MR. TENNYSON received the "Laurel" after the death of Wordsworth in 1850. He first appeared as a poet under his own name in 1830, in his twentieth year. A second volume of poems was issued in 1833, and in 1842 he reappeared with two volumes of "Poems," many of which were his early pieces altered and retouched. His other works are, "The Princess, a Medley," 1847; "In Memoriam" (a series of beautiful elegiac poems on the death of his young friend Arthur Hallam, son of the historian), 1850; "Maud and other poems," 1855; "Idylls of the King," 1859;" Enoch Arden and other poems," 1864; "The Holy Grail and other poems," 1869. Mr. Tennyson's popularity is still increasing, and he has a band of devoted worshippers. His chief defect is obscurity of expression, with a certain mannerism. The characteristics of his poetry lie rather in its external dress of imagery and language, than in any bias towards a particular line of thought or subject. His pieces might be classed, in the manner of Mr. Wordsworth, into Poems of the Affections; Poems of the Fancy; Studies from Classical Statuary and Gothic Romance, etc. Many of them, from the apparent unintelligibility of their external shape, have been supposed to bear an esoteric meaning. The "Princess," especially, apparently a Gothic romance in a drawing-room dress, has been supposed to figure forth, not merely the position which women and their education hold in the scale of modern civilization, but to indicate also the results of modern science, on the relations, affections, and employments of society. The verse of Mr. Tennyson is a composite melody, it has

great power and large compass; original, yet delightfully mingled with the notes of other poets. His mind is richly stored with objects which he invests sometimes with the sunny mists of Coleridge, sometimes with the amiable simplicity of Wordsworth, or the palpable distinctness of Scott. His late works reflect the thought and contemplation of the age.

LOVE AND DEATH.

WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light,
Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise,
And all about him roll'd his lustrous eyes;
When, turning round a cassia, full in view,
Death, walking all alone beneath a yew,
And talking to himself, first met his sight:

"You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine."

Love wept and spread his sheeny vans1 for flight;

Yet, ere he parted, said,-" This hour is thine:

Thou art the shadow of life; and as the tree

Stands in the sun and shadows all beneath,

So in the light of great eternity

Life eminent creates the shade of death;

The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall,
But I shall reign for ever over all."

THE GOLDEN YEAR.

We sleep and wake and sleep, but all things move;
The sun flies forward to his brother sun;

The dark earth follows, wheeled in her ellipse,
And human things returning on themselves,

Move onward, leading up the golden year.

Ah, though the times, when some new thought can bud, Are but as poets' seasons when they flower,

Yet seas that daily gain upon the shore

Have ebb and flow conditioning their march,

And slow and sure comes up the golden year.

When wealth no more shall rest in mounded heaps,
But smit with freer light, shall slowly melt

In many streams to fatten lower lands,

And light shall spread, and man be liker man
Through all the season of the golden year.

Shall eagles not be eagles? wrens be wrens?
If all the world were falcons, what of that?
The wonder of the eagle were the less,

1 Wings; so Milton has "sail-broad vans," Par. Lost, ii. 927: see the old form of the word, note 6, p. 40, supra.

THE POET.

But he not less the eagle. Happy days,
Roll onward, leading up the golden year!

Fly, happy, happy sails, and bear the Press;
Fly happy with the mission of the Cross :
Knit land to land, and blowing havenward
With silks, and fruits, and spices, clear of toll,
Enrich the markets of the golden year.

But we grow old. Ah, when shall all men's good
Be each man's rule, and universal peace
Lie like a shaft of light across the land,
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,
Through all the circle of the golden year?

525

THE POET.

The Poet in a golden clime was born,
With golden stars above;

Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn,
The love of love.

He saw through life and death, through good and ill
He saw through his own soul.

The marvel of the everlasting will,

An open scroll,

Before him lay with echoing feet he threaded

:

The secret'st walks of fame :

The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed
And winged with flame,

Like Indian reeds blown1 from his silver tongue,
And of so fierce a flight,

From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung,

Filling with light

And vagrant melodies the winds which bore
Them earthward till they lit;

Then like the arrow-seeds of the field flower,
The fruitful wit,

Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew,
Where'er they fell, behold,

Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew
A flower all gold,

1 Any work on the Indian Archipelago-Keppel's Expedition to Borneo, for example-will give an account of the Indian practice of shooting game by blowing poisoned arrows through a tube.

And bravely furnished all abroad to fling

The winged shafts of truth,

To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth.

So many minds did gird their orbs with beams,
Though one did fling the fire;

Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams
Of high desire.

Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world
Like one great garden show'd,

And through the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd,
Rare sunrise flowed.

And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise

Her beautiful bold brow,

When rites and forms before his burning eyes
Melted like snow.

There was no blood upon her maiden robes,
Sunn'd by those orient skies;

But round about the circles of the globes
Of her keen eyes,

And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame
WISDOM! a name to shake

All evil dreams of power-a sacred name;
And when she spake,

Her words which gather thunder as they ran,
And as the lightning to the thunder

Which follows it, riving the spirit of man,
Making earth wonder,

So was their meaning to her words. No sword
Of wrath her right arm whirled,

But one poor poet's scroll, and with his word
She shook the world.

SONG-TUBAL CAIN.

527

CHARLES MACKAY.

(1812

.)

FROM the year 1834, when he published a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, Dr. Charles Mackay has been constantly before the public as a popular lyrical poet, a journalist, and advocate of social reform. Some of his songs, as "Cheer boys, cheer," ," "There's a good time coming," etc., have been chanted by millions of voices on both sides of the Atlantic. In 1840 he published "The Hope of the World," a didactic poem in the style of Goldsmith and Campbell; in 1842 "The Salamandrine," a poetical romance founded on the Rosicrucian system of sylphs and gnomes; in 1845 "Legends of the Isles ;" in 1846 "Voices from the Crowd; in 1847 "Voices from the Mountains;" in 1848 "Town Lyrics;” in 1850 “Egeria;" in 1856 “The Lump of Gold;" in 1858 "Under Green Leaves," etc. Dr. Mackay was some time editor of the 'Glasgow Argus," and afterwards for many years connected with the "Illustrated London News." In 1857 he delivered, in America, a course of Lectures on Poetry, which he has since repeated in this country. He is a native of Perth, but has chiefly resided in England. As a poet Dr. Mackay may be described as belonging to the old English school of simple natural expression, without mannerism, obscurity, or affectation.

SONG TUBAL CAIN.

I.

OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might
In the days when Earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers,
As he fashion'd the sword and spear.

And he sang-"Hurra for my handiwork!
Hurra for the spear and sword!

Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well,
For he shall be king and lord !"

II.

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade

As the crown of his desire:

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,

Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearl and gold,
And spoils of the forest free.