Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Tennyson Alfred

  Reel’d from the sabre-stroke

  Shatter’d and sunder’d.

  Then they rode back, but not

  Not the six hundred.

  V.

  Cannon to right of them,

  Cannon to left of them,

  Cannon behind them

  Volley’d and thunder’d;

  Storm’d at with shot and shell,

  While horse and hero fell,

  They that had fought so well

  Came thro’ the jaws of Death,

  Back from the mouth of Hell,

  All that was left of them,

  Left of six hundred.

  VI.

  When can their glory fade ?

  O the wild charge they made!

  All the world wonder’d.

  Honour the charge they made!

  Honour the Light Brigade,

  Noble six hundred!

  IDYLLS OF THE KING

  Published between 1856 and 1885, this is a cycle of twelve narrative poems retelling the legend of King Arthur, his knights, his love for Guinevere and her tragic betrayal. The collection also concerns Arthur’s attempt and subsequent failure to raise mankind to the ‘perfect kingdom’, from his coming to power to his death at the hands of the traitor Mordred. Throughout the work, individual poems relate the deeds of various knights, including Lancelot, Geraint, Galahad, Merlin and the Lady of the Lake. Although there is little transition between the Idylls, the central figure of Arthur links all the narratives. Dedicated to the late Albert, Prince Consort, the Idylls are written in blank verse and notable for their descriptions of nature, derived from Tennyson’s detailed observations of his own surroundings.

  Largely inspired by Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur and the Mabinogion, though including many additions and new events, the most notable narrative concerns the fate of Guinevere. In Malory’s work, she is sentenced to be burnt at the stake, but is rescued by Lancelot; while in Tennyson’s poem she flees to a convent, where she repents and is forgiven by Arthur, remaining in the convent until she dies.

  The first set of idylls, Enid, Vivien, Elaine, and Guinevere, was published in 1859, but Enid was later divided into The Marriage of Geraint and Geraint and Enid, and Guinevere was expanded. The final idyll, Balin and Balan, was published in Tiresias and Other Poems in 1885. The Dedication was published in 1862, a year after the Prince Consort had died; the epilogue, To the Queen, was published in 1873.

  The first of the Idylls covers the period following Arthur’s coronation, his accession and marriage. The besieged Leodogran, King of Cameliard, appeals to Arthur for help against the beasts and heathen hordes. Arthur vanquishes these and then the Barons who challenge his legitimacy. Afterwards he requests the hand of Leodogran’s daughter, Guinevere, whom he loves. Leodogran, grateful but also doubtful of Arthur’s lineage, questions his chamberlain, Arthur’s emissaries, and Arthur’s half sister Bellicent (the character known as Anna or Morgause in other versions), receiving a different account from each. He is persuaded at last by a dream of Arthur crowned in heaven. Lancelot is sent to bring Guinevere, and she and Arthur wed in May. At the wedding feast, Arthur refuses to pay the customary tribute to the Lords from Rome, declaring, “The old order changeth, yielding place to new.”

  The collection was an immediate success, inspiring a renewed interest in the theme of courtly love in later Victorian works of literature.

  The first edition

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  The Coming of Arthur

  THE ROUND TABLE

  Gareth and Lynette

  The Marriage of Geraint

  Geraint and Enid

  Balin and Balan

  Merlin and Vivien

  Lancelot and Elaine

  The Holy Grail

  Pelleas and Ettarre

  The Last Tournament

  Guinevere

  The Passing of Arthur

  To the Queen

  Tennyson with his wife Emily and his sons Hallam and Lionel, 1862

  Dedication

  THESE to His Memory — since he held them dear,

  Perchance as finding there unconsciously

  Some image of himself — I dedicate,

  I dedicate, I consecrate with tears —

  These Idylls.

  And indeed He seems to me

  Scarce other than my king’s ideal knight,

  ‘Who reverenced his conscience as his king;

  Whose glory was, redressing human wrong;

  Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;

  Who loved one only and who clave to her—’

  Her — over all whose realms to their last isle,

  Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,

  The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse,

  Darkening the world. We have lost him: he is gone:

  We know him now: all narrow jealousies

  Are silent; and we see him as he moved,

  How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,

  With what sublime repression of himself,

  And in what limits, and how tenderly;

  Not swaying to this faction or to that;

  Not making his high place the lawless perch

  Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground

  For pleasure; but through all this tract of years

  Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,

  Before a thousand peering littlenesses,

  In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,

  And blackens every blot: for where is he,

  Who dares foreshadow for an only son

  A lovelier life, a more unstained, than his?

  Or how should England dreaming of his sons

  Hope more for these than some inheritance

  Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,

  Thou noble Father of her Kings to be,

  Laborious for her people and her poor —

  Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day —

  Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste

  To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace —

  Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam

  Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,

  Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,

  Beyond all titles, and a household name,

  Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good.

  Break not, O woman’s-heart, but still endure;

  Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,

  Remembering all the beauty of that star

  Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made

  One light together, but has past and leaves

  The Crown a lonely splendour.

  May all love,

  His love, unseen but felt, o’ershadow Thee,

  The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee,

  The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee,

  The love of all Thy people comfort Thee,

  Till God’s love set Thee at his side again!

  The Coming of Arthur

  1869

  LEODOGRAN, the King of Cameliard,

  Had one fair daughter, and none other child;

  And she was the fairest of all flesh on earth,

  Guinevere, and in her his one delight.

  For many a petty king ere Arthur came

  Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war

  Each upon other, wasted all the land;

  And still from time to time the heathen host

  Swarmed overseas, and harried what was left.

  And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,

  Wherein the beast was ever more and more,

  But man was less and less, till Arthur came.

  For first Aurelius lived and fought and died,

  And after him King Uther fought and died,

  But either failed to make the kingdom one.

  And after these King Arthur for a space,

  And through the puissance of his Table Round,
r />   Drew all their petty princedoms under him.

  Their king and head, and made a realm, and reigned.

  And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,

  Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,

  And none or few to scare or chase the beast;

  So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear

  Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,

  And wallowed in the gardens of the King.

  And ever and anon the wolf would steal

  The children and devour, but now and then,

  Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat

  To human sucklings; and the children, housed

  In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,

  And mock their foster mother on four feet,

  Till, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,

  Worse than the wolves. And King Leodogran

  Groaned for the Roman legions here again,

  And Cæsar’s eagle: then his brother king,

  Urien, assailed him: last a heathen horde,

  Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood,

  And on the spike that split the mother’s heart

  Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed,

  He knew not whither he should turn for aid.

  But — for he heard of Arthur newly crowned,

  Though not without an uproar made by those

  Who cried, ‘He is not Uther’s son’ — the King

  Sent to him, saying, ‘Arise, and help us thou!

  For here between the man and beast we die.’

  And Arthur yet had done no deed of arms,

  But heard the call, and came: and Guinevere

  Stood by the castle walls to watch him pass;

  But since he neither wore on helm or shield

  The golden symbol of his kinglihood,

  But rode a simple knight among his knights,

  And many of these in richer arms than he,

  She saw him not, or marked not, if she saw,

  One among many, though his face was bare.

  But Arthur, looking downward as he past,

  Felt the light of her eyes into his life

  Smite on the sudden, yet rode on, and pitched

  His tents beside the forest. Then he drave

  The heathen; after, slew the beast, and felled

  The forest, letting in the sun, and made

  Broad pathways for the hunter and the knight

  And so returned.

  For while he lingered there,

  A doubt that ever smouldered in the hearts

  Of those great Lords and Barons of his realm

  Flashed forth and into war: for most of these,

  Colleaguing with a score of petty kings,

  Made head against him, crying, ‘Who is he

  That he should rule us? who hath proven him

  King Uther’s son? for lo! we look at him,

  And find nor face nor bearing, limbs nor voice,

  Are like to those of Uther whom we knew.

  This is the son of Gorlois, not the King;

  This is the son of Anton, not the King.’

  And Arthur, passing thence to battle, felt

  Travail, and throes and agonies of the life,

  Desiring to be joined with Guinevere;

  And thinking as he rode, ‘Her father said

  That there between the man and beast they die.

  Shall I not lift her from this land of beasts

  Up to my throne, and side by side with me?

  What happiness to reign a lonely king,

  Vext — O ye stars that shudder over me,

  O earth that soundest hollow under me,

  Vext with waste dreams? for saving I be joined

  To her that is the fairest under heaven,

  I seem as nothing in the mighty world,

  And cannot will my will, nor work my work

  Wholly, nor make myself in mine own realm

  Victor and lord. But were I joined with her,

  Then might we live together as one life,

  And reigning with one will in everything

  Have power on this dark land to lighten it,

  And power on this dead world to make it live.’

  Thereafter — as he speaks who tells the tale —

  When Arthur reached a field-of-battle bright

  With pitched pavilions of his foe, the world

  Was all so clear about him, that he saw

  The smallest rock far on the faintest hill,

  And even in high day the morning star.

  So when the King had set his banner broad,

  At once from either side, with trumpet-blast,

  And shouts, and clarions shrilling unto blood,

  The long-lanced battle let their horses run.

  And now the Barons and the kings prevailed,

  And now the King, as here and there that war

  Went swaying; but the Powers who walk the world

  Made lightnings and great thunders over him,

  And dazed all eyes, till Arthur by main might,

  And mightier of his hands with every blow,

  And leading all his knighthood threw the kings

  Carados, Urien, Cradlemont of Wales,

  Claudias, and Clariance of Northumberland,

  The King Brandagoras of Latangor,

  With Anguisant of Erin, Morganore,

  And Lot of Orkney. Then, before a voice

  As dreadful as the shout of one who sees

  To one who sins, and deems himself alone

  And all the world asleep, they swerved and brake

  Flying, and Arthur called to stay the brands

  That hacked among the flyers, ‘Ho! they yield!’

  So like a painted battle the war stood

  Silenced, the living quiet as the dead,

  And in the heart of Arthur joy was lord.

  He laughed upon his warrior whom he loved

  And honoured most. ‘Thou dost not doubt me King,

  So well thine arm hath wrought for me today.’

  ‘Sir and my liege,’ he cried, ‘the fire of God

  Descends upon thee in the battle-field:

  I know thee for my King!’ Whereat the two,

  For each had warded either in the fight,

  Sware on the field of death a deathless love.

  And Arthur said, ‘Man’s word is God in man:

  Let chance what will, I trust thee to the death.’

  Then quickly from the foughten field he sent

  Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere,

  His new-made knights, to King Leodogran,

  Saying, ‘If I in aught have served thee well,

  Give me thy daughter Guinevere to wife.’

  Whom when he heard, Leodogran in heart

  Debating—’How should I that am a king,

  However much he holp me at my need,

  Give my one daughter saving to a king,

  And a king’s son?’ — lifted his voice, and called

  A hoary man, his chamberlain, to whom

  He trusted all things, and of him required

  His counsel: ‘Knowest thou aught of Arthur’s birth?’

  Then spake the hoary chamberlain and said,

  ‘Sir King, there be but two old men that know:

  And each is twice as old as I; and one

  Is Merlin, the wise man that ever served

  King Uther through his magic art; and one

  Is Merlin’s master (so they call him) Bleys,

  Who taught him magic, but the scholar ran

  Before the master, and so far, that Bleys,

  Laid magic by, and sat him down, and wrote

  All things and whatsoever Merlin did

  In one great annal-book, where after-years

  Will learn the secret of our Arthur’s birth.’

  To whom the King Leodogran replied,

  ‘O friend, had I been hol
pen half as well

  By this King Arthur as by thee today,

  Then beast and man had had their share of me:

  But summon here before us yet once more

  Ulfius, and Brastias, and Bedivere.’

  Then, when they came before him, the King said,

  ‘I have seen the cuckoo chased by lesser fowl,

  And reason in the chase: but wherefore now

  Do these your lords stir up the heat of war,

  Some calling Arthur born of Gorlois,

  Others of Anton? Tell me, ye yourselves,

  Hold ye this Arthur for King Uther’s son?’

  And Ulfius and Brastias answered, ‘Ay.’

  Then Bedivere, the first of all his knights

  Knighted by Arthur at his crowning, spake —

  For bold in heart and act and word was he,

  Whenever slander breathed against the King —

  ‘Sir, there be many rumours on this head:

  For there be those who hate him in their hearts,

  Call him baseborn, and since his ways are sweet,

  And theirs are bestial, hold him less than man:

  And there be those who deem him more than man,

  And dream he dropt from heaven: but my belief

  In all this matter — so ye care to learn —

  Sir, for ye know that in King Uther’s time

  The prince and warrior Gorlois, he that held

  Tintagil castle by the Cornish sea,

  Was wedded with a winsome wife, Ygerne:

  And daughters had she borne him, — one whereof,

  Lot’s wife, the Queen of Orkney, Bellicent,

  Hath ever like a loyal sister cleaved

  To Arthur, — but a son she had not borne.

  And Uther cast upon her eyes of love:

  But she, a stainless wife to Gorlois,

  So loathed the bright dishonour of his love,

  That Gorlois and King Uther went to war:

  And overthrown was Gorlois and slain.

  Then Uther in his wrath and heat besieged

  Ygerne within Tintagil, where her men,

  Seeing the mighty swarm about their walls,

  Left her and fled, and Uther entered in,

  And there was none to call to but himself.

  So, compassed by the power of the King,

  Enforced was she to wed him in her tears,

  And with a shameful swiftness: afterward,

  Not many moons, King Uther died himself,

  Moaning and wailing for an heir to rule

  After him, lest the realm should go to wrack.

  And that same night, the night of the new year,

  By reason of the bitterness and grief

  That vext his mother, all before his time