One of the chief effects of the 1864 volume was to demonstrate Tennyson's versatility and his deep human feeling. He had been charged in early life with a preference for unrealities and the toys of romance, and until the publication of In Memoriam he had done little to rebut the charge. But in that great poem his own grief had been the theme. In Enoch Arden, Sea Dreams, Aylmer's Field, and The Grandmother the griefs of others commanded his attention. He had forsaken dreams for the dramas of life; he had "felt with his kind," and expressed their sorrows, hopes, and emotions. No longer was he the cold and passive observer of men, but their active sympathiser, finding words for their passions, giving voice to their wrongs. No longer was he the philosopher standing apart and drawing morals from intellectual problems; the problems of humanity day by day engaged his attention. The poor sailor-hero, the humble city-clerk and his wife, the broken-hearted youth, Leolin, and his brother,—desolate homes of rich and poor, sundered lives of gentle and simple, sorrows and disasters of mankind all the world over these supplied themes in the place of dreams and fancies and the simulated frenzies of youth. Poet has given us no tenderer views of women than Annie Lee, Edith Aylmer, and the city-clerk's wife. They stand out in their natural beauty and their true womanliness above all the Adelines and Margarets, and Lilians with their sudden pallors, their flushes, their curved frowns, and their faint smiles. Taine had said what could now be said no longer-that Tennyson had supplied the world with "keepsake characters from the hand of a lover and an artist." Now he had given us quivering flesh and blood, and the very glory and utter pathos of life itself. CHAPTER IX. THE IDYLLS OF THE KING. "With a melody -Merlin and the Gleam. THERE are great gaps in Tennyson's history. We travel along an ill-defined track, his works serving as guides and signs; but the space between is oft-times dark and seemingly nothing but waste. Whether the blanks will ever be filled is now more than doubtful. The periods which apparently were uneventful were in reality times of great preparation. The results of strenuous toil, and of hard work performed in semi-seclusion, were to be seen later. Tennyson, it may safely be said, was never idle. He was always at a task, and however silent he may have been, he was eventually to be heard in strains as deep and sweet as ever. No year of his life was barren and unproductive. Though the world saw nothing of his work, he was ever sowing seed, tending, maturing, and perfecting flowers of poesy, though his patience, slowness, and persistency illsuited the expectation and desire of his eager admirers. His industry was, indeed, marvellous. He was devoted to his work, scheming new and improving old designs, studying deeply-for he was a wise man, always learning—and, regardless of the world and indifferent to its counsel, pursuing a course entirely his own as a poet and as a man. Tennyson had been attracted to the Arthurian legend very early in life, as a boy having read Malory's romances. In 1837 Landor recorded that "a Mr Moreton, a young man of rare judgment, read to me a manuscript by Mr Tennyson, very different in style from his printed poems. The subject is the death of Arthur. It is more Homeric than any poem of our time, and rivals some of the noblest parts of the Odyssea." The poem, with its introduction The Epic, appeared first in the 1842 volume, and in the prelude to it we gain, perhaps, a hint of the writer's opinions and intentions. "You know," said Frank, "he burnt There can be slight question that the publication of the Mort d'Arthur was tentative. But Tennyson was brimful. of the romances of Malory. In the 1832 volume he had printed The Lady of Shalott, a version of the Elaine legend, and an allegory with meanings manifold, chief of which is that as the facts of human life and history are revealed idealism perishes, the mirror of poetry is shattered, and the gleaming threads of which romance is woven are tangled and snapped. Then, in the next edition, had been added the splendid ballad of the only perfect knight, Sir Galahad, who Kept fair through faith and prayer A virgin heart in work and will. And in the same volume there was the magic fragment of enchanting verse describing the meeting of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere, the suffused colour of the scene described being as rich, and pure, and vivid as in the pictures of Raphael. A stanza in the Palace of Art should also be noted. These were the preludes to the Idylls of the King, but seventeen years were to pass before the vibrations of the chords of that mighty symphony were first to be heard. In the interval had come The Princess, In Memoriam, and Maud, three masterpieces all different in style and tone; but the fourth, in some ways greater and better than all, was to be begun. Said George Dawson"Almost all great writers may be divided into two great classes-those that leap into fame at once, whose first book is their best, whose first air is their only air, and all whose subsequent writings are variations more or less excellent upon the old and original theme; others that climb slowly to fame, whose early work gives promise of after excellence. Tennyson's genius is slow to exhibit its fulness. Tennyson climbs slowly to fame, and it is easy to trace the progressive labour, the constantly accumulating success, and the constantly diminishing faults of all that he has written. Some of his earlier poems were feeble, the elaboration was overdone, and the meaning obscure. But he has since learned to clothe lofty thoughts in simple words. . . . Why did Tennyson choose the Idylls of the King? Probably from that deep-seated feeling which makes men take refuge in a far-off time, a far-off place, and far-off people from the vulgarity and meanness and commonplace of the hour in which they themselves live; for there is no denying that every hour whilst present is a vulgar hour. . . . In thinking |