Chapter: Dedication


  These to His Memory--since he held them dear,
  Perchance as finding there unconsciously
  Some image of himself--I dedicate,
  I dedicate, I consecrate with tears--
  These Idylls.

               And indeed He seems to me
  Scarce other than my king's ideal knight,
  'Who reverenced his conscience as his king;
  Whose glory was, redressing human wrong;
  Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;
  Who loved one only and who clave to her--'
  Her--over all whose realms to their last isle,
  Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,
  The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse,
  Darkening the world.  We have lost him:  he is gone:
  We know him now:  all narrow jealousies
  Are silent; and we see him as he moved,
  How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,
  With what sublime repression of himself,
  And in what limits, and how tenderly;
  Not swaying to this faction or to that;
  Not making his high place the lawless perch
  Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground
  For pleasure; but through all this tract of years
  Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,
  Before a thousand peering littlenesses,
  In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,
  And blackens every blot:  for where is he,
  Who dares foreshadow for an only son
  A lovelier life, a more unstained, than his?
  Or how should England dreaming of his sons
  Hope more for these than some inheritance
  Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,
  Thou noble Father of her Kings to be,
  Laborious for her people and her poor--
  Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day--
  Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste
  To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace--
  Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam
  Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,
  Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,
  Beyond all titles, and a household name,
  Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good.

     Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure;
  Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,
  Remembering all the beauty of that star
  Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made
  One light together, but has past and leaves
  The Crown a lonely splendour.

                               May all love,
  His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee,
  The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee,
  The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee,
  The love of all Thy people comfort Thee,
  Till God's love set Thee at his side again!

 Now onto the business of summarizing. The author dedicates these idylls to the memory of someone who loved them, speculating that he may find an image of himself in them. This mystery man seems to him just like "my king's ideal knight," especially because he followed his conscience above all else and was completely dedicated to one woman. He was faithful to a woman for whom his loss is particularly devastating. Ooh, a clue. Now that he's gone, everyone realizes how great he was. Even though his position on the throne made him especially vulnerable to criticism, he appears blameless. Who could wish for a better life for his only son, or hope for more for his son's sons than that they resemble such an excellent father--Albert the Good? Now the author addresses the widowed queen, telling her to be strong and endure in the memory of the light they two shared. He ends by saying something along the lines of, "May Albert's love, the love of her children, and the love of her people surround her until God's love reunites her with her husband again."

