STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT

AUCKLAND, SATUEDAY, APRIL 15, 1882.

Mr. Tennyson:

REMARKS EXPLANATORY AND CRITICAL O\

Br J. 1). Davis.

HIS SHORTER POEMS,

(Concluded.)

In "Locksley Hall " we have a young man expressing a young man's thoughts ; first, on a personal topic of groat moment; secondly, on the condi'ions of 'he present age ; and thirdly i>n the po-sibilities of the world's futile. The pers .nal topic, which is the rejection of the singer by ft girl for a suitor richer in purse, but inliniteiy poorer in intellect, introduces the clement of passion which runs through the p'Oin, mid gives the characteristic colouring to all its sentiments. Hence some of thorn are wide of the truth and fact, as, for instance, when the youth protests that " woman is the lesser man ; " and when he impulsively expresses his determination to lly to some island of the South, ilie c to take some savage woman who should rear his dusky race. Calmer, truer thoughts find a place when the recollection of his injury is less keen, and the violence of his • passion has subsided—

Forward, forward lot us ranco Let the great world ring for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of tho giobe we sweep Into the younger day: Better fifty years of Kuropo than n cycle of Cathay.

There is one characteristic of this poem which may be opportunely pointed to just now, viz., its manly vigorous tone. There is no namby-pamby, sick y bemoaning* in it. It contains tho thoughts of a man, though he is n« first carried away by impulse and a vivid scn->e of wrong; lie states his case plainly, and not without .some Oioism, but he avoids posing as a martyr, to. excite the false and arti ficial' sympathy of spectators more fool ish than himse'if. His soliloquy .finds an audience among men and women, and drives beyond hearing those spineless paro dies of humanity who wnn'il fain believe themselves to hare inaugurated a new era in the pursuit of art, poetry, and general culture. •'Locksley Hall" is full of pas sages whose beauty, truth, or force has made them " current coin " in the conver sation and writing of the educated among English-speaking peoples. We need only instance the two following :— Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs. And the thoughts ot men aro widened with the process of tho suns. This is truth tho poet shiRS, That a sorrow's crown of sorrow is remem bering happier things. Between "Locksley Hall" and "St. Simeon Stylites " there is nothing in com mon, except their subjectiveness. In all other lespects they are poles apart, a fact which further illustrates Mr Tennyson's ability to depict moods the most diverse. In the latter poem it is the cclf-torturing recluse and fanatic who speaks, pouring out the narrative of his meritorious suffer ings, and not Mr Tennyson thinly hidden behind an insubstantial ditguise. As the delineation of a certain kind of frenzy not uncommon in the dark ages, and of out worn beliefs current in those days, it is complete and correct. The poet enters into them, and brings hia reader in with him, so that the latter soon reads with lessening surprise and distaste passages : like these.—

0 Jesus, if Thou wilt not savo my soul. Who may be saved! who is it may bo mved ( Show me the man hath suffered more than I.

Bear witness, if I could havo found a way (And needfully X sifted all my thought) More slowly-painful to subdue this home Of sin, my flesh, which I despise and hate; I had not stinted practice 0 my God.

Quite unlike the two last-named poems is "Dora." From its simplicity both ot subject and treatment it lias been called Wordsworthian. The poetry however is Tennysonian. There is no hint of Words worth in such verses as these :—

'.' And Dora took the child, and went hor way Across tho wheat, and sat upon a mound

That was unsown, where many poppies grew. Far off tho farmer came into the Held And spied her not; for none of all hia men Dare tell him Dora waited with the child: And Dora would have risen and gone to him : But her heart fail'd her: and the reaper's reap'd, And the sun fell, and all the land was dark."

"Dora" is but a small poem ;in fact it can hardly "be called a poem at all. it is a narrative in ver.<e, well told, the pathos of it being expressed as only a master-hand could express it. This is its chief merit. In after years came great access of this kind of power. " Enoch Arden" is a pathetic story far more poetically and pathetically told. At first sight it may seem rather in congruous to group together the three poems "Dora," "Aylmer's Field," and •' Enoch Arden" (the two last both pub lished in 1864). They have however several characteristics in common. They are each idyllic or narrative in form ; they are each written in blank verse, true Tennysonian verse, hero and there mannered and laboured ; they each contain much that is sad and pathetic ; and the interest of all three is associated very much with the heroines of the stories. In the first there is Dora's self-denial, sup plemented years after by her womanly tact and judgment which are successful in turning the heart of the case-hardened grandfather, and bringing about as satisfac tory an ending as wbs possible. Edith Aylrner, happy and blooming when the tale opens, wasted and pale as time rolls on, remains constant to the man she loves contrary to the will and desire of her s'.ubborn unnatural parents. The fierce denunciations of Averill's sermon on the double death of Edith and his brother, the disappointed suitor, involve in deeper gloom tho conclusion of a story sombre in tone almost throughout. In this poem Leolin's fiery outburst—provoked by a similar cause—against the mammon wor shipping tendencies of the age, against pride of birth and blood, against the wilful thwarting of true love and the consequent blasting of young lives with their untold possibilities, this outburst, we say, reminds one of certain passages of " Locksley Hall. The same sentiments find utterance in both, but in hotter and more glowing terms m the poem before us, becauso the provoca tion is so much the more recent. Mr Tennyson, though in numberless ways the product and reflex of the age he adorns, feels impelled to lift up his powerful voice against the social vices which disgrace it. The poet of a Court, read and understood chiefly by the classes with means and opportunities of culture, he has been fear less in denouncing the sins to which those classes show themselves peculiarly liable "Enoch Arden" is the best poem of tho three we have associated together. The interest is well sustained from beginning

to end ; it halts not, as is sometime* the case in "Aylmer's Field." The descrip tions are liner than those of cither the Other two, perhaps beexuso the course of the story lead* mto situations where power and brilliancy of description arc naturally and spontaneously evoked. Tho tropical island and all its glories of Horn and fauna invite the poet to put forth his strength, and to charm his hoard's with a highly-coloured description befitting the occasion. "Ayl mer's Field" suffers somewhat from an anti-climax, a fault escaped in tho intensely dramatic catastrophe of "Enoch Arden." The hero of tho latter is a character of the noblest type, uni tin; picture of him, drawn ns it i.s from the life, ought to have some iufluenco to convince the misanthrope and cynic of the error nt their opinions Enoch Arden is an actual fact, not the creation of a vivid poetic imagination, and as such he raises the standard of the whole of his sex.

It will be convenient to mention here another pathetic pooui of Mr Tennyson, tbo most pathetic and moving in fact of all lie has written. Wo allude to "Ilizpnh," one of the latest fruits of his genius. It ia nothing short of astonishing that a man advanced in years as Mr Tennyson is should have writ en with such power, such force and nervousness. So far from exhibiting any decline of strength, .it is indicative of facultiesuntired and unspent, as fresh and vigorous as ever they were. Tho story in itself, no matter how badly told, is enough to muse the tear to start; but Mr Tenny son has related it wih a fidelity to nature and a reserve of power that no now living poet could hope to equal. The incident* arc presumably fresh in the memories of most rcndc'S. An old woman on her death bed is teHing a lady visitor how her sou many years ngo out nf .sheer bravado robbed tho mat1, and was hanged for the crimp. The body swung in chains from tho gibbet, "that all the ships of the world could stare at him passing by ;" and as the de cayed limb* dropped apart, the poor mother gathered the boms at night, one by one ami buried thorn by the churchyard wall in consecrated ground. "My Willy '11 rise up whole whonltlic trumpet Of judgment'll sound; But I charge you never to s»r that I laid him In holy ground." Presently the aged dame in her ravings cries :— "Heard have you? what I they have told you he never repented his sin. Uow do they know it f are they his mother? are they of hia kin 1 Heard 1 havo you heard, when the storm on the downs began. The wind that 'II wail like the child and the soa

I lull 11 moan like a man i" Election j Election and Reprobation, it'snll very llut I go to-night to my boy, and I shall not Unit him in hell. For I carod so much for my boy that the Lord baa looked ntoniycare. And He means mo. .I'm sun), to.be happy with Willy, I know not where.

In reading the tiny poem " St. Agnea' Eve," one cannot help contrasting with it Keats's longer and more important poem bearing the same title. Both have their origin iv the old popular superstition that if—

" Upon the honeyod middle of tho ni^ht, Ceremonies due they did aright." on the vigil of St. Agnes (January 21st) maidens might be vouchsafed a sight of their future husbands. Keats wrote a beautiful poem on this pleasing fancy, but left it it much where he found it, while Mr Tennyson spiritualises it ami exhibits to us a saintly nun, who is enabled bj,1 prayer and tilth to gaze 011 the Heavenly Bridegroom.

Tho Ratc3 Uoll back, and far within For me tho Heavenly Bridegroom WIIH3 To make 1110 pure of sin. The Sabbath of eternity. One Sabbath deep and wide— A light upon the shining sea— The Bridegroom with his bride!"

A coincidence between a thought in Mr Tennyson's poem, and one in that of Keats, is perhaps woitti mentioning. The former has in the first stanza;

My breath to heaven like a vapour goes. This would seem to have been suggestrd by what Keats had previously written ;—

His trusted breath Liko pious iucense from a censor old, Seomcd taking flight for heaven, without a death.

Mr Tennyson has been very successful in his employment of irregular metres, a diffi culty which few poets have conquered. The great secret would seem to be to make the rhymes and the pauses fall just when and where the emotion demands that they should. In the "Lotos Eaters " this is the case, and the result is a " music sweet and low,'' in keeping with the languid enervat ing air floating over the land where the mild-cycil lotos caters dwelt. Another specimen of successful irregular metre is the "Ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington," a poem which came from the writer's heart, and which is worthy of the great man whose decease it so nobly de plores. It deserves to tane rank with the tew—not more than twenty—satisfactory odes in English. As a lyrist, Mr Tennyson has achieved remarkable success. Somo of his songs are as sweet and charming as any in the language. Among them is found consider able variety both in metre uud in subject matter, alternating from grave to gay, while certain of his amatory verses are quite unequalled. "Home they brought her warrior dead," "Come not when I .am dead," Thy voice is heard tbro' rolling drums" "Teats, idle tears, I, knuw not what they mean." In the last named the same cho'ds—chords vibrating long and low —are struck as in an earlier song :—

But O for the touch of a vanished hand And the sound of a voice that is still.

A dainty little poem is "The Brook," written in a measure singularly imitative of the subject. If Mr Tennyson borrowed the crude idea of it from Burns as has been suggested, he has shown his skill in the manner in which he has developed it. The refrain however is Ids own-

For men may come, and men may go, Butlgoonforcver.

The amatory lyrics exhibit in themselves much variety. The moods of love are many, and Mr Tennyson has recorded a goodly proportion. We can only quote what seems to us the most perfect of them all, " Vivien's Song " Where can be found anything to approach it in the language ?

" In lovo, if love be love, if lovo be ours, Faith and unfa th can no'er be equal powers Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within tho lute That by and f>y will make the music muts. And ever widening slowly silence all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go: But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no; And trust me not at all, or all in all.

We have now gone through most, not all, of Mr Tennyson's shorter poems. We

do not pretend to have said all about them that was<'bvious even, nor much that was far below the surface. Nor have we taken ui>, except incidentally, such subjects as Mr Tennyson's command of language, his services in the reuse of good words long disused, his ability to describe actions and incidents in the neatest tersest manner possible, his fidelity in depicting beauties of lycadow and field and river and garden. Our intention hus been mainly a popular one, to attempt a little something towards lessening the indifference in which Mr Tennyson's poems in particular and pootry in general, are held in New Zealand. To such indilFcrCUCß there is always a tendency, arising from what causes we do not now enquire, among the dwellers in a new country. But it is a feature which ought not, with the spread of education and cultur ■wo Hatter ourselves upon, to be allowed to remain to discredit us any longer.

Ornithology.-Lore Birds.

[From "The World."]

Our. Very Own Ornithologist has nuulo a special stmlyof the Lovo Birds' (Amantes), and these are his notes on the females of this remarkable group:

Now these arc the most difficult wild fowl to discourse of, because of their way wardness and exceeding cunniug ; for they BO at times vastly entertaining, because of their odd tumblings ami varieties of High. At times they are gloomy, and mope in corners ;at times exceedingly blithe; and at times, especially when mot with iv (locks in the Country-house tree, the Amantcs arc an intolerable nuisance, The principal varieties are —

The Young Unenoaoed l>ii!i> on

Flapbkk fSepUmdaxiiiia mavis),

She i.s slight, light, and bright, fond of the society of tho Cousin-Bird, chatters a good deal at feeding-time. Is addicted to meaningless interrogations, round games, bonbons, fragments of the slang-berry, anil StHni-pluckoil Undergraduate-Birds, upon which she feeds voraciously.

She is frequently found chirruping with others ot her tribe at the pluming or " L'omo-to-itiy ■ room-aiid brush-your-hair " hour. Can be developed. A variety of the unengaged family is sometimes met with in very shallow Kayswater, It is called the "Mature Moorhen" (Virgo antiqna), aim ia recognisable by its two quaint Hide-combs, its nest full ot old lott-rs, and tin excellent terms upon which it lives with the cats of the district.

The Engaoed-Bird on Fiancee

( Expeclans), Generally .seen Hitting mysteriously rouud the troussetiu-trco, (n tho evening prefers sitting out on a branch and watch ing tho Flappers; has been known to smile 011 the Best-Man Bird and cause much irritation thereby. As a rule feeds with one claw concealed, and is invariably lost at a picnic, much to the nmusement of the Matron-Birds and envy of tho Flappers. The tlcsh is white and soft.

TilK Old-Biud (JUtouea sapiens).

She has ad odd smart way of snapping up the repartee-beetle, and is known as the "Doocid-cleva," "Get-tho-bost-of-you." As a rule knows a great deal more than la good for her. This bird is frequently fed by the Warrior-Bird, with a spicy kiud of berry, chielly found 111 France, called the " riskce-storce." She generally carries under her wing a peculiar fungus— the pull-ball -with winch she smooths her beak. She can imitate the cry of the Flapper, and as Plutinus justly re marks, " Furasmuch as she hath been frc qucaily ensnared, she knowcth all the Fowler's craft." Shois not so tender as the Exnechms, but very divorting for all that, and has been observed to be very attentive and politu to the Middle-aged Single Gold tincti, whose nest she frequently warms for him.

The BiswAitE-OF-IlEit (Capriciosa).

This marvellous fowl hath given much delight and done a vast deal of mischief. She is passionate, cruel, and cor-nivorous or heart-devouring, and may fowlers have perished in attempting to capture her. The chii f lures uadi in her pursuit are the Diamond-Starling, the Bangc-Bc"tle, the Dry Widow or Veuve Clicqttet Sec, Box ami-^ upper-Caterpillar, and the Devotion grub. This last she devours greedily, fre quently offering the Sub-Snail in return. as a rule she folk a prey to any creaturo that is picturesque, interesting, new, and extravagant, When captured she is for a a time very winsome and entertaining, but after some months will peck at the bars of her cage and exhibit signs of fretfulness. At this time the only food she will eat is new larva When snaicd by the love noose she is a rare delicacy, She. is pro voking and petulant as a rule. She is often nice, sometimes a perfect starling or darling, generally agreeable, and always to be avoided by the Peacc-of-Mind Bird.

The True Love-Bikd (Fidelis). This bird is now totally extinct; but the following illustrations will convey some idea of what her habits probably were at the time that Dodos were met with in Piccadilly. . , , , [We venture to disagree with our author s sweeping assertion concerning the Fidelis, and we regret we cannot reproduce his very graphic and interesting illustrations.]

Bits of Wisdom.

That which is well done is twice done. A blithe heart makes a blooming visage. None but a wise man cau employ leisure] well.

Hypocrisy is the homage vice pays to virtue. Better one word in time than two after ward.

The greatest wealth is contentment with a little. Forget other people s faults by remem bering your own. He that swells in prosperity {$ SU re to shrink in adversity. lie who says what he liiOjs, often hears what he does not like, '

Some men and women t a ik by the yard and think by the inch. / The touchstone by wlj^h mC n try us is often their own vanity, i It is a good thing to U am caution by the faults of others. _ ; A secret is too littl^ f or on 6) enough for two, and too much/ ior three. Many men cm; ,' tne i r f, rs t years so as to make their } miserable. , Many an hr jncst man sta nds in need of help that hi> ?g 110t the courage to ask it. Love bcj> treth all things, believeth all things, en' iureth a ,i

THE OLD STORY.

[From the Boston Tuanscbipt.] I was weeping, sad and weary. And the night was long mid dr<>arv Knuless Booming to my child heart ' Longing for the monuir ligln Pain mill woe full sore were o'or me, And the, shaded lump before mo Seemed to mock my bklurycuriiiiiK Long ago, 0110 winter night.

Till my mother's soft caressing Fell upon mo like a blessing. As she told of One who sullerud Bitter throes on Calv-.iy; Till .1 hunhcd my sobs ami crying On her gentlo bosom lying, While Him told me of the Saviour And Ilia doath upon tho tree.

Told mo o'er and o'er tho story Of the Christ child and His glory, 01 the shepherd's wondrous vision ,'V,1' I," "i'i r of l"™'>iso bright; 01 tinl- humble shed and manger Cradling the holy stranger; 01 the angels, praises singing, Wig ago, ono winter night.

Stiller grow my heart's quick beating An she told me of the mooting At Uio tomb, oncSabbatli morning Of the angels fair and bright. Then, at l<i»t, tho story ended, Up to Hod a prayer ascended - Ah. it all comes buck so |<luinly To my revered brain tu.iiv,hl,!

As upon my couch 1 languish, Soothingly upon my im-iu.sh, Lik. a star Unit breaks the darkness, Or a ray of morning light, Comes the thought 01 tlml. sweet story Of Hie Christ child and hi* -lon That was told to hush my wailing,' Long UK", olio winter night.

Ah! my burden seemuth lighter And the darkness urowmli brighter ; Pain tuid grief no Jouicer o'er 1110 Their dark wings of *or: ow cast; Christ, my king, forever rcignelb And my soul no more lonipkimeth ; Christ hath raised the v. il of shadows From my weary heart at last.

BISMILLAH.

[From the Obntuhv Macia7,ikk,]J Fortli from hia tout tho patriarch Abraham stopt, And lengthening shadows slowly past him crept.

For many daya ho scarce had broko his fast. Lest .some poor wanderer should come at lust.

And, scanty comfort finding, go his way, Iv doubl of Uod'u great, mercy day by day

Hut deep contentment In his culm eyes shono Whon he beheld afar a pilgrim lone

Fare slowly toward him from the flaming west. With weary atopx betokening noed of reat.

When that he came anear. straightway was Been An ugcil man of grave and reverend mien.

"Guest of mine eyes, here let thy footsteps halt." The patriarch said, "and share my broad and salt." Then calling to his kinfolk soon the board Was lailun richly with tho patriarch's hoard.

And when around the fair repast they drew, •• IlUmilluh I" diiiil they all wiiii i-ovuruut'O due;

Save only ho for whom thcifcust was spread; lie bowed him gravely, but no word hu mint.

Then Abraham thus: " 0 guest, is it not meet To utter (iod'rt great namo ero thou dost oat ("

Tho pilgrim answerod, courteous but calm, " Good friend,of those who worship lire 1 am."

Thon Abraham roje, his brow with anger bent. And drove the agod Ghober from hia tent.

That instant, swifter than a flashing sword, Appeared ami spoke an angel of the Lord,

In shining splendour wrapt; the bright 0110 said: " An hundred years upon this aged head

God's mercy hath beon lavished from on high. In lfe and 31111 and rain. JJost thou deny

What (iod withholds not from tho meanest clod ?"

The patriarch bowed in meekness: Great is God I

A Troublesome Lover

THERE are many love-troubles which have more of the ludicrous than tliu pathetic about them, and it is impossible that there should not be some merriment mingled with the sadness with which we contem plate the sorrows of the Rev. Father Henry. Though this rev. gentleman is the vicar of St. Vincent do Paul, in Paris, and is, of course, vowed to celibacy, his love story is entirely devoid of anything like scandal, for his part in it is not active but altogether passive. The French proverb says that there is always one whokins-08 and one who oilers the check, but Father Henry does neither—seeming, indeed very anxious to got his check out of the way of the kisses which, metaphorically speaking, M a certain Mdllo. Gastincau ik anxious to shower upon him. This young lady lias been in the habit of dodg ing the unfortunate ecclesiastic from his house to the churih and back again ; and when, to escape her, he has neglected his dutiofl and stayed at home, she has estab lished herself on his doorstep and waited patiently for his appcaran<e. Driven to desperation, the unfortunate priest first had his persecutor expelled from the church; and when that plan failed, got her confined, as a lunatic. As in France, however, the identity of love and lunacy cannot be admitted, she has been set free to begin her torments again; and the modern St Anthony must now be at his wits' end ,?"* Father Henry cannot marry Mo<"-"{ llleue Gastineau, her passion may r-~tCrna''

Providing against Casualties.

A GERMAN ™sical journal publishes the following iimny anecdote, its absolute authentcity being guaranteed. Some time ago fie "leading T> vocali ts, engaged by a ,yell-known operatic impresario tor a Aur through South America, met for the first time on board the oc.au steamer in which their berths had been taken, and in the course of conversation made the dis covery, "teatly to their surprise, that they were all tenors and members of the same company to boot. Unable to conjecture what object the imprcsatio could possibly have had in view in providing himself with five tenors, they beto k themselves in a body to his cabin, and respectfully iemanded an explanation of such unwonted, avishness in their particular line. "Do. not trouble yourselves, gentlemen, about my arrangements," replied the enterprising manager; "I know what I am about perfectly well. Depend upon it, I shall want you all five. You will sec, soon after you get across, that three, if not four, ot you will die of fever, and I shall be dependent upon the survivor, whoever he may be, for all my first tenor parts. Ex periencs in tropical and sup-tropical tours has taught me the necessity of providing against accidents of this description. Besides please to consider what a_ splendid professional prospect I am opening out to at least one ot your number Gentleman, I. wish you a very good morning I"



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