Till public wrong be crumbled into dust And drill the raw world for the march of mind,

Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be just.

But wink no more in slothful overtrust.
Remember him who led your hosts ;
He bade you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward
wall;

His voice is silent in your council-hall
For ever; and whatever tempests lour
For ever silent; even if they broke
In thunder, silent; yet remember all
He spoke among you, and the Man wha
spoke;

And thro' the centuries let a people's

Who never sold the truth to serve the hour,

voice

In full acclaim,

Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power; Who let the turbid streams of rumor

Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers,

Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly set

His Briton in blown seas and storming showers,

We have a voice with which to pay the

debt

Of boundless love and reverence and regret

To those great men who fought, and kept it ours.

And keep it ours, O God, from brute control!

O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the soul

Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,

And save the one true seed of freedom

sown

Betwixt a people and their ancient throne,

That sober freedom out of which there springs Our loyal passion for our temperate kings! [kind For, saving that, ye help to save man

rebuke

All great self-seekers trampling on the right.

Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named;

Truth-lover was our English Duke!
Whatever record leap to light
He never shall be shamed.

VIII

Lo! the leader in these glorious wars
Now to glorious burial slowly borne,
Follow'd by the brave of other lands,
He, on whom from both her open hands
Lavish Honor shower'd all her stars,
And afluent Fortune emptied all her
horn.

Yea, let all good things await
Him who cares not to be great
But as he saves or serves the state.

Not once or twice in our rough island. story

The path of duty was the way to glory.
He that walks it, only thirsting
For the right, and learns to deaden

Love of self, before his journey closes,
He shall find the stubborn thistle burst-

The path of duty was the way to glory. He, that ever following her commands, On with toil of heart, and knees and hands,

And Victor he must ever be.
For tho' the Giant Ages heave the hill
And break the shore, and evermore
Make and break, and work their will,

roll

Round us, each with different powers,
And other forms of life than ours,
What know we greater than the soul?
On God and Godlike men we build our
trust.

Hush, the Dead March wails in the people's ears;

The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears;

The black earth yawns; the mortal disappears;

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
He is gone who seem'd so great.--
Gone, but nothing can bereave him
Of the force he made his own
Being here, and we believe him
Something far advanced in State,
And that he wears a truer crown

Than any wreath that man can weave

flame,

him.

Speak no more of his renown,

Ours the pain, be his the gain!
More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere;
We revere, and we refrain

From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility
As befits a solemn fane:

We revere, and while we hear
The tides of Music's golden sea
Setting toward eternity,
Uplifted high in heart and hope are we,
Until we doubt not that for one so true
There must be other nobler work to do
Than when he fought at Waterloo,

And in the vast cathedral leave him, God accept him, Christ receive him!

HANDS ALL ROUND

1852.

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 yalley 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.

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.

Singing of Death, and of Honor that cannot die,

Till I well could weep for a time so sor

Go not, happy day,

From the shining fields,
Go not, happy day,
Till the maiden yields.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
When the happy Yes
Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news
Over glowing ships;

Over blowing seas,
Over seas at rest,
Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro' the West;
Till the red man dance
By his red cedar-tree,
And the red man's babe
Leap, beyond the sea.
Blush from West to East,
Blush from East to West,
Till the West is East,
Blush it thro' the West.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,

And a rose her mouth.

XVIII

I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none.