Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1879-06-11
"L0VER'S TALE"
The First Poem OF Alfred TennysOn-
Written at Nineteen and Published
at Sixty-Nine-The Distance Be-
tween Youth and Old Age
Spawned by Verses that are Pronounced
Worthy Even Of the Maturer Years
of the Poet Laureate-Reminis-
cences of Arthur Hallam.

London Times, May q: Readers of Mr..
Tennyson's poem, The Golden Supper,
will remember that it is the last chapter In
the story OF disappointed love; There are
a few gimpses of the earlier chapters, but
only enough to make the sequel lntelllglole
1t begins suddenly
He files the event. he leaves the event to mes
Poor Julian-how he rushed away; the bells, >,
Those marriage bells, echoing In ear and heart-
the event being the marriage of Julian's
cousin and foster sister Camilla to his friend
Lionel. The Golden Supper tells how, when
Camilla Is believed to have died, strange
chance enables Julian to bring her back from
the grave and restore her to her husband.
The Lovers Tale, now published as whole
for the first time, Is poem In four parts
As many touches show, the scenery Is not
English but foreign, and this will explain
itself to those who recognize the plot OF the
story as taken from B0ccacci0. The fourth
part Is The Golden Supper, work OF the au-
thor mature life. Tho other three parts,
which form a prelude to it, were written IN
his nineteenth year. 1.-TWO only of the three
parts then written were printed, says Mr..
Tennyson, when, seeing the lmperfectons OF
the poem, | withdrew it from the press. One
OF my friends, however, who, boyhke, ad-
mired the boys work, distributed among our
common associates of that hour some copies
of these two parts, without my knowledge,
without the omissions and amendments
which l had in contemplation, and marred
by many misprints of the compostor. Sea-
ing that these two parts have of late been
mercilessly pirated and that what l had
| deemed scarce worthy to live is not allowed
to die, may l not be pardoned it l suffer the
whole poem at last to come into light, &C
companIed with reprint of the sequel-work
| of my mature life-Ihe Golden SHpper? If
pirates often conferred such benefits on the
public, there would be some danger of their
occupation becoming more popular than 1t
has been since the days before Minos. The
| three new parts, or rather Oldest parts OF
| The LOUer's Tale, Contain many passages OF
| very great beauty and power. They are also
| of the highest interest IN relation to the de-
velopment of Mr.. Tennysons style, and
| their publication adds a new value to
The Golden Supper. That noble but
hitherto fragmentary poem now takes
| Its proper place as part OF i'm
| ished whole. Probably the first feeling
of many readers will be surprise that boy
| in his nineteenth year could have written
| thus. No one, indeed, can perceive how
greatly this early performance is surpassed
| by his mature work IN subtle felicity OF eX-
| preston, in command of netrical and rhyth-
| mical resource, In richness of music, In depth
| of thought and feeling. Still, when this
| wide interval has been recognized, it may be
/ said that the essential characteristics of the
|
/ genius Is often precoclous IN menltestlDg the
| imaginative and creative faculties; but, con-
| sidered as an artist of language, poet has
/ seldom, perhaps, been so ripe at such an age.
The real lessons which these earliest poems
| teach is that the form of Mr.. Tennyson's
| work is more spontaneous and original, and
less the result of a slowly elaborated art than
| some of his critics have been inclined to
| think. The following passage may be taken
| as a specimen of what Mr.. Tennyson could
write at eighteen:
| To what our people call The Hill of Vice.
| A bridge is there that, lOok'd at from beneath,
| Seems but cooTeo hlament to link
| The yawning OF an earthquake cloyen chasm.
| Ana thence one night, when all the winds were
/ A wofui man (for so the story VENT
Had thrust his wife and child. and dash'd himself
| Into the dizzy depth below. Below,
| Fierce In the strength of far descent. stream
| Files with shattered foam along the chasm.
"The path was psrIlOus, loosely strOwn with
| We mounted slowly, Jet to both there came
The Joy Of life In steepness overcome,
| And victories OF ascent. and locking down
| On all that had lOok'd down on US; and JOY
In breathing nearer heaven; and Joy to me,
| High over all the azure circled eaTtn,
To breathe with her as IL In heaven itself;
And more than JOY that to her became
Her guardian and her angel raislag her
| sun higher, past all peril, until she saw
Beneath her feet the region far away.
Beyond the nearest mountains bosky broTs,
| Burst in open prospect-heath and hill.
! And holloW-lined and wooded TO the lips,
4
| GIIded with broom or shattered Into spires,
And glory Of broad waters interfused,
| whence rose as 1t were breath and steam OF gold,
And over all the great wood rioting
Aud climbing. streak'd or starrd at intervals
| With falling brook or elossom'd husband last
| Framing the mighty landscape to the west,
A purple range of mountsin cones, between
| Whose interspaees gush'd In plinding bursts
| The incorporate blaze OF sun and sea-"
The splendor of this passage, again, is not
unworthy of his matured genius:
30 day which did snwomb that happy hour,
Thou art blessed In the years. divinest day.
| Genius of that hour which dost uphold
Thy eoronal OF gory like God.
/ VINO walk before thee. ever turning round
| To gaze upon thee~tlll their eJes are dim
| With dwelling on the light and depths OF thine,
Thy name is ever worship'd among hours!
| Had died then, had not seemed 10 die,
/ Had died then, had not known the death;
Yea had the Power from whose right hand the light
OF life issueth, and from whose left hand howeth
The Shadow OF Death, perennial ef1nences,
| Whereof to all that draw the wholesome air,
Somewhile the one must overflow the other;
| Then had he stemm'd my day and night, and driven
| My current to the fountain whence 1t sprang-
| Even his own abiding excellence
| On me- methinks, that shock of gloom had fall'n
/ Unfelt, and In this glory had merged
| the other, like the sun gazed upon,
| Which seeming for the moment due TO death,
| And dipping his head low beneath the verge,
/ Yet bearing round about him his own day,
| In confidence of undated strength,
steppeth from heaven to heaven from light to light,
And holdeth his undimmed forehead far
| Into clever zenith, pure Of cloud"
| But certainly the most powerful passage in
| the poem is that in which the pathos of the
| story finds its natural clmax-where Camilla
| con6des to Julian her love for his friend:
| Either came
| And sitting down upon the golden moss,
| Held converse sweet and low-low converse sweet,
In which our voices bore least part. The wind
| Told a love tale beside Us; how he wood
The waters: and the waters answering llsp'd
| Tainted at intervals, had grew again
| To utterance of passion. Yecannot shape
| Fancy so fair as is this memory.
| Methought all excellence that ever
Had drawn herself iI9m many thousand years
| To center In this place and time. Ilisten'd.
And her words stole with most prevailing sweetness
| To boys and girls when summer days new,
And soul and heat and body are all at ease;
| What marvel my Camilla told me all?
| 1t was SO happy an hour, so sweet place,
| And was as the brother of her blood.
Dear name which had too much of nearness in 1t
And heralded the distance Of this timei
| As If she were afraid OF utt.rance;
| But 10 the onward current OF her speech
CAS- echoes Of the hollOw-banked brooks
| Are fashioned by the channel which they keep,
| Hsr words did of their meaning borrow sound,
| l heard and trembled yet [ could but hear;
Ny heart Paused-my raised eyelids would not fall,
But still kept my eyes upon the sky
l seem'dithe only part OF Time stood still,
| While her words. syllable by syllable,
Like water drop 6J drop upon my ear
| But she speke On, for did name no wish.
| What marvel my Camilla told me all
Her maiden dignitieS OF Hope and Love
'Perchanee, she said, 'Tsturn'd.' Even then the
|
| Did trembe In their stations as gazed;
| But shs spake on, for did name no wish,
| No wlsh-no hope. Hope was not wholly dead
! But breathing hard at the approach of Death
Camilla my Camilla, who was mine
| No longer In the dearest sense OF mine
| For all the secret OF her inmOst heart,
| And all the maiden empire OF her mind,
| Lay like map before me. and saw
| There, where hoped myself TO reign as king
| There where that day crowned myself as king,
| There I'm my realm, and even on my throne,
| Another! Then IL seem'd as tho link
| OF sOiHe tight chain within my Utmost frame
| Was Ifysn In twain; that life needed not
| Flow'd from me- and the darkness of the grave,
| The darkness OF the grave and utter night,
| Did swallow up my vision; at her feet,
| Even the feet of her loved, fell
| Smlt with exceeding sorrow unto Death"