In Richard’s name — it is not he — not he.
[The men stand amazed.
FRIAR TUCK (going back to the bush).
Robin, shall we not move?
ROBIN.
It is the King
Who bears all down. Let him alone awhile.
He loves the chivalry of his single arm.
Wait till he blow the horn.
FRIAR TUCK (coming back).
If thou be King,
Be not a fool! Why blowest thou not the horn?
KING RICHARD.
I that have turn’d their Moslem cresent pale —
I blow the horn against this rascal rout!
[FRIAR TUCK plucks the horn from him and blows. RICHARD dashes alone against the SHERIFF and JOHN’S men, and is almost borne down, when ROBIN and his men rush in and rescue him.
KING RICHARD (to ROBIN HOOD).
Thou hast saved my head at the peril of thine own.
PRINCE JOHN.
A horse! a horse! I must away at once;
I cannot meet his eyes. I go to Nottingham.
Sheriff, thou wilt find me at Nottingham.
[Exit.
SHERIFF.
If anywhere, I shall find thee in hell.
What! go to slay his brother, and make me
The monkey that should roast his chestnuts for him!
KING RICHARD.
I fear to ask who left us even now.
ROBIN.
I grieve to say it was thy father’s son.
Shall I not after him and bring him back?
KING RICHARD.
No, let him be. Sheriff of Nottingham,
[SHERIFF kneels.
I have been away from England all these years,
Heading the holy war against the Moslem,
While thou and others in our kingless realms
Were fighting underhand unholy wars
Against your lawful King.
SHERIFF.
My liege, Prince John —
KING RICHARD.
Say thou no word against my brother John.
SHERIFF.
Why then, my liege, I have no word to say.
KING RICHARD. (to ROBIN).
My good friend Robin, Earl of Huntingdon,
For earl thou art again, hast thou no fetters
For those of thine own band who would betray thee?
ROBIN.
I have; but these were never worn as yet.
I never found one traitor in my band.
KING RICHARD.
Thou art happier than thy King. Put him in chains.
[They fetter the SHERIFF.
ROBIN.
Look o’er these bonds, my liege.
[Shows the KING the bonds. They talk together.
KING RICHARD.
You, my lord Abbot, you Justiciary,
[The ABBOT and JUSTICIARY kneel.
I made you abbot, you justiciary:
You both are utter traitors to your King.
JUSTICIARY.
O my good liege, we did believe you dead.
ROBIN.
Was justice dead because the King was dead?
Sir Richard paid his moneys to the abbot.
You crost him with a quibble of your law.
KING RICHARD.
But on the faith and honour of a King
The land is his again.
SIR RICHARD.
The land! the land!
I am crazed no longer, so I have the land.
[Comes out of the litter and kneels.
God save the King!
KING RICHARD (raising Sir Richard).
I thank thee, good Sir Richard.
Maid Marian.
MARIAN.
Yes, King Richard.
KING RICHARD.
Thou wouldst marry
This sheriff when King Richard came again
Except —
MARIAN.
The King forbade it. True, my liege.
KING RICHARD.
How if the King command it?
MARIAN.
Then, my liege,
If you would marry me with a traitor sheriff,
I fear I might prove traitor with the sheriff.
KING RICHARD.
But if the King forbid thy marrying
With Robin, our good Earl of Huntingdon?
MARIAN.
Then will I live forever in the wild wood.
ROBIN (coming forward).
And I with thee.
KING RICHARD.
On nuts and acorns, ha!
Or the King’s deer? Earl, thou when we were hence
Hast broken all our Norman forest-laws,
And scruplest not to flaunt it to our face
That thou wilt break our forest laws again
When we are here. Thou art overbold.
ROBIN.
My King,
I am but the echo of the lips of love.
KING RICHARD.
Thou hast risk’d thy life for mine: bind these two men.
[They take the bags from the ABBOT and JUSTICIARY, and proceed to fetter them.
JUSTICIARY.
But will the King, then, judge us all unheard?
I can defend my cause against the traitors
Who fain would make me traitor. If the King
Condemn us without trial, men will call him
An Eastern tyrant, not an English king.
ABBOT.
Besides, my liege, these men are outlaws, thieves,
They break thy forest laws — nay, by the rood,
They have done far worse — they plunder — yea, even bishops,
Yea, even archbishops — if thou side with these,
Beware, O King, the vengeance of the Church.
FRIAR TUCK (brandishing his staff).
I pray you, my liege, let me execute the vengeance of the Church upon them. I have a stout crabstick here, which longs to break itself across their backs.
ROBIN.
Keep silence, bully friar, before the King.
FRIAR TUCK.
If a cat may look at a King, may not a friar speak to one?
KING RICHARD.
I have had a year of prison-silence, Robin,
And heed him not — the vengeance of the Church!
Thou shalt pronounce the blessing of the Church
On those two here, Robin and Marian.
MARIAN.
He is but hedge-priest, Sir King.
KING RICHARD.
And thou their Queen.
Our rebel abbot then shall join your hands,
Or lose all hope of pardon from us — yet
Not now, not now — with after-dinner grace.
Nay, by the dragon of Saint George, we shall
Do some injustice if you hold us here
Longer from our own venison. Where is it?
I scent it in the green leaves of the wood.
MARIAN.
First, King, a boon!
KING RICHARD.
Why, surely ye are pardon’d,
Even this brawler of harsh truths — I trust
Half truths, good friar: ye shall with us to court.
Then, if ye cannot breathe but woodland air,
Thou, Robin, shalt be ranger of this forest,
And have thy fees, and break the law no more.
MARIAN.
It is not that, my lord.
KING RICHARD.
Then what, my lady?
ROBIN.
This is the gala-day of thy return.
I pray thee for the moment, strike the bonds
From these three men, and let them dine with us,
And lie with us among the flowers, and drink —
Ay, whether it be gall or honey to ‘em —
The King’s good health in ale and Malvoisie.
KING RICHARD.
By Mahound, I could strive with Beelzebub!
So now which way to the dinner?
&nb
sp; MARIAN.
Past the bank
Of foxglove, then to left by that one yew.
You see the darkness thro’ the lighter leaf.
But look! who comes?
Enter SAILOR.
SAILOR.
We heard Sir Richard Lea was here with Robin.
O good Sir Richard, I am like the man
In Holy Writ, who brought his talent back;
For tho’ we touch’d at many pirate ports,
We ever fail’d to light upon thy son.
Here is thy gold again. I am sorry for it.
SIR RICHARD.
The gold — my son — my gold, my son, the land —
Here abbot, sheriff — no — no, Robin Hood.
ROBIN.
Sir Richard, let that wait till we have dined.
Are all our guests here?
KING RICHARD.
No — there’s yet one other:
I will not dine without him. Come from out
Enter WALTER LEA.
That oak-tree. This young warrior broke his prison
And join’d my banner in the Holy Land.
And cleft the Moslem turban at my side.
My masters, welcome gallant Walter Lea.
Kiss him, Sir Richard — kiss him, my sweet Marian.
MARIAN.
O Walter, Walter, is it thou indeed
Whose ransom was our ruin, whose return
Builds up our house again? I fear I dream.
Here — give me one sharp pinch upon the cheek
That I may feel thou art no phantom — yet
Thou art tann’d almost beyond my knowing, brother.
[They embrace.
WALTER LEA.
But thou art fair as ever, my sweet sister.
SIR RICHARD.
Art thou my son?
WALTER LEA.
I am, good father, I am.
SIR RICHARD.
I had despair’d of thee — that sent me crazed.
Thou art worth thy weight in all those marks of gold,
Yea, and the weight of the very land itself,
Down to the inmost centre.
ROBIN.
Walter Lea,
Give me that hand which fought for Richard there.
Embrace me, Marian, and thou, good Kate
[To KATE entering.
Kiss and congratulate me, my good Kate.
[She kisses him.
LITTLE JOHN.
Lo now! lo now!
I have seen thee clasp and kiss a man indeed,
For our brave Robin is a man indeed.
Then by thine own account thou shouldst be mine.
KATE.
Well then, who kisses first?
LITTLE JOHN.
Kiss both together.
[They kiss each other.
ROBIN.
Then all is well. In this full tide of love,
Wave, heralds, wave: thy match shall follow mine (to LITTLE JOHN).
Would there were more — a hundred lovers more
To celebrate this advent of our King!
Our forest games are ended, our free life,
And we must hence to the King’s court. I trust
We shall return to the wood. Meanwhile, farewell,
Old friends, old patriarch oaks. A thousand winters
Will strip you bare as death, a thousand summers
Robe you life-green again. You seem, as it were,
Immortal, and we mortal. How few Junes
Will heat our pulses quicker! How few frosts
Will chill the hearts that beat for Robin Hood!
MARIAN.
And yet I think these oaks at dawn and even,
Or in the balmy breathings of the night,
Will whisper evermore of Robin Hood.
We leave but happy memories to the forest.
We dealt in the wild justice of the woods.
All those poor serfs whom we have served will bless us,
All those pale mouths which we have fed will praise us —
All widows we have holpen pray for us,
Our Lady’s blessed shrines throughout the land
Be all the richer for us. You, good friar,
You Much, you Scarlet, you dear Little John,
Your names will cling like ivy to the wood.
And here perhaps a hundred years away
Some hunter in day-dreams or half asleep
Will hear out arrows whizzing overhead,
And catch the winding of a phantom horn.
ROBIN.
And surely these old oaks will murmur thee,
Marian, along with Robin. I am most happy —
Art thou not mine? — and happy that our King
Is here again, never, I trust, to roam
So far again, but dwell among his own.
Strike up a stave, my masters, all is well.
SONG WHILE THEY DANCE A COUNTRY DANCE.
Now the King is home again, and nevermore to roam again.
Now the King is home again, the King will have his own again,
Home again, home again, and each will have his own again,
All the birds in merry Sherwood sing and sing him home again.
The Biographies
Farringford House, a large manor house on the Isle of Wight, was the home of Tennyson during much of his tenure as Poet Laureate until his death in 1892.
Farringford, 1910
Tennyson, c. 1880
TENNYSON AND HIS FRIENDS by Hallam, Lord Tennyson
Named after his father’s much loved friend, Hallam Tennyson was educated at Marlborough College and Trinity College, Cambridge, but his political aspirations ended when the age and ill-health of his parents obliged him to leave his education to become their personal secretary. It was partly for his son’s benefit that Alfred Tennyson accepted a peerage in 1884, the year Hallam married Audrey Boyle, after being disappointed in his love for Mary Gladstone, daughter of William Ewart Gladstone. On his father’s death in 1892, Hallam inherited the title Baron Tennyson, and also the role of official biographer.
Like his famous father, Tennyson was an ardent imperialist and in 1883 he had become a council member of the Imperial Federation League, a group established to support the imperialist ideas of the Colonial Secretary, Joseph Chamberlain. It was this connection, as well as the Tennyson name, that led Chamberlain to offer Tennyson the position of Governor of South Australia in 1899. He was still in this position when the Governor-General of Australia, the Earl of Hopetoun, resigned suddenly in May 1902. Tennyson left Australia in January 1904 and spent the rest of his life in the Isle of Wight, serving as deputy governor from 1913.
As well as publishing a four volume biography of his father in 1897, Hallam Tennyson also edited this large collection of memoirs, letters and verses collected from various literary figures and personal friends and relations of the great poet.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
RECOLLECTIONS OF MY EARLY LIFE by Emily, Lady Tennyson
TENNYSON AND LINCOLNSHIRE by Willingham Rawnsley
TENNYSON AND HIS BROTHERS FREDERICK AND CHARLES by Charles Tennyson
TENNYSON ON HIS CAMBRIDGE FRIENDS
TENNYSON AND LUSHINGTON by Sir Henry Craik, K.C.B., M.P.
TENNYSON, FITZGERALD, CARLYLE, AND OTHER FRIENDS by Dr. Warren
SOME RECOLLECTIONS OF TENNYSON’S TALK FROM 1835 TO 1853
TENNYSON AND THACKERAY by Lady Ritchie
TENNYSON ON HIS FRIENDS OF LATER LIFE
TENNYSON AND BRADLEY (DEAN OF WESTMINSTER) by Margaret L. Woods
NOTES ON CHARACTERISTICS OF TENNYSON by the late Master of Balliol (Professor Jowett)
TENNYSON, CLOUGH, AND THE CLASSICS by Henry Graham Dakyns
RECOLLECTIONS OF TENNYSON by the Rev. H. Montagu Butler, D.D.
TENNYSON AND W. G. WARD AND OTHER FARRINGFORD FRIENDS by Wilfrid Ward
TENNYSON AND ALDWORTH by Sir James Knowles, K.C.V.O.
THE F
UNERAL OF DICKENS
FRAGMENTARY NOTES OF TENNYSON’S TALK by Arthur Coleridge
MUSIC, TENNYSON, AND JOACHIM by Sir Charles Stanford
THE ATTITUDE OF TENNYSON TOWARDS SCIENCE by Sir Oliver Lodge, F.R.S.
TENNYSON AS A STUDENT AND POET OF NATURE by Sir Norman Lockyer, F.R.S.
MEMORIES by E. V. B.
TENNYSON AND HIS TALK ON SOME RELIGIOUS QUESTIONS by the Right Rev. the Bishop of Ripon
TENNYSON AND SIR JOHN SIMEON, AND TENNYSON’S LAST YEARS by Louisa E. Ward
TENNYSON: HIS LIFE AND WORK by the Right Hon. Sir Alfred Lyall, G.C.B.
TENNYSON: THE POET AND THE MAN by Professor Henry Butcher
JAMES SPEDDING by W. Aldis Wright
ARTHUR HENRY HALLAM by Dr. John Brown
APPENDICES
Hallam Tennyson, 2nd Baron Tennyson, (1852–1928)
DEDICATED TO
THE FRIENDS OF TENNYSON
BY HIS SON
PREFACE
To those who have contributed to this volume their memories of my father, criticisms of his work, or records of his friends, I owe a deep debt of gratitude. Three of the writers, Henry Butcher, Sir Alfred Lyall, and Graham Dakyns, have lately, to my great loss, passed away — into that fuller “light of friendship” —
“a clearer day
Than our poor twilight dawn on earth.”
TENNYSON.
[The following chapters about my father are arranged, as far as possible, according to the sequence of his life. Further reminiscences by the Duke of Argyll, Gladstone, Jowett, Lecky, Locker-Lampson, Palgrave, Lord Selborne, Tyndall, Aubrey de Vere, and other friends, will be found in Tennyson, a Memoir.]
(Dedication of “The Death of Œnone” to Emily, Lady Tennyson)
There on the top of the down,
The wild heather round me and over me June’s high blue,
When I look’d at the bracken so bright and the heather so brown,
I thought to myself I would offer this book to you,
This, and my love together,
To you that are seventy-seven,
With a faith as clear as the heights of the June-blue heaven,
And a fancy as summer-new
As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of the heather.
Emery Walker, Ph.sc.
Emily Lady Tennyson from a drawing by G. F. Watts, R.A.
RECOLLECTIONS OF MY EARLY LIFE by Emily, Lady Tennyson
Written for her son in 1896
You ask me to tell you something of my life before marriage at Horncastle in Lincolnshire. It would be hard indeed not to do anything you ask of me if within my power. To say the truth, this particular thing you want is somewhat painful. The first thing I remember of my father is his looking at me with sad eyes after my mother’s death. Her I recollect, passing the window in a velvet pelisse, and then in a white shawl on the sofa, and then crowned with roses — beautiful in death. I recollect, too, being carried to her funeral; but I asked what they were doing, and in all this had no idea of death.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson - Delphi Poets Series Page 184