tennyson's "Princess. The abundant grace and descriptive beauty which meet the superficial eye, constitute but its external charm. Studying his work with that attention which the labor of a true poet should always command, we soon discover that, while fantastic in its subject, it is eminently human in sentiment, and that the human gradually rises higher and higher into the moral. The poem plays with the arbitrary and the theoretical; but it plays with them only to make them their own confutors. Such is the lore which we learn from human life. Our follies are our most effectual instructors; and the strongest resolutions of manhood flourish best in that soil in which the extravagances of youthful hopes have found a grave. The deep and rich humanity with which this poem, notwithstanding its fanciful plot, is replete, can hardly be illustrated by quotations. That its tendency is not to depreciate womanhood, but to exalt it, we have already remarked; and our observation is amply borne out by the passage, one of the most deeply touching in the poem, in which the Prince speaks of his mother. The same reverence for what is holiest in the affections is shown in the delineation of the Princess' late and reluctant love. Poets of a different class from Mr. Tennyson are always more successful in painting love than any of the other affections. One reason of this may be that in that passion there is often less of the humanities than in any other. If the love be very immature or very egotistical,--if it float in the imagination only, or be rooted in the exclusive demands of a narrow nature, and still more if it be mainly a matter of temperThen springs the crowning race of humankind "ament,--in any of these cases it admits of She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care: But like each other ev'n as those who love. Then reign the world's great bridals, chaste and calm: being easily described, because it is little modified by the more complex sympathies of our nature. Such love-poetry, accordingly, is very easily written, or rather such love is poetry ready made; and it will find acceptance with the least poetical readers. The love-poetry of the "Princess" is of another sort. In Ida the personal love rises out of that human love from which caprice and a wild enterprise had long estranged her. There is nothing new in the philosophy that "pity is akin to love;"" but the pity which exists only for a lover, is too like the charity which begins, and ends, at home. Ida has first pitied the deserted infant: -- "We took it for an hour this morning to us In our own bed: the tender orphan hands The wrath we nursed against the world." istics of Mr. Tennyson's poetry. Among the lesser meanings of his most recent work, that vindication of the natural ties against the arbitrary and the theoretical, is not the least significant. Many passages in it have a remarkable reference to children. They sound like a perpetual child-protest against Ida's Amazonian philosophy, which, if realized, would cast the whole of the child-like element out of the female character, and at the same time extirpate from the soul of man those feminine qualities which the masculine nature, if complete, must include. Human society can only be a perfect thing when it is the matured exponent of man's nature fully developed in it; and such development can only take place when, with due distinction and division, the contrasted parts of it, whether brought out by diversity of sex, age, rank, power, or other circumstance, are allowed an independent and separate expansion. We dare not, however, undertake the exposition of all Mr. Tennyson's hidden meanings. In these cases every reader is best contented with his own discoveries. She also pities the bereft mother, the estranged friend, the gray old father: and it is thus that at last she requires no formal refutation of that which had been the favorite object of her youthful aspirations. It The faults of "The Princess" are, in the drops away unshaken. She has been hu- main, faults of detail. Here and there the manized; and all the great human relations heroine seems to us a little too metaphysical assume at once their due place. Loyalty is in her discourse, as in p. 62; and the disthe basis of them all. She loves; and femi- tinction between her real character and the mine subjection appears to her no longer a unnatural one which she has chosen to astyranny, but a something beautiful, befitting, sume is, in one or two instances, not so careand worthy-Thy desire shall be to thy fully maintained as is usually the case. In husband, and he shall have the rule over the college hall, for instance, we would thee." The scientific eminence which she have been better pleased to hear of her has wished her sex to share becomes at once"grave professors" having scattered "gems a trifling as well as a visionary thing. For this development we are prepared by many artistic touches in the progress of the poem. It has been remarked, among the distinguishing attributes of high poetry, that such contains ever, whether intentionally or not, a number of subordinate meanings, beside that which lies on the surface. Indeed, we know not how it should be otherwise: the stream will make mention of its bed; the river will report of those shores which, sweeping through many regions and climes, it has washed; and those currents of thought whose sources lie afar off must needs be enriched with a various and precious store. The results of large generalizations must ever, though undesignedly, be symbolical-a fact which in itself proves how needless is the labor of a poet who, with a didactic purpose, devises a formal allegory, and models his work on such a framework. Suggestiveness we should class among the chief character of art and science," than of the Princess herself having riveted admiring eyes by her skill in so idle a pastime. We do not know whether the general effect of the poem is the worse for the fact that its hero, like Keats's Endymion, is rather an embodiment of youthful impulses than a special and individual character. It strikes us, however, that classical allusions are put too often into his mouth,-considering that he belongs to the fair academy in pretence alone. The diction of the poem, too, though scarcely ever quite simple or natural, seems to us occasionally too familiar. In the main it is graceful and terse, and in the more important parts it is richly expressive; but notwithstanding its uniformly elaborate and recherché tone, there are places in which its aversion to the stilted makes it colloquial to a degree hardly consistent with the dignity of poetry;-the language of which, when most homely, should still be a "lingua communis," unconnected The descriptive power exhibited throughout the whole of the "Princess" is of the highest order. As an example we will quote the following sketch of the female university (pp. 45, 46):— "At last a solemn grace Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there that: Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, sought with trivial, as well as with stately associations. Occasionally, also, we meet with periods which in their ample sweep appear to us deficient in compactness. These faults are, however, minute in character, and interfere but little with the interest of the poem. Many characteristic qualities of the "Princess" will have been illustrated by our quotations we shall remark on but a few in addition. There is a peculiar sweetness in Mr. Tennyson's vein of tenderness and pathos as exhibited in this poem. He is not one of those writers who think that the heart can never lawfully surrender till it has under-Hung, shadow'd from the heat: some hid and gone a battery of exaggerated phrases, and who drive nails into us by way of touching our feelings. He knows that the odor from the flower-bed wafted to us in the casual gust is sure to please, but that the flower which is pressed too hard or held too near will smell of the stalk. The scene in which Psyche, who has discovered the secret of the intruders, promises at last not to betray them, is a remarkable specimen of the tender united with the playful. Equally tender, in a pathetic vein, is the description of Psyche, when, driven in disgrace from the university and wearied with wandering in the dark, she laments her child (pp. 98, 99): "Ah me, my babe, my blossom, ah my child, Ill mother that I was to leave her there, Said Cyril," you shall have it :" but again Above the fountain-jets, and back again those Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the court A long, melodious thunder, to the sound Had we space we would add the description of the Princess descending with her train to the battle-field, and the picture of Florian's love, Melissa. If, extending our regard from the work before us to the body of Mr. Tennyson's poetry, we endeavor to ascertain the peculiar character of his genius, we are at once impressed by the Versatility of his imagination. In his earlier efforts he was fond of exploring new forms of beings; and sang us songs of mermen and sea fairies,-wild themes treated with no lack of verisimilitude. In his more recent efforts he has exercised the same rare faculty, by embodying the most dissimilar forms of poetic thought and sentiment. In his " Enone" we have a thoroughly classic Idyl; in his "Dora," while the associations are English, the handling of the narrative reminds us, by its brevity, force, and rugged simplicity, of the old Hebrew legends. spirit of the chivalrous romance meets us in his "Morte d'Arthur:" in his "Dream of Fair Women" we are reminded of Dante's sharp outline, keen intensity, and definite The imagery; while in his "Recollections of the Arabian Nights," and "Day Dream," we are led back to the East, and lodged in a garden of delights, where the splendor is never a mere glitter without taste or congruity,- -a thing too commonly the case in that gilded furniture-poetry which takes its name from the East, and lies, amid more honest trinketry and perfumery, in the boudoir and on the dressing-table. Of all our recent poets Mr. Tennyson, we think, is the most versatile. Versatility is sometimes, indeed, in poetry as in life, only the exercise of that imitative power which betrays a want of individuality, original conception, and tenacity of purpose. In such cases it proceeds from quick and volatile sympathies vividly open to external impressions, and from that clear, unwrinkled mind, which, being all surface, apprehends and reflects all forms of thought, but is incapable of receiving a principle or resting in a conclusion. Poetry thus produced is the result neither of genius nor of high ability; but of that cleverness which bears often more resemblance to the former than to the latter. 66 Before examining into the character of Mr. Tennyson's poetry, considered relatively to that of our other recent poets, it may be well to make a few observations on that high poetic attribute, versatility, which it so strikingly exemplifies; for the purpose, first of removing some popular misapprehensions, and, secondly, of illustrating the importance of a faculty which gives to poetry its earliest impulse, and supplies it to the end with fresh materials. Genuine versatility like Mr. Tennyson's must ever be numbered among the chief poetical gifts. It consists in mobility of temperament united to a large mind, and an imagination that diffuses or concentrates itself at will. It is only when the "various talents" are united with the single mind," that they give their possessors "moral might and mastery o'er mankind." The Hebrew Poet "says my heart is fixed," and then proceeds, "I will sing." And it is truly when the heart is most fixed that the imagination can afford to be most flexible. It may wave like a pine tree in the breeze, if, like the pine, it sends its root deep into the rocky soil. On these conditions, the more versatile the genius is, the ampler will be its sweep, and the mightier its resilient power. It is such versatility that enables the poet to apply his own experience, analogically and by imaginative induction, to regions unknown and forms of life untried, -at once passing into the being of others and retaining his own. The characters delineated by the greatest poets have accordingly been always remarked to possess the two great attributes of universality and individuality. But they could never unite these, if the corresponding faculties were not united in the versatile imagination and profound moral sense of the poet. For want of the former faculty there are men who can produce but a single work of value. And such writers are plagiarists even when they borrow from life itself, for they add nothing to that which they borrow. Beyond the limit of their individual experience there is for them "nil nisi pontus et aer," and within that narrow pasture their faculties grow lean. On the other hand, how many are there who, for want of moral depth and tenacity in conjunction with versatility, remain for ever but imitators, and wholly fail to fulfill the promise of their earlier and happier efforts! We cannot better corroborate these opinions than by observing that the greatest of dramatists not only exhibits the faculty of versatility in its perfection, but proves to us, at the same time, that other and converse faculties are consistent with it. Shakspeare, it has been said, is but a voice. If so, it is a voice direct from nature's heart-and far indeed from the voice of a mocking-bird. The affection which we feel for him is in itself a proof of this. In poetry, as elsewhere, those who forget themselves are the last to be forgotten by others. Shakspeare is everywhere present in his poetry, though he may be nowhere distinctly or completely seen. As the spirit of poetry tacitly pervades all nature,-refreshing, consoling, renewing, so Shakspeare himself accompanies us through all his works, a potent and friendly genius. In all his thoughts we recognize one method of thought; his own sweet and large nature ever mediates between the natures that he describes, even when they are most discordant; his manner is familiar to us, and throughout his ample domain we recognize his genial laugh or his doubtful smile-like that of the Dryad evanescent in the branches, or the Nereid descending in the wave. Does any one need a biography to tell him whether Shakspeare was a kindly man or cold, liberal or niggardly, humble or proud? whether his faults were faults of infirmity or of malice? whether there were weeds amid his abundance, or whether his heart was a soil protected by its barrenness? whether he was a patriot, or had secluded himself from national sympathies? whether his disposition was to believe or to scoff? "who midst the leafy bower Has in her nest sat darkling through the night, With her sweet brood; impatient to descry Their wished looks, and to bring home their food." (Cary's translation.) ceased to be pressed down by the selfish wants of savage life, and not yet hardened and made selfish by the conventions of over civilization, the imagination has a versatility, and sympathy a vital power, which at other periods is unknown. It is then that the emotions are fresh; in other words, that man has a power of moving out of himself; it is then that the most ordinary objects appear to him wonderful, and that nothing wonderful is either extraordinary or incredible; it is then that religion is natural to him, and that nature is invested with supernatural attributes, and regarded with religious awe. A lively sensibility to grief and joy, to love and to hate, is that through which all outward. things acquire for us a real existence, and become objects of affection. In the absence of these, our nearest domestic interests would have for us as remote and visionary an existence as spiritual truths possess for the merely secular intelligence; and in the presence of these, not only the animal races are brought home to our human sympathies -the brooding bird, or the faithful houndbut the inanimate elements become humanized; waves and clouds live in our life; if they swell, it is in wrath; if they fly, it is in fear; if they pursue, it is in love. In other words, nature itself, and all its powers, are dramatized; and the faculty which makes them rehearse their several parts is that of a versatile imagination. Such things, it is obvious, cannot be thus described unless they are known-nor thus known except through the imaginative insight of the affections. Sympathy is, in truth, but versatility of heart; and large sympathies are, therefore, the most powerful auxiliaries That Mr. Tennyson's versatility is the reof poetic genius. For the same reason ego-sult of a high poetic mind, and not merely tism, prejudice, a habit of dogmatism, and that of a pliable temperament, we have whatever else locks up our nature, are im- abundant evidence. It is associated, in the pediments to poetry. On the other hand, first place, with those powers of imaginaamong many supposed to be removed from tion and passion which belong only to original literary influences among the poor, and es- genius. However he may vary his strain, pecially among children-the very essence there always remains behind an identity of poetry is to be found in the form of which cannot be overlooked; and the most prompt and extended sympathies. A versa- dissimilar of his poems are more like to each tile imagination is indeed the chief faculty other than any of them is to the school of of children. Having as yet hardly realized which it most reminds us. Lastly, we oba self-conscience being of their own, they serve, that, in all his later works, his own have the less difficulty in passing into that peculiar character of poetry has become more of others. The consequence is that their and more pronounced, and that his poems life is almost wholly poetical; all that goes have proportionally increased in power. The on around them is a long drama; a piece of versatility of a very young poet is indeed stick with a ribbon tied to it represents a but a part of his docility. He will listen, king or a queen; and they can hold de- with the susceptive faith of youth, successlighted and truly dramatic colloquy with ively to each of the great masters of song; men and women impersonated by their fancy and the echo which remains in his ear will Hans Andersen's genius consists in some degree modulate his tone. He will mainly in his being so far still a child. It trace every path which the Muse has trod, has been often remarked, that with nations in the hope of reaching that point from which also the poetical period is that of early youth. they diverge; and it is well that he should And the reason is, that when men have try all things, provided he hold fast to that alone. |