and feeling. Unlike the "Iliad" or "Paradise Lost," which appeal to us largely through their grandeur, the "Idyls of the King" possess a deep human interest. They arouse our sympathies. We weep for Elaine, "the lily maid of Astolat," the victim of a hopeless love for Lancelot. How worthy of his praise!

"Fair she was, my King,

Pure, as you ever wish your knights to be.

To doubt her fairness were to want an eye,

To doubt her pureness were to want a heart

Yea, to be loved, if what is worthy love

Could bind him, but free love will not be bound."

The agonies of Arthur and Guinevere at Almesbury go to

the heart:

"Lo! I forgive thee, as Eternal God

Forgives; do thou for thine own soul the rest.
But how to take last leave of all I loved?
O golden hair, with which I used to play,
Not knowing! O imperial-moulded form,
And beauty such as never woman wore,
Until it came a kingdom's curse with thee.
I can not touch thy lips, they are not mine,
But Lancelot's: nay, they never were the King's.

My love thro' flesh hath wrought into my life
So far, that my doom is, I love thee still.
Let no man dream but that I love thee still.
Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul,
And so thou lean on our fair father Christ,
Hereafter in that world where all are pure,
We two may meet before high God, and thou
Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know
I am thine husband- not a smaller soul,

Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that,

I charge thee, my last hope."

How beautiful the words of Arthur, as he seeks in his last moments to comfort the lonely and grief-stricken Sir Bedi

vere:

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfils himself in many ways,

Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me?

I have lived my life, and that which I have done
May he within himself make pure! but thou,
If thou shouldst never see my face again,

Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of.

I am going a long way

With these thou seest -if indeed I go

(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)-
To the island valley of Avilion;

Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies
Deep-meadow'd, happy, fair with orchard lawns
And bowery hollows crown'd with summer sea."

In 1864 appeared "Enoch Arden," a work of great beauty. It depicts with deep pathos the heroism to be found in humble life. Beauty, pathos, heroism — these are qualities that give it high rank, and have made it perhaps the most popular of all Tennyson's writings. Human nature is portrayed at its best; and like all our author's poetry, " Enoch Arden " unconsciously begets faith in man, and makes us hopeful of the future of our

race.

Of Tennyson's other works we cannot speak. It is enough to say that they add nothing to his fame.

The quiet beauty of his death formed a fitting close to his long and uneventful career. On the evening of the 6th of October, 1892, the soul of the great poet passed away. The prayer he had breathed two years before in the little poem "Crossing the Bar," was answered:

"Sunset and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar

When I put out to sea.

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell

When I embark.

For tho' from out our bourn of Time and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

When I have crossed the bar."

He was entombed by the side of Chaucer in Westminster Abbey, while two continents were lamenting his death.

Whatever changes of taste or fashion may hereafter come in poetry, surely we are justified in believing that Tennyson will continue to hold a high rank. There is nothing in his character to detract from his reputation as a poet. Though we know comparatively little of his life, we clearly read his character in his works. He commands our confidence and reverent regard. Without exhibiting heroic traits, for which there was no special occasion, he appears to us as a man of exquisite and healthful culture. While tenderly sensitive to all that is beautiful in nature and humanity, he possessed profound ethical feeling and spiritual insight. Keenly sympathetic with the eager and restless search after truth characteristic of our time, he avoided its dangers, and continued a strong and trustworthy teacher, inspiring confidence in man, hope in the future, and faith in God.

ELAINE.

ELAINE the fair, Elaine the lovable,

Elaine, the lily maid of Astolat,

High in her chamber up a tower to the east
Guarded the sacred shield of Lancelot;

Which first she placed where morning's earliest ray
Might strike it, and awake her with the gleam;
Then, fearing rust or soilure, fashion'd for it
A case of silk, and braided thereupon
All the devices blazon'd on the shield
In their own tinct, and added, of her wit,
A border fantasy of branch and flower,
And yellow-throated nestling in the nest.
Nor rested thus content, but day by day,

Leaving her household and good father, climb'd
That eastern tower, and, entering, barr'd her door,
Stript off the case, and read the naked shield,

Now guess'd a hidden meaning in his arms,

Now made a pretty history to herself

Of every dint a sword had beaten in it,
And every scratch a lance had made upon it,
Conjecturing when and where: this cut is fresh;
That ten years back; this dealt him at Cærlyle;
That at Carleon; this at Camelot :

And ah, God's mercy, what a stroke was there'
And here a thrust that might have kill'd, but God
Broke the strong lance, and roll'd his enemy down,
And saved him: so she lived in fantasy.

How came the lily maid by that good shield
Of Lancelot, she that knew not ev'n his name?
He left it with her when he rode to tilt
For the great diamond in the diamond jousts
Which Arthur had ordain'd, and by that name
Had named them, since a diamond was the prize.

For Arthur, long before they crown'd him king,
Roving the trackless realms of Lyonnesse,

Had found a glen, gray boulder, and black tarn.
A horror lived about the tarn, and clave
Like its own mists to all the mountain side:
For here two brothers, one a king, had met,
And fought together; but their names were lost.
And each had slain his brother at a blow,
And down they fell and made the glen abhorr'd:
And there they lay till all their bones were bleach'd,
And lichen'd into color with the crags :
And he that once was king had on a crown
Of diamonds, one in front, and four aside.
And Arthur came, and laboring up the pass
All in a misty moonshine, unawares

40

Had trodden that crown'd skeleton, and the skull
Brake from the nape, and from the skull the crown
Roll'd into light, and, turning on its rims,

50

60

Fled like a glittering rivulet to the tarn:
And down the shingly scaur he plunged, and caught,
And set it on his head, and in his heart

Heard murmurs,

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Lo, thou likewise shalt be king."

Thereafter, when a king, he had the gems

Pluck'd from the crown, and show'd them to his knights,
Saying, "These jewels, whereupon I chanced
Divinely, are the kingdom's, not the king's -
For public use: henceforward let there be,
Once every year, a joust for one of these:

For so by nine years' proof we needs must learn
Which is our mightiest, and ourselves shall grow
In use of arms and manhood, till we drive
The heathen, who, some say, shall rule the land
Hereafter, which God hinder." Thus he spoke :

And eight years past, eight jousts had been, and still
Had Lancelot won the diamond of the year,

With purpose to present them to the Queen
When all were won; but, meaning all at once
To snare her royal fancy with a boon

Worth half her realm, had never spoken word.

Now for the central diamond and the last And largest, Arthur, holding then his court