 | A memoir by Hallam Tennyson (1897) |  |
112
Youth.
I
Youth, lapsing thro' fair solitudes,
Pour'd by long glades and meadowy mounds,
Crown'd with soft shade her deepening floods
That wash'd her shores with blissful sounds:
Pour'd by long glades and meadowy mounds,
Crown'd with soft shade her deepening floods
That wash'd her shores with blissful sounds:
Her silver eddies in their play
Drove into lines and studs of light
The image of the sun by day,
The image of the moon by night.
Drove into lines and studs of light
The image of the sun by day,
The image of the moon by night.
The months, ere they began to rise,
Sent thro' my blood a prophet voice
Before the first white butterflies,
And where the secret streams rejoice.
Sent thro' my blood a prophet voice
Before the first white butterflies,
And where the secret streams rejoice.
I heard Spring laugh in hidden rills,
Summer thro' all her sleepy leaves
Murmur'd: a voice ran round the hills
When corny Lammas bound the sheaves:
Summer thro' all her sleepy leaves
Murmur'd: a voice ran round the hills
When corny Lammas bound the sheaves:
A voice, when night had crept on high,
To snowy crofts and winding scars,
Rang like a trumpet clear and dry,
And shook the frosty winter stars.
To snowy crofts and winding scars,
Rang like a trumpet clear and dry,
And shook the frosty winter stars.
When I was somewhat older grown
These voices did not cease to cry,
Only they took a sweeter tone,
But did not sound so joyfully:
These voices did not cease to cry,
Only they took a sweeter tone,
But did not sound so joyfully:
Lower and deeper evermore
They grew, and they began at last
To speak of what had gone before,
And how all things become the past.
They grew, and they began at last
To speak of what had gone before,
And how all things become the past.
113
Life, to this wind, turn'd all her vanes,
Moan'd in her chimneys and her eaves;
I grieved as woods in dripping rains
Sigh over all their fallen leaves;
Moan'd in her chimneys and her eaves;
I grieved as woods in dripping rains
Sigh over all their fallen leaves;
Beside my door at morning stood
The tearful spirit of the time;
He moan'd, “I wander from my good!”
He chanted some old doleful rhyme.
The tearful spirit of the time;
He moan'd, “I wander from my good!”
He chanted some old doleful rhyme.
So lived I without aim or choice,
Still humming snatches of old song,
Till suddenly a sharper voice
Cried in the future “Come along.”
Still humming snatches of old song,
Till suddenly a sharper voice
Cried in the future “Come along.”
When to this sound my face I turn'd,
Intent to follow on the track,
Again the low sweet voices mourn'd
In distant fields, “Come back, come back.”
Intent to follow on the track,
Again the low sweet voices mourn'd
In distant fields, “Come back, come back.”
Confused, and ceasing from my quest,
I loiter'd in the middle way,
So pausing 'twixt the East and West,
I found the Present where I stay:
I loiter'd in the middle way,
So pausing 'twixt the East and West,
I found the Present where I stay:
Now idly in my natal bowers,
Unvext by doubts I cannot solve,
I sit among the scentless flowers
And see and hear the world revolve:
Unvext by doubts I cannot solve,
I sit among the scentless flowers
And see and hear the world revolve:
Yet well I know that nothing stays,
And I must traverse yonder plain:
Sooner or later from the haze
The second voice will peal again.
And I must traverse yonder plain:
Sooner or later from the haze
The second voice will peal again.
114
II
A rumour of a mystery,
A noise of winds that meet and blend,
An energy, an agony,
A labour working to an end.
A noise of winds that meet and blend,
An energy, an agony,
A labour working to an end.
Now shall I rest or shall I rise?
It is the early morning, Hark!
A voice like many voices cries,
Comes hither throbbing thro' the dark;
It is the early morning, Hark!
A voice like many voices cries,
Comes hither throbbing thro' the dark;
Now one faint line of light doth glow,
I follow to the morning sun,
Behind yon hill the trumpets blow,
And there is something greatly done:
I follow to the morning sun,
Behind yon hill the trumpets blow,
And there is something greatly done:
The voice cries “Come.” Upon the brink
A solitary fortress burns,
And shadows strike and shadows sink,
And Heaven is dark and bright by turns.
A solitary fortress burns,
And shadows strike and shadows sink,
And Heaven is dark and bright by turns.
“Come” and I come, the wind is strong:
Hush! there floats upward from the gulf
A murmur of heroic song,
A howling of the mountain wolf;
Hush! there floats upward from the gulf
A murmur of heroic song,
A howling of the mountain wolf;
A tempest strikes the craggy walls,
Faint shouts are heard across the glen,
A moan of many waterfalls,
And in the pauses groans of men.
Faint shouts are heard across the glen,
A moan of many waterfalls,
And in the pauses groans of men.
“Come” and I come, no more I sleep:
The thunder cannot make thee dumb;
“Come” and I come, the vale is deep,
My heart is dark, but yet I come.
The thunder cannot make thee dumb;
“Come” and I come, the vale is deep,
My heart is dark, but yet I come.
115
Up hither have I found my way,
The latest thunder-peal hath peal'd,
Down from the summit sweeps the day
And rushes o'er a boundless field.
The latest thunder-peal hath peal'd,
Down from the summit sweeps the day
And rushes o'er a boundless field.
Out bursts a rainbow in the sky—
Away with shadows! On they move!
Beneath those double arches lie
Fair with green fields the realms of Love.
Away with shadows! On they move!
Beneath those double arches lie
Fair with green fields the realms of Love.
The whole land glitters after rain,
Thro' wooded isles the river shines,
The casements sparkle on the plain,
The towers gleam among the vines;
Thro' wooded isles the river shines,
The casements sparkle on the plain,
The towers gleam among the vines;
“Come” and I come, and all comes back
Which in that early voice was sweet,
Yet am I dizzy in the track,
A light wind wafts me from my feet.
Which in that early voice was sweet,
Yet am I dizzy in the track,
A light wind wafts me from my feet.
Warm beats my blood, my spirit thirsts;
Fast by me flash the cloudy streaks,
And from the golden vapour bursts
A mountain bright with triple peaks:
Fast by me flash the cloudy streaks,
And from the golden vapour bursts
A mountain bright with triple peaks:
With all his groves he bows, he nods,
The clouds unswathe them from the height,
And there sit figures as of Gods
Ray'd round with beams of living light.
The clouds unswathe them from the height,
And there sit figures as of Gods
Ray'd round with beams of living light.
| A memoir by Hallam Tennyson (1897) | |