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RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES was born in York- of liberty in other lands than his own. In early shire, June 19, 1809. He was educated at Cam-life he made extensive tours in Southern Europe bridge, graduating at Trinity College in 1831. Six years later he entered Parliament as member for Pontefract, which he continued to represent till August 20, 1863, when he was raised to the peerage as Baron Houghton. He was at first a conservative, but soon went over to the liberals. He has been conspicuous, and in a large measure successful, as an advocate of religious equality, popular education, and especially of prison reform, and has shown a deep interest in the cause

and the East, and published several volumes of travel. His poems have appeared in small volumes, entitled "Historical Poems" (1838), "Poetry for the People" (1840), "Memorials of Many Scenes" (1843), "Palm-Leaves" (1844), etc. A collected edition was issued in 1874. He has also edited the letters and literary remains of Keats, with a memoir (1848), and the poems of David Gray (1865), and has published numerous political pamphlets.

THE LONG-AGO.

EYES which can but ill define
Shapes that rise about and near,
Through the far horizon's line

Stretch a vision free and clear;
Memories, feeble to retrace
Yesterday's immediate flow,
Find a dear familiar face

In each hour of Long-ago.

Follow yon majestic train

Down the slopes of old renown; Knightly forms without disdain,

Sainted heads without a frown: Emperors of thought and hand

Congregate, a glorious show, Met from every age and land

In the plains of Long-ago.

As the heart of childhood brings
Something of eternal joy
From its own unsounded springs,
Such as life can scarce destroy;
So, remindful of the prime,

Spirits wandering to and fro,
Rest upon the resting-time

In the peace of Long-ago.

Youthful Hope's religious fire,
When it burns no longer, leaves
Ashes of impure desire

On the altars it bereaves;
But the light that fills the Past
Sheds a still diviner glow,

Ever farther it is cast

O'er the scenes of Long-ago.

Many a growth of pain and care,
Cumbering all the present hour,
Yields, when once transplanted there,
Healthy fruit or pleasant flower.
Thoughts that hardly flourish here,
Feelings long have ceased to blow,
Breathe a native atmosphere

In the world of Long-ago.

On that deep-retiring shore

Frequent pearls of beauty lie,
Where the passion-waves of yore
Fiercely beat and mounted high;
Sorrows-that are sorrows still-
Lose the bitter taste of woe;
Nothing's altogether ill
In the griefs of Long-ago.

Tombs where lonely love repines,

Ghastly tenements of tears,
Wear the look of happy shrines

Through the golden mist of years;
Death, to those who trust in good,

Vindicates his hardest blow;
Oh! we would not, if we could,
Wake the sleep of Long-ago.

Though the doom of swift decay

Shocks the soul where life is strong,
Though for frailer hearts the day
Lingers sad and overlong,-
Still the weight will find a leaven,
Still the spoiler's hand is slow,
Wile the future has its heaven,
And the past its Long-ago.

THE BEATING OF MY HEART.

THE BEATING OF MY HEART.

I WANDERED by the brook-side,

I wandered by the mill;

I could not hear the brook flow-
The noisy wheel was still.
There was no burr of grasshopper,
No chirp of any bird,

But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree:

I watched the long, long shade,
And, as it grew still longer,

I did not feel afraid;
For I listened for a footfall,
I listened for a word-
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

He came not-no, he came not—
The night came on alone-,
The little stars sat one by one,
Each on his golden throne;

The evening wind passed by my cheek,
The leaves above were stirred-
But the beating of my own heart
Was all the sound I heard.

Fast, silent tears were flowing,
When something stood behind;
A hand was on my shoulder-

I knew its touch was kind;
It drew me nearer-nearer-

We did not speak one word, For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard.

WHEN LONG UPON THE SCALES OF

FATE.

WHEN long upon the scales of fate

The issue of my passion hung,

And on your eyes I lay in wait,

And on your brow, and on your tongue, High-frowning Nature pleased me most: Strange pleasure was it to discern Sharp rock and mountains peaked with frost, Through gorges thick with fir and fern. The flowerless walk, the vapory shrouds, Could comfort me; though, best of all, I loved the daughter of the clouds, The wild capricious waterfall.

But now that you and I repose

On one affection's certain store,
Serener charms take place of those,
Plenty and peace, and little more:
The hill that lends its mother-breast
To patient flocks and gentle kine;
The vale that spreads its royal vest

Of golden corn and purple vine;
The streams that bubble out their mirth
In humble nooks, or calmly flow,
The crystal life-blood of our earth,
Are now the dearest sights I know.

YOUTH, THAT PURSUEST.

YOUTH, that pursuest, with such eager pace,
Thy even way,

Thou pantest on to win a mournful race;
Then stay! oh, stay!

Pause and luxuriate on thy sunny plain;
Loiter-enjoy;

291

Once past, thou never wilt come back again, A second boy.

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ALFRED TENNYSON.

ALFRED TENNYSON was born in 1810 at Somersby, Lincolnshire, where his father, Rev. George Clayton Tennyson, was rector of the parish. Alfred and his brothers Charles and Frederick were educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and all of them wrote poetry there. In 1828 Frederick received the prize for a Greek poem, and in 1829 Alfred gained the chancellor's medal for a poem on "Timbuctoo." About the same time Alfred and Charles printed privately "Poems by Two Brothers." Coleridge gave it as his opinion that those signed "C. T." indicated a coming poet, but those signed "A. T." had little promise! -which indeed may have been perfectly just, notwithstanding that time has reversed the judgment. Frederick published a collection of poems entitled "Days and Hours" in 1854; Charles took orders, became Vicar of Grasby in 1835, and assumed the family name of Turner on coming into an estate in Lincolnshire inherited from his father's mother. Alfred has devoted himself exclusively to poetry as a profession, and has never published a page of prose.

His first acknowledged volume was "Poems, chiefly Lyrical," published in 1830. The only really strong poems it contained were "Mariana" and "A Dirge." The others were mostly fanciful picturings of faint conceptions, poetical indeed, but almost colorless. In 1832 he published a revision of this volume, with very considerable additions, and some omissions. This should have established his reputation, for it contained "The Lady of Shalott," "Enone," "Lady Clara Vere de Vere," "The May Queen," ""The LotosEaters," "A Dream of Fair Women," and "The Death of the Old Year." "The May Queen," perhaps the least meritorious of those here mentioned, became quickly and widely popular; but Tennyson did not really find himself famous until ten years later, when he published "English Idyls and other Poems" (1842). This volume contained "Morte d'Arthur," "St. Simeon Stylites," "The Talking Oak," Ulysses," Locksley Hall," "The Two Voices,' The Day Dream," "The Vision of Sin," and "Break, break, break." The dullest public that ever dawdlingly inquired for the newest novel, could not have stood before such an array of masterpieces as this. Byron and Shelley were dead; Wordsworth, Campbell, and Moore were in their dotage; the new poet had touches of them all, and a genius of his own besides. Since the publication of that volume, Tennyson has stood first among living poets, both in popular and in critical estimation.

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In 1847 he published "The Princess: A Medley," which, sometimes sportive and sometimes

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serious, treats by way of romantic narrative the question of the equality of the sexes. Some of his finest songs appear as interludes in this poem; but the poem itself, though containing many good passages, is below the standard of his best work; even its versification is in many places inexcusably harsh or slipshod.

"In Memoriam" was published anonymously in 1850. It was suggested by, rather than relates to, the death of Arthur Henry Hallam (son of Hallam the historian), who was a college friend of Tennyson's and was to have married his sister. This poem, or rather series of poems, was sixteen years in process of composition, and by many is considered Tennyson's best.

In 1850, on the death of Wordsworth, Tennyson was appointed Poet Laureate, which office he still holds. The salary is £127, and he receives in addition a government pension of £200.

"Maud, and other Poems," appeared in 1855, one of the other poems being the fine "Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington." In 1859 he published four "Idyls of the King," viz., "Enid," "Vivien," "Elaine," and "Guinevere," founded on the legends of King Arthur, which rank among his highest efforts. He has since continued the series with five or six additional idyls, none of which are at all equal to the four just mentioned.

"Enoch Arden, and other Poems," was published in 1864. The principal poem in this volume was largely discussed and quoted, on account of the supposed peculiarity of its plot; but it has very little merit as a poem. Among the minor poems was "Sea Dreams," one of the poorest that Tennyson has ever written, for which he is said to have received £10 a line from the magazine ("Macmillan's," January, 1860) in which it first appeared. His latest publication is "Queen Mary, a Drama" (1875).

For many years Tennyson lived a quiet bachelor life in and about London. He married about the same time that he became Laureate, and went to live at Faringford, Isle of Wight, where he resided until 1869, when he removed to Petersfield, Hampshire. He secludes himself studiously from public gaze, and almost nothing is known as to his private life. The University of Oxford conferred upon him the degree of D. C. L. in 1855, and at the same time the Fellows of his own college at Cambridge purchased his bust by Woolner and placed it in the vestibule of their library.

The editions of Tennyson's works are numer ous and varied. A concordance to them, by D B. Brightwell, was published in London in 1869.

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