St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1886-12-22

E>OO~-s
below:
LOCKsLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER.
By Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Late. my grandson, half the morning have
paced these sand tracts;
Watched again the hollow ridges roaring into
cataracts;
Wandered back to living boyhood, while
heard the curlews call;
l myself so close on death and death itself in
Locksley Hall.
So your happy suit was blasted-she the
faultless, the divine
And you liken-boyish babble-this boy love
of yours with mine?
|, myself. have often babbled, doubtless, OF
foolish past.
Babble. babble, our old England may go down
in babble at the last
Curse him, curse your fellow-victim-call
him dotard in your rage;
Eyes that lured a doring boyhood well might
fool 81 dotard's age.
Tilted for a wealthier, wealthier-yet, perhaps,
she was not wise;
l remember how you kissed the miniature
with those sweet eyes.
In the Hall there hangs a painting, Amy's
arms about M neck,
Happy children in a sunbeam, sitting on the
ribs of wreck
In my life there was a picture-she that
clasped my neck had flown.
l was left within tine shadow, sitting on the
wreck alone.
Yours has been slighter ailment; will you
sicken for her sake?
You! Not you! Your modern amourist is
of easier, earthlier make
Amy loved me, Amy failed me, Amy was
timiG child;
But your Judith, but your wording, she had
never driven me wild.
She that holds the diamond necklace, dearer
than the golden ring,
She that finds winter sunset finer than 8
morn in spring,
She that in her heart is brooding on his
briefar lease of life.
While she VOWS It'll death shall part u.s. she
the wOuid-be widow. wife
She the wording, born of neutrality-suspicious.,
mother-be content.
Even the homely farm can teach US there is
something in descent.
Yonder IN that chapel, slowly sinking now
into the ground,
Lies the warrior, my forefather, with his feet
upon the hound.
Crossed for once he sailed the sea, to crush
the MOSlem in his pride;
Dead the warrior, dead his glory, dead the
cause in which he died.
Yet, how often | and Amy in the moulder.ng
aisle have 10 I'd,
Gazing for one pensive moment on that
founder of our blood.
There again | stood to-day, and where of old
we ielt in PRAYER.
Close beneath the easement crimson, with the
sheCsOf Loo y there,
All in white Italian marble, looking still as if
she smiled,
Lies my Amy, dead in d-birth-dead the
mother, dead the Child
Dead, and sixty years ago, and dead her aged
husband now.
This old. white-headed dreamer, stopped and
kissed her marble brow.
Gone the fires of youth. the follies, furies,
curses, passionate tears,
Gone like fires and floods and earthquakes of
the planets dawning years;
Fires that shook me once; but now to silent
ashes fallen away,
Cold upon the dead volcano sleeps the CLEAN
OF d, ing day:
Gone the tyrant of my youth, and mute below
the chancei stones,
All his ''virtues''--I forgive them, back in
white above his bones.
Gone the comrades of my bivouac, some in
fight against the foe,
Some through age and slow diseases gone, as
all on earth will go.
Gone, with whom for forty years my life in
golden sequence ran;
She, with all the charm of woman, she with
all the breadth Of man.
Strong in will and rich in wisdom, Edith
loyal, lowly, sweet,
Feminine to her Utmost heart. and feminine
to her tender feet.
Very woman of very women, nurse OF ailing
body and mind:
She that linked again the broken chain that
bound me to my kind
Here to-day was Amy with me while wan
dered down the coast,
Near us, Ediths holy shadow smiling at the
Slighter ghost.
Gone our sailor son, thy father, Leonard,
early lost at sea,
Thou alone. my boy, of Amy's kin and mine
art left to me-
Gone thy tender-natured mother, wearying to
be left alone,
Pining for the stronger heart that once had
beat beside her own.
Truth-for truth is truth-he worshiped,
being true as he was brave:
Good-fOr good is gooi-he followed, yet he
looked beyond the grave;
Wiser there than you, that, browning barren
death as lord of all,
Deem this over-tragic dramas closing cur
ia n as the pail.
Beautitul?-beautiful was death In him who
saw the death, but kept the deck,
Saving women and their babes, and sinking
with the sinking wreck.
Gone iorever-ever? No! for since our dying
race began,
Ever. ever. and forever, was the leading light
of man.
Those that in barbarian burials killed the
slave and slew the wife,
Felt within themselves the sacred passion of
the second life.
Indian warriors dream of ampler hunting
grounds beyond toe night.
Even the black Australian, dying, hopes he
shall return a white.
Truth for truth and good for good? Be good?
the true, the pure, the just
Take The charm forever from lem, and then
crumble into dust.
Gone the cry of forward, forward, lost within
covering gloom:
Lost. or only heard in silence from the silence
OF the tomb.
Half the marvels of my morning triumph
over time and space,
Stalled by frequence shrunk by usage, into
commouest commonplace.
Forward, rang the voices then, and of the
man, mine was one:
Let us hush this cry OF forward till ten thous-
and years have gone.
For among the vanished races, old Assyrian
kings would fay
CaptiveS whom they caught in battle: iron
h, arted victorS they.
Age after. while in Asia, he that led the wild
Moguls,
Timur, built his chastity tower of eighty
THOUSAND human skulls.
Then nd here in Edwards time, an age of
noblest English names.
Christian conquerers took and flung the con-
auered Christian into tiames
Love your enemy, bless your haters, said the
greatest of the great,
Christian love among the churches looked the
twin of heat hen hate.
From the golden aims of blessing man had
coined himself curse;
Rome OF Caesar. Rome of Peter-which was
crueler. which was worse?
France had shown a light TO all men, preac he'd
Gospel all mems good:
Celtic Demos rose a demon, strieked and
sta, ed the light with blood.
Hope was ever on her mountain watching till
the day begun,
Crowned with sunlight over darkness from
the still unrisen sun.
Have we grown III last beyond the passions of
the primal clan
Kill your enemy, for you hate him? Still your