God the traitor's hopa confound! To this great name of England drink, my friends, [round. And all her glorious empire, round and

To all our statesmen so they be

True leaders of the land's desire! To both our Houses, may they see

Beyond the borough and the shire! We sail'd wherever ship could sail,

We founded many a mighty state; Pray God our greatness may not fail Thro' craven fears of being great! Hands all round!

God the traitor's hope confound! To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,

And the great name of England, round and round. 1852.

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE1

HALF a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!" Was there a man dismay'd? Not tho' the soldier knew

Some one had blunder'd. Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them

Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air

1" On Dec. 2d he wrote the Charge of the Light Brigade in a few minutes, after reading the description in the Times in which occurred the phrase 'Some one had blundered,' and this was the origin of the metre of his poem." (Life 381.)

Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while

All the world wonder'd. Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not, Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them

Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!

December 9, 1854.

THE BROOK

I COME from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirty hills I hurry down,

Or slip between the ridges, By twenty thorps, a little town, And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,

In little sharps and trebles, I bubble into eddying bays,

I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set

With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I wind about, and in and out, With here a blossom sailing, And here and there a lusty trout, And here and there a grayling,

And here and there a foamy flake Upon me, as I travel

With many a silvery water-break Above the golden gravel,

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on for ever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots, I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance, Among my skimming swallows; I make the netted sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars,

I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
1855.

LYRICS FROM MAUD1

PART I

V

A VOICE by the cedar tree

In the meadow under the Hall!
She is singing an air that is known to

me,

A passionate ballad gallant and gay,
A martial song like a trumpet's call !
Singing alone in the morning of life,
In the happy morning of life and of May,
Singing of men that in battle array,
Ready in heart and ready in hand,
March with banner and bugle and fife
To the death, for their native land.

1 See the Life of Tennyson, I, 393-406.

Silence, beautiful voice!

Be still, for you only trouble the mind With a joy in which I cannot rejoice, A glory I shall not find.

Still! I will hear you no more,

For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice

But to move to the meadow and fall before

Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore. Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind, Not her, not her, but a voice.

XI

O, let the solid ground

Not fail beneath my feet
Before my life has found

What some have found so sweet!
Then let come what come may,
What matter if I go mad,
I shall have had my day.

Let the sweet heavens endure,

Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sure

That there is one to love me! Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day.

XII

Birds in the high Hall-garden When twilight was falling, Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,

They were crying and calling.

Where was Maud? in our wood; And I-who else?-was with her Gathering woodland lilies,

Myriads blow together.

Birds in our wood sang

Ringing thro' the valleys, Maud is here, here, here In among the lilies.