Northwest enterprise. [volume] (Anacortes, Wash. Ter.) 1882-1887, 1884-01-19
THE CHILDHOOD OF A POET.
Incidents and "Reminiscences q
Alfred TennysOn's Childhood.

Alfred TennysOn's Child nOOd.
Harpers Magazine
Alfred Tennyson was born on the 9th
of August, 1909. He has heard many
and many voice calling to him since
the time when he listened to the wind
as he played alone in his fathers gar
den, or joined the other children at
their games and jousts. They were
noble little clan of poets and of knights,
coming of knightly race, with castles
to defend, with mimic tournaments to
fight. Somersby was so far away from
the world, so behindhand in its echoes
(which must have come there softened
through all manner of green and tran
quill things, and as it were hushed into
pastoral silence), that though the early
part of the century was stirring with
the clang of legions, few of its rumors
seem to have reached the children.
They never heard at the time of the
battle of Waterloo. They grew up to-
gether playing their own games, living
their own life, and where is such life to
be found as that of happy, eager fam
lily of boys and girls before doubt, the
steps Of time, the shocks of chance, the
blows of death, have come to shake their
creed?
These handsome children had beyond
most children that wonderous toy at
their command which some people call
imagination. The boys played great
games like Arthur's knights; they were
champions and warriors defending
stone hep; or, again, they would set up
opposing camps with king in the midst
of EACH The king was willow wand
stuck into the ground, with an outer
circle of immortals to defend him of
firmer, sitter sticks. Then each party
would come with stones, hurting at
each others king and trying to over
throw him. Perhaps as the day wore
on they became romancers, leaving the
jousts deserted. When dinner-time
came, and they all sat round the table,
each in turn put a chapter of his history
underneath the potato-bowl-long, end
less histories, chapter after chapter diff
fuse, absorbing, amending, as are the
stories of real life, of which each sun
rise opens on q new part Some OF
these romances were in letters, like
"Clarissa Harlowe." Alfred used to
tell story which lasted for months, and
which was called "The Old Horse"
Alfred's first verses, as once heard
him say, were written upon slate which
his brother Charles put into his hand
one Sunday at Louth, when all the
elders of the party were going into
church and the child was left alone.
Charles gave him q SUBJECTIVE flowers
in the garden-and when he came
back from church little Alfred brought
the slate to his brother all covered with
written lines of blank verse. They
were made on the model of "Thomson's
Seasons" the only poetry he had ever
read. One can picture it all to ones
self, the flowers in the garden, the
verses, the little poet with waiting eyes
and the young brother scanning the
lines. Eyes, you can write" said
Charles, and he gave Alfred back the
slate.
have also heard another story of his
grandfather, later on, asking him to
write an elegy on his grandmother, who
had recently died, and, when it was
written, putting ten shillings into his
hands and saying: There, that is the
first money you have ever earned by
your poetry, and, take my word for it,
It will be the last"