Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win, I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour here! The aids to noble life are all within."



EAST LONDON

'Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, deg. deg.2 And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, deg. look'd thrice dispirited. deg.4

I met a preacher there I knew, and said: 5 "Ill and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?"— "Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been, Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ, the living bread."

O human soul! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, 10 Above the howling senses' ebb and flow,

To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam— Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night! Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.



WEST LONDON

Crouch'd on the pavement, close by Belgrave Square, deg. deg.1 A tramp I saw, ill, moody, and tongue-tied. A babe was in her arms, and at her side A girl; their clothes were rags, their feet were bare.

Some labouring men, whose work lay somewhere there, 5 Pass'd opposite; she touch'd her girl, who hied Across and begg'd, and came back satisfied. The rich she had let pass with frozen stare.

Thought I: "Above her state this spirit towers; She will not ask of aliens but of friends, 10 Of sharers in a common human fate.

"She turns from that cold succour, which attends The unknown little from the unknowing great, And points us to a better time than ours."



ELEGIAC POEMS



MEMORIAL VERSES deg.

April, 1850

Goethe in Weimar sleeps, deg. and Greece, deg.1 Long since, saw Byron's deg. struggle cease. deg.2 But one such death remain'd to come; The last poetic voice is dumb— We stand to-day by Wordsworth's tomb. 5

When Byron's eyes were shut in death, We bow'd our head and held our breath. He taught us little; but our soul Had felt him like the thunder's roll. With shivering heart the strife we saw 10 Of passion with eternal law; And yet with reverential awe We watch'd the fount of fiery life Which served for that Titanic strife.

When Goethe's death was told, we said: 15 Sunk, then, is Europe's sagest head. Physician of the iron age, deg. deg.17 Goethe has done his pilgrimage. He took the suffering human race, He read each wound, each weakness clear; 20 And struck his finger on the place, And said: Thou ailest here, and here! He look'd on Europe's dying hour Of fitful dream and feverish power; His eye plunged down the weltering strife, 25 The turmoil of expiring life— He said: The end is everywhere, Art still has truth, take refuge there! And he was happy, if to know Causes of things, and far below 30 His feet to see the lurid flow Of terror, and insane distress, And headlong fate, be happiness.

And Wordsworth!—Ah, pale ghosts, rejoice! For never has such soothing voice 35 Been to your shadowy world convey'd, Since erst, at morn, some wandering shade Heard the clear song of Orpheus deg. come deg.38 Through Hades, and the mournful gloom. Wordsworth has gone from us—and ye, 40 Ah, may ye feel his voice as we! He too upon a wintry clime Had fallen—on this iron time Of doubts, disputes, distractions, fears. He found us when the age had bound 45 Our souls in its benumbing round; He spoke, and loosed our heart in tears. He laid us as we lay at birth On the cool flowery lap of earth, Smiles broke from us and we had ease; 50 The hills were round us, and the breeze Went o'er the sun-lit fields again; Our foreheads felt the wind and rain. Our youth returned; for there was shed On spirits that had long been dead, 55 Spirits dried up and closely furl'd, The freshness of the early world.

Ah! since dark days still bring to light Man's prudence and man's fiery might, Time may restore us in his course 60 Goethe's sage mind and Byron's force; But where will Europe's latter hour Again find Wordsworth's healing power? Others will teach us how to dare, And against fear our breast to steel; 65 Others will strengthen us to bear— But who, ah! who, will make us feel The cloud of mortal destiny? Others will front it fearlessly— But who, like him, will put it by? 70

Keep fresh the grass upon his grave O Rotha, deg. with thy living wave! deg.72 Sing him thy best! for few or none Hears thy voice right, now he is gone.



THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY deg.

Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes deg.! deg.2 No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed, Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats, Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head. 5 But when the fields are still, And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest, And only the white sheep are sometimes seen; Cross and recross deg. the strips of moon-blanch'd green, deg.9 Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest! 10

Here, where the reaper was at work of late— In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse, deg. deg.13 And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves, Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use— 15 Here will I sit and wait, While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, With distant cries of reapers in the corn deg.— deg.19 All the live murmur of a summer's day. 20

Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, And here till sun-down, shepherd! will I be. Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep, And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep; 25 And air-swept lindens yield Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid, And bower me from the August sun with shade; And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers. deg. deg.30

And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book deg.— deg.31 Come, let me read the oft-read tale again! The story of the Oxford scholar poor, Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain, Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door, 35 One summer-morn forsook His friends, and went to learn the gipsy-lore, And roam'd the world with that wild brotherhood, And came, as most men deem'd, to little good, But came to Oxford and his friends no more. 40

But once, years after, in the country-lanes, Two scholars, whom at college erst deg. he knew, deg.42 Met him, and of his way of life enquired; Whereat he answer'd, that the gipsy-crew, His mates, had arts to rule as they desired 45 The workings of men's brains, And they can bind them to what thoughts they will. "And I," he said, "the secret of their art, When fully learn'd, will to the world impart; But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill. deg." deg.50

This said, he left them, and return'd no more.— But rumours hung about the country-side, That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied, In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey, 55 The same the gipsies wore. Shepherds had met him on the Hurst deg. in spring; deg.57 At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors, deg. deg.58 On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frock'd boors Had found him seated at their entering. 60

But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. And I myself seem half to know, thy looks, And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace; And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks I ask if thou hast pass'd their quiet place; 65 Or in my boat I lie Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer-heats, 'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills. And watch the warm, green-muffled deg. Cumner hills, deg.69 And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. 70

For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground! Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, Returning home on summer-nights, have met Crossing the stripling Thames at Bab-lock-hithe, deg. deg.74 Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet, 75 As the punt's rope chops round; And leaning backward in a pensive dream, And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. 80

And then they land, and thou art seen no more!— Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come; To dance around the Fyfield elm in May, deg. deg.83 Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam Or cross a stile into the public way. Oft thou hast given them store 85 Of flowers—the frail-leaf'd, white anemony, Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves And purple orchises with spotted leaves— But none hath words she can report of thee. 90

And, above Godstow Bridge, deg. when hay-time's here In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames, Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames, To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass, deg. deg.95 Have often pass'd thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown; Mark'd thine outlandish deg. garb, thy figure spare, deg.98 Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air— But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone! 100

At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, Where at her open door the housewife darns, Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate To watch the threshers in the mossy barns. Children, who early range these slopes and late 105 For cresses from the rills, Have known thee eying, all an April-day, The springing pastures and the feeding kine; And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine, Through the long dewy grass move slow away. 110

In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood deg.— deg.111 Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagg'd deg. and shreds of grey, deg.114 Above the forest-ground called Thessaly deg.— deg.115 The blackbird, picking food, Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all; So often has he known thee past him stray Rapt, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray, And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall. 120

And once, in winter, on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go, Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge, Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow, Thy face tow'rd Hinksey deg. and its wintry ridge? deg.125 And thou hast climb'd the hill, And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range; Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall deg.— deg.129 Then sought thy straw in some sequester'd grange. deg.130

But what—I dream! Two hundred years are flown Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls, And the grave Glanvil deg. did the tale inscribe deg.133 That thou wert wander'd from the studious walls To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy-tribe; 135 And thou from earth art gone Long since, and in some quiet churchyard laid— Some country-nook, where o'er thy unknown grave Tall grasses and white-flowering nettles wave, Under a dark red-fruited yew-tree's deg. shade. deg.140

—No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of hours! For what wears out the life of mortal men? 'Tis that from change to change their being rolls 'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, Exhaust the energy of strongest souls 145 And numb the elastic powers. Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen, deg. deg.147 And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit, To the just-pausing Genius deg. we remit deg.149 Our worn-out life, and are—what we have been. 150

Thou hast not lived, deg. why should'st thou perish, so? deg.151 Thou hadst one aim, one business, one desire deg.; deg.152 Else wert thou long since number'd with the dead! Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire! The generations of thy peers are fled, 155 And we ourselves shall go; But thou possessest an immortal lot, And we imagine thee exempt from age And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page, Because thou hadst—what we, alas! have not. deg. deg.160

For early didst thou leave the world, with powers Fresh, undiverted to the world without, Firm to their mark, not spent on other things; Free from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt, Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings deg.. deg.165 O life unlike to ours! Who fluctuate idly without term or scope, Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives, And each half lives a hundred different lives; Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope. deg. deg.170

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we, Light half-believers of our casual creeds, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd, Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds, Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill'd; 175 For whom each year we see Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new; Who hesitate and falter life away, And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day— Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too deg. deg.180

Yes, we await it!—but it still delays, And then we suffer! and amongst us one, Who most has suffer'd, takes dejectedly His seat upon the intellectual throne; And all his store of sad experience he 185 Lays bare of wretched days; Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs, And how the dying spark of hope was fed, And how the breast was soothed, and how the head, And all his hourly varied anodynes. deg. deg.190

This for our wisest! and we others pine, And wish the long unhappy dream would end, And waive all claim to bliss, and try to bear; With close-lipp'd patience for our only friend, Sad patience, too near neighbour to despair— 195 But none has hope like thine! Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray, Roaming the country-side, a truant boy, Nursing thy project in unclouded joy, And every doubt long blown by time away. 200

O born in days when wits were fresh and clear, And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames; Before this strange disease of modern life, With its sick hurry, its divided aims, Its head o'ertax'd, its palsied hearts, was rife— 205 Fly hence, our contact fear! Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood! Averse, as Dido deg. did with gesture stern deg. deg.208 From her false friend's approach in Hades turn, Wave us away, and keep thy solitude! 210

Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade, deg. deg.212 With a free, onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver'd branches deg. of the glade— deg.214 Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue, 215 On some mild pastoral slope Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales Freshen thy flowers as in former years With dew, or listen with enchanted ears, From the dark dingles, deg. to the nightingales! 220

But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly! For strong the infection of our mental strife, Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest; And we should win thee from thy own fair life, Like us distracted, and like us unblest. 225 Soon, soon thy cheer would die, Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfix'd thy powers, And thy clear aims be cross and shifting made; And then thy glad perennial youth would fade, Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours. 230

Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles! —As some grave Tyrian deg. trader, from the sea, Descried at sunrise an emerging prow Lifting the cool-hair'd creepers stealthily, The fringes of a southward-facing brow 235 Among the AEgaean isles deg.; deg.236 And saw the merry Grecian coaster come, Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine, deg. deg.238 Green, bursting figs, and tunnies deg. steep'd in brine— deg.239 And knew the intruders on his ancient home, 240

The young light-hearted masters of the waves— And snatch'd his rudder, and shook out more sail; And day and night held on indignantly O'er the blue Midland waters deg. with the gale, deg.244 Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily, 245 To where the Atlantic raves Outside the western straits deg.; and unbent sails deg.247 There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam, Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come deg.; deg.249 And on the beach undid his corded bales. deg. deg.250



THYRSIS deg.

A MONODY, TO COMMEMORATE THE AUTHOR'S FRIEND ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, WHO DIED AT FLORENCE, 1861

How changed is here each spot man makes or fills deg.! deg.1 In the two Hinkseys deg. nothing keeps the same; deg.2 The village street its haunted mansion lacks, And from the sign is gone Sibylla's name, deg. deg.4 And from the roofs the twisted chimney-stacks— 5 Are ye too changed, ye hills deg.? deg.6 See, 'tis no foot of unfamiliar men To-night from Oxford up your pathway strays! Here came I often, often, in old days— Thyrsis and I; we still had Thyrsis then. 10

Runs it not here, the track by Childsworth Farm, Past the high wood, to where the elm-tree crowns The hill behind whose ridge the sunset flames The signal-elm, that looks on Ilsley Downs deg.? deg.14 The Vale, deg. the three lone weirs, deg. the youthful Thames?—, deg.15 This winter-eve is warm, Humid the air! leafless, yet soft as spring, The tender purple spray on copse and briers! And that sweet city with her dreaming spires, deg. deg.19 She needs not June for beauty's heightening, deg. deg.20

Lovely all times she lies, lovely to-night!— Only, methinks, some loss of habit's power Befalls me wandering through this upland dim, deg. deg.23 Once pass'd I blindfold here, at any hour deg.; deg.24 Now seldom come I, since I came with him. 25 That single elm-tree bright Against the west—I miss it! is it gone? We prized it dearly; while it stood, we said, Our friend, the Gipsy-Scholar, was not dead; While the tree lived, he in these fields lived on. deg. deg.30

Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here, But once I knew each field, each flower, each stick; And with the country-folk acquaintance made By barn in threshing-time, by new-built rick. Here, too, our shepherd-pipes deg. we first assay'd. deg.35 Ah me! this many a year My pipe is lost, my shepherd's holiday! Needs must I lose them, needs with heavy heart Into the world and wave of men depart; But Thyrsis of his own will went away. deg. deg.40

It irk'd deg. him to be here, he could not rest. deg.41 He loved each simple joy the country yields, He loved his mates; but yet he could not keep, deg. deg.43 For that a shadow lour'd on the fields, Here with the shepherds and the silly deg. sheep. deg.45 Some life of men unblest He knew, which made him droop, and fill'd his head. He went; his piping took a troubled sound Of storms deg. that rage outside our happy ground; He could not wait their passing, he is dead. deg. deg.50

So, some tempestuous morn in early June, When the year's primal burst of bloom is o'er, Before the roses and the longest day— When garden-walks and all the grassy floor With blossoms red and white of fallen May deg. deg.55 And chestnut-flowers are strewn— So have I heard the cuckoo's parting cry, From the wet field, through the vext garden-trees, Come with the volleying rain and tossing breeze: The bloom is gone, and with the bloom go I deg.! deg.60

Too quick despairer, wherefore wilt thou go? Soon will the high Midsummer pomps deg. come on, deg.62 Soon will the musk carnations break and swell, Soon shall we have gold-dusted snapdragon, Sweet-William with his homely cottage-smell, 65 And stocks in fragrant blow; Roses that down the alleys shine afar, And open, jasmine-muffled lattices, And groups under the dreaming garden-trees, And the full moon, and the white evening-star. 70

He hearkens not! light comer, deg. he is flown! deg.71 What matters it? next year he will return, And we shall have him in the sweet spring-days. With whitening hedges, and uncrumpling fern, And blue-bells trembling by the forest-ways, 75 And scent of hay new-mown. But Thyrsis never more we swains deg. shall see; deg.77 See him come back, and cut a smoother reed, deg. deg.78 And blow a strain the world at last shall heed deg.— deg.79 For Time, not Corydon, deg. hath conquer'd thee! deg.80

Alack, for Corydon no rival now!— But when Sicilian shepherds lost a mate, Some good survivor with his flute would go, Piping a ditty sad for Bion's fate deg.; deg.84 And cross the unpermitted ferry's flow, deg. deg.85 And relax Pluto's brow, And make leap up with joy the beauteous head Of Proserpine, deg. among whose crowned hair deg.88 Are flowers first open'd on Sicilian air, And flute his friend, like Orpheus, from the dead. deg. deg.90

O easy access to the hearer's grace When Dorian shepherds sang to Proserpine! For she herself had trod Sicilian fields, She knew the Dorian water's gush divine, deg. deg.94 She knew each lily white which Enna yields, 95 Each rose with blushing face deg.; deg.96 She loved the Dorian pipe, the Dorian strain. deg. deg.97 But ah, of our poor Thames she never heard! Her foot the Cumner cowslips never stirr'd; And we should tease her with our plaint in vain! 100

Well! wind-dispersed and vain the words will be, Yet, Thyrsis, let me give my grief its hour In the old haunt, and find our tree-topp'd hill! Who, if not I, for questing here hath power? I know the wood which hides the daffodil, 105 I know the Fyfield tree, deg. deg.106 I know what white, what purple fritillaries The grassy harvest of the river-fields, Above by Ensham, deg. down by Sandford, deg. yields, deg.109 And what sedged brooks are Thames's tributaries; 110

I know these slopes; who knows them if not I?— But many a dingle on the loved hill-side, With thorns once studded, old, white-blossom'd trees Where thick the cowslips grew, and far descried High tower'd the spikes of purple orchises, 115 Hath since our day put by The coronals of that forgotten time; Down each green bank hath gone the ploughboy's team, And only in the hidden brookside gleam Primroses, orphans of the flowery prime. 120

Where is the girl, who by the boatman's door, Above the locks, above the boating throng, Unmoor'd our skiff when through the Wytham flats, deg. deg.123 Red loosestrife and blond meadow-sweet among And darting swallows and light water-gnats, 125 We track'd the shy Thames shore? Where are the mowers, who, as the tiny swell Of our boat passing heaved the river-grass, Stood with suspended scythe to see us pass?— They all are gone, and thou art gone as well! 130

Yes, thou art gone! and round me too the night In ever-nearing circle weaves her shade. I see her veil draw soft across the day, I feel her slowly chilling breath invade The cheek grown thin, the brown hair sprent deg. with grey; deg.135 I feel her finger light Laid pausefully upon life's headlong train;— The foot less prompt to meet the morning dew, The heart less bounding at emotion new, And hope, once crush'd, less quick to spring again. 140

And long the way appears, which seem'd so short To the less practised eye of sanguine youth; And high the mountain-tops, in cloudy air, The mountain-tops where is the throne of Truth, Tops in life's morning-sun so bright and bare! 145 Unbreachable the fort Of the long-batter'd world uplifts its wall; And strange and vain the earthly turmoil grows, And near and real the charm of thy repose, And night as welcome as a friend would fall. deg. deg.150

But hush! the upland hath a sudden loss Of quiet!—Look, adown the dusk hill-side, A troop of Oxford hunters going home, As in old days, jovial and talking, ride! From hunting with the Berkshire deg. hounds they come. deg.155 Quick! let me fly, and cross Into yon farther field!—'Tis done; and see, Back'd by the sunset, which doth glorify The orange and pale violet evening-sky, Bare on its lonely ridge, the Tree! the Tree! 160

I take the omen! Eve lets down her veil, The white fog creeps from bush to bush about, The west unflushes, the high stars grow bright, And in the scatter'd farms the lights come out. I cannot reach the signal-tree to-night, 165 Yet, happy omen, hail! Hear it from thy broad lucent Arno-vale deg. deg.167 (For there thine earth-forgetting eyelids keep The morningless and unawakening sleep Under the flowery oleanders pale), 170

Hear it, O Thyrsis, still our tree is there!— Ah, vain! These English fields, this upland dim, These brambles pale with mist engarlanded, That lone, sky-pointing tree, are not for him; To a boon southern country he is fled, deg. deg.175 And now in happier air, Wandering with the great Mother's deg. train divine deg.177 (And purer or more subtle soul than thee, I trow, the mighty Mother doth not see) Within a folding of the Apennine, 180

Thou hearest the immortal chants of old!— Putting his sickle to the perilous grain In the hot cornfield of the Phrygian king, For thee the Lityerses-song again Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing; 185 Sings his Sicilian fold, His sheep, his hapless love, his blinded eyes— And how a call celestial round him rang, And heavenward from the fountain-brink he sprang, And all the marvel of the golden skies. deg. deg.190

There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here Sole deg. in these fields! yet will I not despair. Despair I will not, while I yet descry 'Neath the mild canopy of English air That lonely tree against the western sky. 195 Still, still these slopes, 'tis clear, Our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, outliving thee Fields where soft sheep deg. from cages pull the hay, Woods with anemonies in flower till May, Know him a wanderer still; then why not me? deg. deg.200

A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, Shy to illumin; and I seek it too. deg. deg.202 This does not come with houses or with gold, With place, with honour, and a flattering crew; 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold— 205 But the smooth-slipping weeks Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired; Out of the heed of mortals he is gone, He wends unfollow'd, he must house alone; Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired. 210

Thou too, O Thyrsis, on like quest was bound; Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour! Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, If men esteem'd thee feeble, gave thee power, If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. 215 And this rude Cumner ground, Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful time, Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime! And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields. 220

What though the music of thy rustic flute Kept not for long its happy, country tone; Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat— 225 It fail'd, and thou wast mute! Yet hadst thou alway visions of our light, And long with men of care thou couldst not stay, And soon thy foot resumed its wandering way, Left human haunt, and on alone till night. 230

Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here! 'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of yore, Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home. Then through the great town's harsh, heart-wearying roar, Let in thy voice a whisper often come, 235 To chase fatigue and fear: Why faintest thou? I wandered till I died. Roam on! The light we sought is shining still. Dost thou ask proof? our tree yet crowns the hill, Our scholar travels yet the loved hill-side. 240



RUGBY CHAPEL deg.

November 1857

Coldly, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, 5 Silent;—hardly a shout From a few boys late at their play! The lights come out in the street, In the school-room windows;—but cold, Solemn, unlighted, austere, 10 Through the gathering darkness, arise The chapel-walls, in whose bound Thou, my father! art laid. deg. deg.13

There thou dost lie, in the gloom Of the autumn evening. But ah! 15 That word, gloom, deg. to my mind deg.16 Brings thee back, in the light Of thy radiant vigour, again; In the gloom of November we pass'd Days not dark at thy side; 20 Seasons impair'd not the ray Of thy buoyant cheerfulness, clear. Such thou wast! and I stand In the autumn evening, and think Of bygone autumns with thee. 25

Fifteen years have gone round Since thou arosest to tread, In the summer-morning, the road Of death, at a call unforeseen, Sudden. For fifteen years, 30 We who till then in thy shade Rested as under the boughs Of a mighty oak, deg. have endured deg.33 Sunshine and rain as we might, Bare, unshaded, alone, 35 Lacking the shelter of thee.

O strong soul, by what shore deg. deg.37 Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain! Somewhere, surely, afar, 40 In the sounding labour-house vast Of being, is practised that strength, Zealous, beneficent, firm!

Yes, in some far-shining sphere, Conscious or not of the past, 45 Still thou performest the word Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live— Prompt, unwearied, as here! Still thou upraisest with zeal The humble good from the ground, 50 Sternly repressest the bad! Still, like a trumpet, doth rouse Those who with half-open eyes Tread the border-land dim 'Twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st, 55 Succourest!—this was thy work, This was thy life upon earth. deg. deg.57

What is the course of the life Of mortal men on the earth deg.?— deg.59 Most men eddy about 60 Here and there—eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving 65 Nothing; and then they die— Perish;—and no one asks Who or what they have been, More than he asks what waves, In the moonlit solitudes mild 70 Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, Foam'd for a moment, and gone.

And there are some, whom a thirst Ardent, unquenchable, fires, Not with the crowd to be spent, 75 Not without aim to go round In an eddy of purposeless dust, Effort unmeaning and vain. Ah yes! some of us strive Not without action to die 80 Fruitless, but something to snatch From dull oblivion, nor all Glut the devouring grave! We, we have chosen our path— Path to a clear-purposed goal, 85 Path of advance!—but it leads A long, steep journey, through sunk Gorges, o'er mountains in snow. Cheerful, with friends, we set forth— Then, on the height, comes the storm. 90 Thunder crashes from rock To rock, the cataracts reply, Lightnings dazzle our eyes. deg. deg.93 Roaring torrents have breach'd The track, the stream-bed descends 95 In the place where the wayfarer once Planted his footstep—the spray Boils o'er its borders! aloft The unseen snow-beds dislodge Their hanging ruin deg.; alas, deg.100 Havoc is made in our train!

Friends, who set forth at our side, Falter, are lost in the storm. We, we only are left! With frowning foreheads, with lips 105 Sternly compress'd, we strain on, On—and at nightfall at last Come to the end of our way, To the lonely inn 'mid the rocks; Where the gaunt and taciturn host 110 Stands on the threshold, the wind Shaking his thin white hairs— Holds his lantern to scan Our storm-beat figures, and asks: Whom in our party we bring? 115 Whom we have left in the snow?

Sadly we answer: We bring Only ourselves! we lost Sight of the rest in the storm. Hardly ourselves we fought through, 120 Stripp'd, without friends, as we are. Friends, companions, and train, The avalanche swept from our side. deg. deg.123

But thou would'st not alone Be saved, my father! alone 125 Conquer and come to thy goal, Leaving the rest in the wild. We were weary, and we Fearful, and we in our march Fain to drop down and to die. 130 Still thou turnedst, and still Beckonedst the trembler, and still Gavest the weary thy hand.

If, in the paths of the world, Stones might have wounded thy feet, 135 Toil or dejection have tried Thy spirit, of that we saw Nothing—to us thou wast still Cheerful, and helpful, and firm! Therefore to thee it was given 140 Many to save with thyself; And, at the end of thy day, O faithful shepherd! to come, Bringing thy sheep in thy hand. deg. deg.144

And through thee I believe 145 In the noble and great who are gone; Pure souls honour'd and blest By former ages, who else— Such, so soulless, so poor, Is the race of men whom I see— 150 Seem'd but a dream of the heart, Seem'd but a cry of desire. Yes! I believe that there lived Others like thee in the past, Not like the men of the crowd 155 Who all round me to-day Bluster or cringe, and make life Hideous, and arid, and vile; But souls temper'd with fire, Fervent, heroic, and good, 160 Helpers and friends of mankind.

Servants of God!—or sons Shall I not call you? because Not as servants ye knew Your Father's innermost mind, 165 His, who unwillingly sees One of his little ones lost— Yours is the praise, if mankind Hath not as yet in its march Fainted, and fallen, and died! 170

See! In the rocks deg. of the world Marches the host of mankind, A feeble, wavering line. Where are they tending?—A God Marshall'd them, gave them their goal. 175 Ah, but the way is so long! Years they have been in the wild! Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks, Rising all round, overawe; Factions divide them, their host 180 Threatens to break, to dissolve. —Ah, keep, keep them combined! Else, of the myriads who fill That army, not one shall arrive; Sole they shall stray: in the rocks 185 Stagger for ever in vain, Die one by one in the waste.

Then, in such hour of need Of your fainting, dispirited race, Ye, deg. like angels, appear, 190 Radiant with ardour divine! Beacons of hope, ye appear! Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, Weariness not on your brow. 195 Ye alight in our van! at your voice, Panic, despair, flee away. Ye move through the ranks, recall The stragglers, refresh the outworn, Praise, re-inspire the brave! 200 Order, courage, return. Eyes rekindling, and prayers, Follow your steps as ye go. Ye fill up the gaps in our files, Strengthen the wavering line, 205 Stablish, continue our march, On, to the bound of the waste, On, to the City of God. deg. deg.208



* * * * * [149]

NOTES

* * * * *



SOHRAB AND RUSTUM

"I am occupied with a thing that gives me more pleasure than anything I have ever done yet, which is a good sign, but whether I shall not ultimately spoil it by being obliged to strike it off in fragments instead of at one heat, I cannot quite say." (Arnold, in a letter to Mrs. Foster, April, 1853.)

"All my spare time has been spent on a poem which I have just finished and which I think by far the best thing I have yet done, and I think it will be generally liked; though one can never be sure of this. I have had the greatest pleasure in composing it, a rare thing with me, and, as I think, a good test of the pleasure what you write is likely to afford to others. But the story is a very noble and excellent one." (Arnold, in a letter to his mother, May, 1853.)

The following synopsis of the story of Sohrab and Rustum the "tale replete with tears," is gathered from several sources, chiefly Benjamin's Persia, in The Story of the Nations, Sir John Malcolm's History of Persia, and the great Persian epic poem, Shah Nameh. The Shah Nameh the original source of the story, and which purports to narrate the exploits of Persia's kings and champions over a space of thirty-six centuries, bears the same relation to Persian literature as the Iliad and Odyssey to the Greek, and the AEneid to the Latin, though in structure it more nearly resembles Morte d'Arthur, which records in order the achievements of various heroes. In it the native poet Mansur ibn Ahmad, afterwards known to literature as Firdausi, the Paradisaical, has set down the early tales and traditions of his people with all the vividness and color common to oriental writers. The principal hero of the poem is the mighty Rustum, who, mounted on his famous horse Ruksh, performed prodigies of valor in defence of the Persian throne. Of all his adventures his encounter with Sohrab is the most dramatic. The poem was probably written in the latter half of the tenth century. As will be seen, the incidents narrated in Arnold's poem form but an episode in the complete story of the two champions. [150]

Rustum (or Rustem), having killed a wild ass while hunting on the Turanian frontier, and having feasted on its flesh, composed himself to sleep, leaving his faithful steed, Ruksh (or Raksh), to graze untethered. On awakening, he found his horse had disappeared, and believing it had been stolen, the warrior proceeded towards Semenjan, a near-by city, in hopes of recovering his property. On the way, he learned that Ruksh had been found by the servants of the king and was stabled at Semenjan, as he had surmised. Upon Rustum's demand, the steed was promptly restored to him, and he was about to depart when he was prevailed upon to accept the king's invitation to tarry awhile and rest himself in feasting and idleness.

Now the king of Semenjan had a fair daughter named Tahmineh, who had become enamoured of Rustum because of his mighty exploits. Susceptible as she was beautiful, she made her attachment so evident that the young hero, who was as ardent as he was brave, readily yielded to the power of her fascination. The consent of the king having been obtained, Rustum and Tahmineh were married with all the rites prescribed by the laws of the country. A peculiar feature of this alliance lay in the fact that the king of Semenjan was feudatory to Afrasiab, the deadly enemy of Persia, while Rustum was her greatest champion. At this time, however, the two countries were at peace. [151] For a time all went happily, then Rustum found it necessary to leave his bride, as he thought, for only a short time. At parting he gave her an onyx, which he wore on his arm, bidding her, if a daughter should be born to their union, to twine the gem in her hair under a fortunate star; but if a son, to bind it on his arm, and he would be insured a glorious career. Rustum then mounted Ruksh and rode away—as time proved, never to return.

The months went by, and to the lonely bride was born a marvellous son, whom, because of his comely features, she named Sohrab. Fearing Rustum would send for the boy when he grew older, and thus rob her of her treasure, Tahmineh sent word to him that the child was a girl—"no son," and Rustum took no further interest in it.

While still of tender years, Sohrab showed signs of his noble lineage. He early displayed a love for horses, and at the age of ten years, according to the tradition, was large and handsome and highly accomplished in the use of arms. Realizing at length that he was of lofty descent, he insisted that his mother, who had concealed the fact, should inform him of the name of his father. Being told that it was the renowned Rustum, he exclaimed, "Since he is my father, I shall go to his aid; he shall become king of Persia and together we shall rule the world." After this the youth caused a horse worthy of him to be found, and with the aid of his grandfather, the king of Semenjan, he prepared to go on the quest, attended by a mighty host.

When Afrasiab, the Turanian ruler, learned that Sohrab was going to war with the Persians, he was greatly pleased, and after counselling with his wise men, decided openly to assist him in his enterprises, with the expectation that both Rustum and Sohrab would fall in battle and Persia be at his mercy. He accordingly sent an army of auxiliaries to Sohrab, accompanied by two astute courtiers, Houman and Barman, who, under the guise of friendship, were to act as counsellors to the young leader. These he ordered to keep the knowledge of their relationship from father and son and to seek to bring about an encounter between them, in the hope that Sohrab would slay Rustum, Afrasiab's most dreaded foeman, after which the unsuspecting youth might easily be disposed of by treachery. [152]

Sohrab, with his army and that of Afrasiab, set out, intending to fight his way until Rustum should be sent against him, when he would reveal himself to his father and form an alliance with him that would place the line of Seistan on the throne. On the way southward, Sohrab overthrew and captured the Persian champion, Hujir, and the same day conquered the warrior maiden Gurdafrid, whose beauty and tears, however, prevailed upon him to release her. Guzdehern, father of Gurdafrid, recognizing Sohrab's prowess, and alarmed for the safety of the Persian throne, secretly despatched a courier to the king Kai Kaoos to warn him of the young Tartar's approach. Kaoos, in great terror, sent for Rustum to hurry to his aid. Regardless of the king's request, Rustum spent eight days in feasting, then presented himself at the court. Kaoos, angered at the delay, ordered both the champion and the messenger to be executed forthwith; but Rustum effected his escape on Ruksh, and returned to Seistan, leaving Persia to her fate. The king's wrath, however, soon gave place to fear; and recognizing the danger of his throne unsupported by Rustum's valor, he despatched messengers to him with humble petitions and apologies. After much protesting, Rustum finally yielded and accompanied the Persian army, under the king Kai Kaoos, which at once set forth to encounter Sohrab.

The morning before the opening of hostilities, Sohrab, taking the Persian Hujir, whom he still held a prisoner, to the top of a rocky eminence, ordered him to point out the tents of the chief warriors of the Persian army, particularly Rustum's. But Hujir, fearing lest Sohrab should attack Rustum unexpectedly and so overcome him, declared that the great chieftain's tent was not among those on the plain below. Disappointed at his failure to find his father, Sohrab led his army in a fierce onslaught on the Persians, driving them in confusion before him. In this dire extremity Kai Kaoos sent for Rustum, who was somewhat apart from the main troop. Exclaiming that the king never sent for him except when he had got himself into trouble, the warrior armed, mounted Ruksh, and rushed to the combat. By mutual consent the two champions withdrew to a retired spot, where, unmolested, they might fight out their quarrel hand to hand. As they approached each other, Rustum, moved with compassion by the youth of his foe, tried to dissuade Sohrab from his purpose, and counselled him to retire. Sohrab, filled with sudden hope,—an instinctive feeling that the father whom he was seeking stood before him,—eagerly demanded whether this were Rustum. But Rustum, fearing treachery, said he was only an ordinary man, having neither palace nor princely kingdom—not Rustum.

They marked off the lists, and, mounted on their powerful horses, fought first with javelins, then with swords, clubs, and bows and arrows. After several hours of fighting both were exhausted, and by tacit consent they retired to opposite sides of the lists for rest. When the combat was renewed, Sohrab gained a slight advantage. A truce was then made for the night, and the warriors returned to their tents to prepare for the morrow.

With daybreak the struggle was renewed. To prevent the armies from intervening or engaging in battle, they were removed to a distance of several miles. Midway between, Sohrab and Rustum met in the midst of a lonely, treeless waste. More convinced than before that his adversary was Rustum, Sohrab sought to bring about a reconciliation, but Rustum refused. This time they fought on foot. From morning till afternoon they fought, neither gaining any decided advantage. At last Sohrab succeeded in felling Rustum to the earth, and was about to slay him, when the Persian called out that it was not the custom in chivalrous warfare to slay a champion until he was thrown the second time. Sohrab, generous as brave, released his prostrate foe; and again father and son parted. [154]

Rustum, scarcely believing himself alive after such an escape, purified himself with water, and prayed that his wounds might be healed and his accustomed strength restored to him. Never before had he been so beset in battle.

With morning came the renewal of the combat, both champions determining to end it that day. Late in the evening Rustum, by a supreme effort, seized Sohrab around the waist and hurled him to the ground. Then, fearing lest the youth prove too strong for him in the end, he drew his blade and plunged it into Sohrab's bosom.

Sohrab forgave Rustum, but warned him to beware the vengeance of his father, the mighty Rustum, who must soon learn that he had slain his son Sohrab. "I went out to seek my father," cried the dying youth, "for my mother had told me by what tokens I should know him, and I perish for longing after him.... Yet I say unto thee, if thou shouldst become a fish that swimmeth in the depths of the ocean, if thou shouldst change into a star that is concealed in the farthest heaven, my father would draw thee forth from thy hiding-place, and avenge my death upon thee, when he shall learn that the earth is become my bed. For my father is Rustum the Pehliva, and it shall be told unto him, how that Sohrab his son perished in the quest after his face." These words were as death to the aged hero, who fell senseless at the side of his wounded son. When he had recovered he called in despair for proofs of what Sohrab had said. The now dying youth tore open his mail and showed his father the onyx which his mother had bound on his arm as directed. [155]

The sight of his own signet rendered Rustum quite frantic; he cursed himself, and would have put an end to his existence but for the efforts of his expiring son. After Sohrab's death he burnt his tents and carried the corpse to his father's home in Seistan, and buried it there. The Tartar army, agreeable to Sohrab's last request, was permitted to return home unmolested. When the tidings of Sohrab's death reached his mother, she was inconsolable, and died in less than a year.

In the main the story as told by Arnold follows the original narrative. A careful investigation of the alterations made, and the effect thus produced, will lend added interest to the study of the poem and give ample theme for composition work.

1. And the first grey of morning fill'd the east. Note the abrupt opening. What is gained by its use? At what point in the story as told in the introductory note does the poem take up the narrative? Be sure to get a clear mental picture of the initiative scene. And is here used in a manner common in the Scriptures. Cf. "And the Lord spake unto Moses," etc.

2. Oxus. The chief river of Central Asia, which separated Turan from Iran or the Persian Empire, called Oxus by the Greeks and Romans, and the Jihun or Amu by the Arabs and Persians. It takes its source in Lake Sir-i-Kol, in the Pamir table-land, at a height of 15,600 feet, flows northwest, and empties into the Aral Sea on the south. Its length is about 1300 miles.

"The introduction of the tranquil pictures of the Oxus, both at the beginning and close of the poem (ll. 875-892), flowing steadily on, unmoved by the tragedy which has been enacted on her shore, forms one of the most artistic features in the setting of the poem."

3. Tartar camp. The Tartars were nomadic tribes of Central Asia and southern Russia. The so-called Black Tartars, identified with the Scythians of the Greek historians, inhabited the basin of the Aral and Caspian Seas, and are the tribe referred to in the poem. They are a fierce, warlike people; hence our expression, "caught a Tartar." [156] 11. Peran-Wisa. A celebrated Turanian chief, here in command of Afrasiab's army, which was composed of representatives of many Tartar tribes, as indicated in ll. 119-134.

15. Pamere, or Pamir. An extensive plateau region of Central Asia, called by the natives the "roof of the world." Among the rivers having their source in this plateau are the Oxus, l. 2, and the Jaxartes, l. 129.

38. Afrasiab. The king of the Tartars, and one of the principal heroes of the Shah Nameh, the Persian "Book of Kings." He is reputed to have been strong as a lion and to have had few equals as a warrior.

40. Samarcand. A city in the district of Serafshan, Turkestan, to the east of Bokhara; now a considerable commercial and manufacturing centre, and a centre of Mohammedan learning.

42. Ader-baijan. The northwest province of Persia, on the Turanian frontier.

45. At my boy's years. See introductory note to poem.

60. common fight. In the sense of a general engagement. Be sure to catch the reason why Sohrab makes his request.

61. sunk. That is, lost sight of.

67. common chance. See note, l. 60. Which would be the more dangerous, a "single" or "common" combat? Why?

70. To find a father thou hast never seen. See introductory note to poem.

82. Seistan. A province of southwest Afghanistan bordering on the Persian province of Yezd. It is intersected by the Helmund River (l. 751), which flows into the Hamoon Lake, now scarcely more than a morass. On an island in this lake are ruins of fortifications called Fort Rustum. This territory was long held by Rustum's family, feudatory to the Persian kings. Zal. Rustum's father, ruler of Seistan. See note, l. 232. [157]

83-85. Whether that ... or in some quarrel, etc. Either because his mighty strength ... or because of some quarrel, etc.

85. Persian King. That is, Kai Kaoos (or Kai Khosroo). See introductory note to poem; also note, l. 223.

86-91. There go! etc. The touching solicitation of these lines is wholly Arnold's.

99. Why ruler's staff, no sword?

101. Kara Kul. A district some thirty miles southwest of Bokhara, noted for the excellence of its pasturage, and for its fleeces.

107. Haman. Next to Peran-Wisa in command of Tartar army. See Houman, in introductory note to poem.

113-114. Casbin. A fortified city in the province of Irak-Ajemi, Persia, situated on the main route from Persia to Europe, and at one time the capital of the Iranian empire. Just to the north of the city rise the Elburz Mountains (l. 114), which separate the Persian Plateau from the depression containing the Caspian and Aral Seas.

115. frore. Frozen, from the Anglo-Saxon froren.

"... the parching air Burns frore, and cold performs the effect of fire."

—MILTON. Paradise Lost, ll. 594-595, Book II.

119. Bokhara. Here the state of Bokhara, an extensive region of Central Asia, touching the Aral Sea to the north, the Oxus to the south, and Khiva to the west. It has an estimated area of 235,000 square miles, and contains nineteen cities of considerable size, of which the capital, Bokhara, is most important.

120. Khiva. A khanate situated in the valley of the lower Oxus, bordering Bokhara on the southeast. ferment the milk of mares. An intoxicating drink, Koumiss, made of camel's or mare's milk, is in wide use among the steppe tribes. [158] 121. Toorkmuns. A branch of the Turkish race found chiefly in northern Persia and Afghanistan.

122. Tukas. From the province of Azer-baijan.

123. Attruck. A river of Khorassan, near the frontier of Khiva; it has a west course, and enters the Caspian Sea on the east side.

128. Ferghana. A khanate of Turkestan, north of Bokhara, in the upper valley of the Sir Daria.

129. Jaxartes. The ancient name of the Sir Daria River. It takes its source in the Thian Shan Mountains, one of the Pamir Plateau ranges, and flows with a general direction north, emptying into the Aral Sea on the east side.

131. Kipchak. A khanate some seventy miles below Khiva on the Oxus.

132. Kalmucks. A nomadic branch of the Mongolian race, dwelling in western Siberia. Kuzzaks. Now commonly called Cossacks; a warlike people inhabiting the steppes of southern Russia and extensive portions of Asia. Their origin is uncertain.

133. Kirghizzes. A rude nomadic people of Mongolian-Tartar race found in northern Turkestan.

138. Khorassan. (That is, the region of the sun.) A province of northeastern Persia, largely desert. The origin of the name is prettily suggested by Moore in the opening poem of Lalla Rookh:—

"In the delightful province of the sun The first of Persian lands he shines upon," etc.

147. fix'd. Stopped suddenly, halted.

154-169. Note the effect the challenge has on the two armies.

156. corn. Here used with its European sense of "grain." It is only in America that the word signifies Indian corn or "maize." [159] 160. Cabool. Capital of northern Afghanistan, and an important commercial city.

161. Indian Caucasus. A lofty mountain range north of Cabool, which forms the boundary between Turkestan and Afghanistan.

173. King. See note, l. 85.

177. lion's heart. Explain the line. Why are the terms here used so forcible in the mouth of Gudurz?

178-183. Aloof he sits, etc. One is reminded by Rustum's deportment here, of Achilles sulking in his tent and nursing his wrath against Agamemnon.—Iliad, Book I.

199. sate. Old form of "sat," common in poetry.

200. falcon. A kind of hawk trained to catch game birds.

217. Iran. The official name of Persia.

221. Go to! Hebraic expression. Frequently found in Shakespeare.

223. Kai Khosroo. According to the Shah Nameh, the thirteenth Turanian king. He reigned in the sixth century B.C., and has been identified with Cyrus the Great.

230. Not that one slight helpless girl, etc. See ll. 609-611, also introduction to the poem.

232. snow-haired Zal. According to tradition, Zal was born with snow-white hair. His father Lahm, believing this an ill omen, doomed the unfortunate babe to be exposed on the loftiest summit of the Elburz Mountains. The Simurgh, a great bird or griffin, found him and cared for him till grown, then restored him to his repentant parent. He subsequently married the Princess Rudabeh of Seistan, by whom he became father of Rustum.

243-248. He spoke ... men. Note carefully Gudurz's argument. Why so effective with Rustum?

257. But I will fight unknown and in plain arms. The shields and arms of the champions were emblazoned with mottoes and devices. Why does Rustum determine to lay aside his accustomed arms and fight incognito? What effect does this determination have upon the ultimate outcome of the situation? Read the story of the arming of Achilles (Book XIX., Homer's Iliad), and compare with Rustum's preparation for battle. [160]

266. device. See note, l. 257.

277. Dight. Adorned, dressed.

"The clouds in thousand liveries dight." —MILTON. L'Allegro, l. 62.

286. Bahrein or Aval. A group of islands in the Persian Gulf, celebrated for its pearl fisheries.

288. tale. Beckoning, number.

"And every shepherd tells his tale, Under the hawthorn in the dale." —MILTON. L'Allegro, ll. 67-68.

306. flowers. Decorates, beautifies with floral designs.

311. perused. Studied, observed closely.

318. In a letter dated November, 1852, Mr. Arnold speaks of the figures in his poem as follows: "I can only say that I took a great deal of trouble to orientalize them, because I thought they looked strange, and jarred, if western." What is gained by their use?

325. vast. Large, mighty.

326. tried. Proved, experienced.

328. Never was that field lost or that foe saved. Note the power gained in this line by the use of the alliteration.

330. Be govern'd. Be influenced, persuaded.

343. by thy father's head! Such oaths are common to the extravagant speech of the oriental peoples.

344. Art thou not Rustum? See introductory note to poem.

367. vaunt. Boast implied in the challenge.

380. Thou wilt not fright me so! That is, by such talk.

401. tower'd. Remained stationary, poised.

406. full struck. Struck squarely. [161] 412. Hyphasis, Hydaspes. Two of the rivers of the Punjab in northern India, now known as the Beas and Jhylum. In 326 B.C. Alexander defeated Porus on the banks of the latter stream.

414. wrack. Ruin, havoc. (Poetical.)

418. glancing. In the sense of darting aside.

435. hollow. Unnatural in tone.

452. like that autumn-star. Probably Sirius, the Dog Star, under whose ascendency, according to ancient beliefs, epidemic diseases prevailed.

454. crest. That is, helmet and plume.

466. Remember all thy valour. That is, summon up all your courage.

469. girl's wiles. Explain the line.

470. kindled. Roused, angered.

481. unnatural. because of the kinship of the combatants.

481-486. for a cloud, etc. A distinctly Homeric imitation. Cf. the cloud that enveloped Paris—Book III., ll. 465-469, of the Iliad.

489. And the sun sparkled, etc. Why this reference to the clear Oxus stream at this moment of intense tragedy?

495. helm. Helmet; defensive armor for the head.

497. shore. Past tense of shear, to cut.

499. bow'd his head: because of the force of the blow.

508. curdled. Thickened as with fear.

516. Rustum! Why did this word so affect Sohrab? Note the author's skill in working up to this climax in the narrative.

527-539. Then with a bitter smile, etc. Compare these words of the victor, Rustum, with the words of Sohrab, ll. 427-447, when the advantage was with him.

536. glad. Make happy.

"That which gladded all the warrior train." —DRYDEN. [162] 538. Dearer to the red jackals, etc. Cf. I. Sam. xvii. 44: "Come to me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field." Careful investigation will show the poem to abound with Biblical as well as classical parallelisms.

556-575. As when some hunter, etc. One of the truly great similes in the English language.

563. sole. Alone, solitary. From the Latin solus.

570. glass. Reflect as in a mirror.

596. bruited up. Noised abroad.

613. the style. The name or title.

625. that old king. The king of Semenjan. See introductory note to poem.

632. Of age and looks, etc. That is, of such age as he (Sohrab) would be, if born of his (Rustum's) union with Tahmineh.

658-660. I tell thee, prick'd upon this arm, etc. This is Arnold's conception. In the original story Sohrab wore an onyx stone as an amulet. The onyx was supposed to incite the wearer to deeds of valor.

664. corselet. Protective armor for the body.

673. cunning. Skilful, deft.

679. griffin. In the natural history of the ancients, an imaginary animal, half lion and half eagle. Here the Simurgh. See note, l. 232.

708-710. unconscious hand. Note how the dying Sohrab seeks to console the grief-stricken Rustum.

"Such is my destiny, such is the will of fortune. It was decreed that I should perish by the hand of my father."

—Shah Nameh.

717. have found (him). Note the ellipsis.

723-724. I came ... passing wind. The Shah Nameh has—

"I came like a flash of lightning, and now I depart like the wind."

736. caked the sand. Hardened into cakes.

751. Helmund. See note, l. 82. [163]

752. Zirrah. Another lake in Seistan, southeast of Hamoon, now almost dry.

763-765. Moorghab, Tejend and Kohik. Rivers of Turkestan which lose themselves in the deserts to the south of Bokhara. The northern Sir is the Sir Daria, or Jaxartes. See note, l. 129.

788. And heap a stately mound, etc. Persian tradition says that a large monument, in shape like the hoof of a horse, was placed over the spot where Sohrab was buried.

830. on that day. Shortly after the death of Afrasiab, the Persian monarch Kai Khosroo, accompanied by a large number of his nobles, went to a spring far to the north, the location fixed upon as a place for their repose. Here the king died, and those who went with him afterward perished in a tempest. Sohrab predicted Rustum would be one of those lost, but tradition does not have it so.

861. Persepolis. An ancient capital of Persia, the ruins of which are known as "the throne of Jemshid," after a mythical king.

878. Chorasma. A region of Turkestan, the seat of a powerful empire in the twelfth century, but now greatly reduced. Its present limits are about the same as those of Khiva. See note, l. 120.

880. Right for the polar star. That is, due north. Orgunje. A village on the Oxus some seventy miles below Khiva, and near the head of its delta.

890. luminous home. The Aral Sea.

891. new bathed stars. As the stars appear on the horizon, they seem to have come up out of the sea.

875-892. Discuss the poet's purpose in introducing the remarkable word-picture of these closing lines of the poem. See also note, ll. 231-250, The Scholar-Gipsy.



SAINT BRANDAN [164]

In this poem Arnold has vividly presented a quaint legend of Judas Iscariot, popular in the Middle Ages. Saint Brandan (490-577) was a celebrated Irish monk, famous for his voyages. "According to the legendary accounts of his travels, he set sail with others to seek the terrestrial paradise which was supposed to exist in an island of the Atlantic. Various miracles are related of the voyage, but they are always connected with the great island where the monks are said to have landed. The legend was current in the time of Columbus and long after, and many connected St. Brandan's island with the newly discovered America. He is commemorated on May 16."—The Century Cyclopedia of Names.

7. Hebrides. A group of islands off the northwestern coast of Scotland.

11. hurtling Polar lights. A reference to the rapid, changing movements of the Aurora Borealis.

18. Of hair that red. According to tradition, Judas Iscariot's hair was red.

21. sate. See note, l. 199, Sohrab and Rustum. (Old form of "sat," common in poetry.)

31. self-murder. After betraying Christ, Judas hanged himself. See Matt, xxvii. 5 and Acts i. 18.

38. The Leper recollect. There is no scriptural authority for this incident.

40. Joppa, or Jaffa. A small maritime town of Palestine—the ancient port of Jerusalem. There is also a small village called Jaffa in Galilee, some two miles southwest of Nazareth, which may have been the place the poet had in mind.

Image the situation as presented in the first several stanzas. Why locate in the sea without a "human shore," l. 12? Is there any especial reason for having the time Christmas night? Note the dramatic introduction of Judas. What effect did his appearance have on the saint? How was the latter reassured? Give reasons why Judas felt impelled to tell his story. Tell the story. Does he praise or belittle his act of charity? Why does he say "that chance act of good"? How was it rewarded? Explain his last expression. Was he about to say more? If so, what? What effect did Judas's story have on Saint Brandan? Why? What is the underlying thought in the poem? Discuss the form of verse used and its appropriateness to the theme. [165]



THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

"The title of this poem inevitably brings to mind Tennyson's two poems, The Merman and The Mermaid. A comparison will show that, in this instance at least, the Oxford poet has touched his subject not less melodiously and with finer and deeper feeling.—Margaret will not listen to her 'Children's voices, wild with pain';—dearer to her is the selfish desire to save her own soul than is the light in the eyes of her little Mermaiden, dearer than the love of the king of the sea, who yearns for her with sorrow-laden heart. Here is there an infinite tenderness and an infinite tragedy." —L. DUPONT SYLE, From Milton to Tennyson.

Legends of this kind abound among the sea-loving Gaelic and Cymric people. Nowhere, perhaps, have they been given a more pleasing and touching expression than in Arnold's poem. Note carefully the dramatic manner in which the pathos of the story is presented and developed.

6. wild white horses. Breakers, whitecaps.

13. Margaret. A favorite name with Arnold. See Isolation and A Dream in this volume.

39. ranged. See note, l. 73, The Strayed Reveller. (wander aimlessly about.)

42. mail. Protective covering.

54. Why "down swung the sound of a far-off bell"? [166]

81. seal'd. Fastened; fixed intently upon, as though spellbound.

89-93. Hark ... sun. In her song Margaret shows she is still keenly alive to human interests, temporal and spiritual. The priest, bell, and holy well (l. 91) symbolize the church, here Roman Catholic. The bell is used in the Roman Church to call especial attention to the more important portions of the service; the well is the holy-water font.

129. heaths starr'd with broom. The flower of the broom plant, common in England, is yellow; hence, starr'd.

In his work on Matthew Arnold, George Saintsbury speaks of this poem as follows: "It is, I believe, not so 'correct' as it once was to admire this [poem]; but I confess indocility to correctness, at least the correctness which varies with fashion. The Forsaken Merman is not a perfect poem—it has tongueurs, though it is not long; it has its inadequacies, those incompetences of expression which are so oddly characteristic of its author; and his elaborate simplicity, though more at home here than in some other places, occasionally gives a dissonance. But it is a great poem,—one by itself,—one which finds and keeps its own place in the fore-ordained gallery or museum, with which every true lover of poetry is provided, though he inherits it by degrees. None, I suppose, will deny its pathos; I should be sorry for any one who fails to perceive its beauty. The brief picture of the land, and the fuller one of the sea, and that (more elaborate still) of the occupations of the fugitive, all have their charm. But the triumph of the piece is in one of those metrical coups, which give the triumph of all the greatest poetry, in the sudden change from the slower movements of the earlier stanzas, or strophes, to the quicker sweep of the famous conclusions." [167] What is the opening situation in the poem? Have the merman and his children just reached the shore, or have they been there some time? Why so? Why does the merman still linger, when he is convinced that further delay will count for nothing? Why does he urge the children to call? What is shown by his repeated question—"was it yesterday"? Tell the story of Margaret's departure for the upper world, and discuss the validity of her reason for going. Do you think she intended to return? What is the significance of her smile just before departing? Give a word picture of what the sea-folk saw as they lingered in the churchyard. Will Margaret ever grieve for the past? If so, when? Why? Who has your sympathy most, Margaret, the forsaken merman, or the children? Why? Do you condemn Margaret for the way she has done, or do you feel she was justified in her actions? Discuss the versification, giving special attention to its effect on the movement of the poem.



TRISTRAM AND ISEULT

The story of Tristram and Iseult is one of the most vivid and passionate of the Arthurian cycle of legends, and is a favorite with the poets. The following version is abridged from Dunlop's History of Fiction.

"In the court of his uncle, King Marc, the king of Cornwall, who at this time resided at the castle of Tyntagel, Tristram became expert in all knightly exercises.... The king of Ireland, at Tristram's solicitation, promised to bestow his daughter Iseult in marriage on King Marc.... The mother of Iseult gave to her daughter's confidante a philtre, or love-potion, to be administered on the night of her nuptials. Of this beverage Tristram and Iseult unfortunately partook. Its influence, during the remainder of their lives, regulated the affections and destiny of the lovers. [168] "After the arrival of Tristram and Iseult in Cornwall, and the nuptials of the latter with King Marc, a great part of the romance is occupied with their contrivances to procure secret interviews ... Tristram, being forced to leave Cornwall on account of the displeasure of his uncle, repaired to Brittany, where lived Iseult with the White Hands. He married her, more out of gratitude than love. Afterwards he proceeded to the dominions of Arthur which became the theatre of unnumbered exploits.

"Tristram, subsequent to these events, returned to Brittany and to his long-neglected wife. There, being wounded and sick, he was soon reduced to the lowest ebb. In this situation he despatched a confidant to the queen of Cornwall to try if he could induce her to follow him to Brittany.

"Meanwhile Tristram awaited the arrival of the queen with such impatience that he employed one of his wife's damsels to watch at the harbor. Through her, Iseult learned Tristram's secret, and filled with jealousy, flew to her husband as the vessel which bore the queen of Cornwall was wafted toward the harbor, and reported that the sails were black (the signal that Iseult, Marc's queen, had refused Tristram's request to come to him). Tristram, penetrated with inexpressible grief, died. The account of Tristram's death was the first intelligence which the queen of Cornwall heard on landing. She was conducted to his chamber, and expired holding him in her arms."

1. Is she not come? That is, Iseult of Ireland. Arnold's poem takes up the story at the point where Tristram, now on his death-bed, is watching eagerly for the coming of Iseult, Marc's queen, for whom he had sent his confidant to Cornwall. Evidently he has just awakened and is still somewhat confused; see l. 7. Surely none will fail to appreciate so dramatic a situation.

5. What ... be? That is, what lights are those to the northward, the direction from which Iseult would come? [169] 8. Iseult. Here Iseult of the White Hands, daughter of King Hoel of Brittany and wife of Tristram.

20. Arthur's court. Arthur, the half-mythical king of the Britons, set up his court at Camelot, which Caxton locates in Wales and Malory near Winchester. Here was gathered the famous company of champions known as the "Knights of the Round Table," whose feats have been extensively celebrated in song and story. Among these knights Tristram held high rank, both as a warrior and a harpist. See ll. 17-19.

23. Lyoness. A mythical region near Cornwall, the home country of Arthur and Tristram.

30-31. Hence the name, Iseult of the White Hands.

56-68. See introductory note to poem for explanation. Tyntagel. A village in Cornwall near the sea. Near it is the ruined Tyntagel Castle, the reputed birthplace of Arthur. In the romance of Sir Tristram it is the castle of King Marc, the cowardly and treacherous king of Cornwall, the southwest county of England. teen. See note, l. 147, The Scholar-Gipsy. (Grief, sorrow; from the old English teona, meaning injury.)

88. wanders, in fancy. Note how the wounded knight's mind flits from scene to scene, always centring around Iseult of Ireland.

91. O'er ... sea. The Irish Sea. He is dreaming of his return trip from Ireland with Iseult, "under the cloudless sky of May" (l. 96).

129-132. See introductory note to poem. The green isle, Ireland is noted for its green fields; hence the name, Emerald (green) Isle.

134. on loud Tyntagel's hill. A high headland on the coast of Wales. Discuss the force of the adjective "loud" in this connection.

137-160. And that ... more. See introductory note to poem.

161. pleasaunce-walks. A pleasure garden, screened by trees, shrubs, and close hedges—here a trysting-place. After the marriage of Iseult to King Marc, she and Tristram contrived to continue their relationship in secret. [170]

164. fay. Faith. (Obsolete except in poetry.)

180. Tristram, having been discovered by King Marc in his intrigues with Iseult, was forced to leave Cornwall; hence his visit to Brittany and subsequent marriage to Iseult of the White Hands. See introductory note to poem.

192. lovely orphan child. Iseult of Brittany.

194. chatelaine. From the French, meaning the mistress of a chateau—a castle or fortress.

200. stranger-knight, ill-starr'd. That is, Tristram, whose many mishaps argued his being born under an unlucky star. See also the account of his birth, note, ll. 81-88, Part II.

203. Launcelot's guest at Joyous Gard. Prior to his visit to Brittany, Tristram had imprisoned his uncle, King Marc, and eloped with Iseult to the domains of King Arthur. While there he resided at Joyous Gard, the favorite castle of Launcelot, which that knight assigned to the lovers as their abode.

204. Welcomed here. That is, in Brittany, where he was nursed back to health by Iseult of the White Hands. See introductory note to poem.

215-226. His long rambles ... ground. Account for Tristram's discontent, as indicated in these lines.

234-237. All red ... bathed in foam. The kings of Britain agreed with Arthur to make war upon Rome. Arthur, leaving Modred in charge of his kingdom, made war upon the Romans, and, after a number of encounters, Lucius Tiberius was killed and the Britons were victorious.—GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH, Book IV, Chapter XV; Book X, Chapters I-XIII. According to Malory, Arthur captured many French and Italian cities (see ll. 250-251); during this continental invasion, and was finally crowned king at Rome. It seems that he afterward despatched a considerable number of his knights to carry the Christian faith among the heathen German tribes. See ll. 252-253. [171]

238. moonstruck knight. A reference to the mystical influence the ancients supposed the moon to exert over men's minds and actions.

239. What foul fiend rides thee? What evil spirit possesses you and keeps you from the fight?

240. her. That is, Iseult of Ireland.

243. wanders forth again, in fancy.

245. secret in his breast. What secret?

250-253. See note, ll. 234-237. blessed sign. The cross.

255. Roman Emperor. That is, Lucius Tiberius. See note, ll. 234-237.

258. leaguer. Consult dictionary.

261. what boots it? That is, what difference will it make?

303. recks not. Has no thought of (archaic).

308-314. My princess ... good night. Are Tristram's words sincere, or has he a motive in thus dismissing Iseult?

373-374. From a dramatic standpoint, what is the purpose of these two lines?



PART II

With the opening of Part II the lovers are restored to each other. The dying Tristram, worn with fever and impatient with long waiting, unjustly charges Iseult with cruelty for not having come to him with greater haste. Her gentle, loving words, however, quickly dispel his doubts as to her loyalty to her former vows. A complete reconciliation takes place, and they die in each other's embrace. The picture of the Huntsman on the arras is one of the most notable in English poetry.

47. honied nothings. Explain. Compare with

"his tongue Dropt manna." [172] —Paradise Lost, ll. 112-113, Book II.

81-88. Tristram was born in the forest, where his mother Isabella, sister to King Marc, had gone in search of her recreant husband.

97-100. Tennyson, in The Last Tournament, follows Malory in the story of Tristram's and Iseult's death. "That traitor, King Mark, slew the noble knight, Sir Tristram, as he sat harping before his lady, La Beale Isoud, with a trenchant glaive, for whose death was much bewailing of every knight that ever was in Arthur's days ... and La Beale Isoud died swooning upon the cross of Sir Tristram, whereof was great pity."—Malory's Morte d' Arthur.

113. sconce. Consult dictionary.

116-122. Why this restlessness on the part of Iseult? Why her frequent glances toward the door?

132. dogg'd. Worried, pursued. Coleridge uses the epithet "star-dogged moon," l. 212, Part III, The Ancient Mariner.

147-193. For the poet's purpose in introducing the remarkable word-picture of these lines, see notes on the Tyrian trader, ll. 231-250, 232, The Scholar-Gipsy.



PART III

After the death of Tristram and Iseult of Ireland, our thoughts inevitably turn to Iseult of the White Hands. The infinite pathos of her life has aroused our deepest sympathy, and we naturally want to know further concerning her and Tristram's children.

13. cirque. A circle (obsolete or poetical). See l. 7, Part III.

18. holly-trees and juniper. Evergreen trees common in Europe and America. [173] 22. fell-fare (or field-fare). A small thrush found in Northern Europe.

26. stagshorn. A common club-moss.

37. old-world Breton history. That is, the story of Merlin and Vivian, ll. 153-224, Part III.

79-81. Compare with the following lines from Wordsworth's Michael:—

"This light was famous in its neighborhood. ... For, as it chanced, Their cottage on a plot of rising ground Stood single.... And from this constant light so regular And so far seen, the House itself, by all Who dwelt within the limits of the vale ... was named The Evening Star."

81. iron coast. This line inevitably calls to mind a stanza from Tennyson's Palace of Art:—

"One show'd an iron coast and angry waves. You seemed to hear them climb and fall And roar, rock-thwarted, under bellowing caves, Beneath the windy wall."

92. prie-dieu. Praying-desk. From the French prier, pray; dieu, God.

97. seneschal. A majordomo; a steward. Originally meant old (that is, chief) servant; from the Gothic sins, old, and salks, a servant.—SKEAT.

134. gulls. Deceives, tricks.

"The vulgar, gulled into rebellion, armed," —DRYDEN.

140. posting here and there. That is, restlessly changing from place to place and from occupation to occupation.

143-145. Like that bold Caesar, etc. Julius Caesar (100?-44 B.C.). The incident here alluded to Is mentioned in Suetonius' Life of the Deified Julius, Chapter VII. "Farther Spain fell to the lot of Caesar as questor. When, at the command of the Roman people, he was holding court and had come to Cadiz, he noticed in the temple of Hercules a statue of Alexander the Great. At sight of this statue he sighed, as if disgusted at his own lack of achievement, because he had done nothing of note by the time in life (Caesar was then thirty-two) that Alexander had conquered the world." (Free translation.) [174]

146-150. Prince Alexander, etc. Alexander III., surnamed "The Great" (356-323 B.C.), was the most famous of Macedonian generals and conquerors, and the first in order of time of the four most celebrated commanders of whom history makes mention. In less than fifteen years he extended his domain over the known world and established himself as the universal emperor. He died at Babylon, his capital city, at the age of thirty-three, having lamented that there were no more worlds for him to conquer. (For the boundaries of his empire, see any map of his time.) Pope spoke of him as "The youth who all things but himself subdued." Soudan (l. 149). An obsolete term for Sultan, the Turkish ruler.

153-224. The story of Merlin, King Arthur's court magician, and the enchantress Vivian is one of the most familiar of the Arthurian cycle of legends. Broce-liande (l. 156). In Cornwall. See l. 61, Part I. fay (l. 159). Fairy, empire (l. 184). That is, power; here supernatural power. wimple (l. 220). A covering for the head. Is Merlin prisoner, etc. (l. 223). Merlin, the magician, is thus entrapped by means of a charm he had himself communicated to his mistress, the enchantress Vivian. Malory has Merlin imprisoned under a rock; Tennyson, in an oak:—

"And in the hollow oak he lay as dead And lost to life and use and name and fame." —Merlin and Vivian. [175] 224. For she was passing weary, etc.

"And she was ever passing weary of him." —MALORY.

PART I. What is the opening situation in the poem? Why have it a stormy night? What does Tristram's question (l. 7) reveal of his condition physically and mentally? What is the office of the parts of the poem coming between the intervals of conversation? How is the wounded knight identified? How the lady? Follow the wanderings of the sleeping Tristram's mind. Are the incidents he speaks of in the order of their occurrence? Explain ll. 102-103; ll. 161-169. Tell the story of Tristram and Iseult of the White Hands. What is shown by the fact that Tristram's mind dwells on Iseult of Ireland even at the time of battle? How account for his wanderings? For his morose frame of mind? What change has come over nature when Tristram awakes? Why this change? What is his mood now? Account for his addressing Iseult of Brittany as he does. Why his order for her to retire? What is her attitude toward him? Note the manner in which the children are introduced into the story (ll. 324-325) PART II. Give the opening situation. Discuss the meeting of Tristram and Iseult. What is revealed by their conversation? What is the purpose in introducing the Huntsman on the arras? PART III. What is the purpose of ll. 1-4? Give the opening situation in Part III. How is Iseult trying to entertain her children? What kind of a life does she lead? Discuss ll. 112-150 as to meaning and connection with the theme of the poem. Tell the story of Merlin and Vivian. Why introduced? Compare Arnold's version of the story of Tristram and Iseult with the version given in the introductory note to the poem.



[176] THE CHURCH OF BROU



I. THE CASTLE

The church of Brou is actually located in a treeless Burgundian plain, and not in the mountains, as stated by the poet.

1. Savoy. A mountainous district in eastern France; formerly one of the divisions of the Sardinian States.

3. mountain-chalets. Properly, herdsmen's huts in the mountains of Switzerland.

17. prickers. Men sent into the thickets to start the game.

35. dais. Here, a canopy or covering.

69. erst. See note, l. 42, The Scholar-Gipsy. ( Formerly. (Obsolete except in poetry.))

71. chancel. The part of a church in which the altar is placed.

72. nave. See note, ll. 70-76, Epilogue to Lessing's Laocooen.

77. palmers. Wandering religious votaries, especially those who bore branches of palm as a token that they had visited the Holy Land and its sacred places.

109. fretwork. Representing open woodwork.



II. THE CHURCH

17. matin-chime. Bells for morning worship.

21. Chambery. Capital of the department of Savoy Proper, on the Leysse.

22. Dight. See l. 277, Sohrab and Rustum. (Adorned, dressed.)

37. chisell'd broideries. The carved draperies of the tombs.



III. THE TOMB

6. transept. The transversal part of a church edifice, which crosses at right angles between the nave and the choir (the upper portion), thus giving to the building the form of a cross.

39. foliaged marble forest. Note the epithet. [177] 45. leads. That is, the leaden roof. See l. 1, Part II. (Upon the glistening leaden roof).



REQUIESCAT

This poem, one of Arnold's best-known shorter lyrics, combines with perfect taste, simplicity and elegance, with the truest pathos. It has been said there is not a false note in it.

13. cabin'd. Used in the sense of being cramped for space.

16. vasty. Spacious, boundless.

What is the significance of strewing on the roses? Why "never a spray of yew"? (See note, l.140, The Scholar-Gipsy.) What seems to be the author's attitude toward death? (Read his poem, A Wish.) Discuss the poem as to its lyrical qualities.



CONSOLATION

14. Holy Lassa (that is, Land of the Divine Intelligence), the capital city of Thibet and residence of the Dalai, or Grand Lama, the pontifical sovereign of Thibet and East Asia. Here is located the great temple of Buddha, a vast square edifice, surmounted by a gilded dome, the temple, together with its precincts, covering an area of many acres. Contiguous to it, on its four sides, are four celebrated monasteries, occupied by four thousand recluses, and resorted to as schools of the Buddhic religion and philosophy. There is, perhaps, no other one place in the world where so much gold is accumulated for superstitious purposes.

17. Muses. See note, l. 120, The Strayed Reveller.

18. In their cool gallery. That is, in the Vatican art gallery at Rome.

19. yellow Tiber. So called by the ancients because of the yellowish, muddy appearance of its waters. [178] 21. Strange unloved uproar. At the time this poem was written,—1849,—the French army was besieging Rome.

23. Helicon. High mountain in Boeotia, legendary home of the Muses.

32. Erst. See note, l. 32, The Scholar-Gipsy.

48. Destiny. That is, Fate, the goddess of human destiny.

In what mood is the author at the opening of the poem? How does he seek consolation? How does the calm of the Muses affect him? Can you see how he might find help in dwelling on the pictures of the blind beggar and happy lovers? What is the final thought of the poem? Can you think of any other poem that has this as its central thought? What do you think of the author's philosophy of life as set forth in this poem? Discuss the verse form used.



LINES

WRITTEN IN KENSINGTON GARDENS

The Kensington Gardens form one of the many beautiful public parks of London. They are located in the Kensington parish, a western suburb of the city, lying north of the Thames and four miles west-southwest of St. Paul's. In his poem Arnold contrasts the serenity of nature with the restlessness of modern life. "Not Lucan, not Vergil, only Wordsworth, has more beautifully expressed the spirit of Pantheism."—HERBERT W. PAUL.

4. The pine trees here mentioned are since dead.

14. What endless active life! Compare with Arnold's sonnet of this volume, entitled Quiet Work, ll. 4-7 and 11-12.

21. the huge world. London.

24. Was breathed on by rural Pan. Note Arnold's classic way of accounting for his great love for nature, Pan being the nature god. See note, l. 67, The Strayed Reveller. [179] 37-42. Compare the thought here presented with the following lines from Wordsworth:—

"These beauteous forms, ... have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye. But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, ... sensations sweet Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration."

Read also Wordsworth's Lines to the Daffodil.

What is the dominant mood of the poem? What evidently brought it to the author's mind? How does he show his interest in nature? In human beings? What inspiration does the author seek from nature, ll. 37-42? Explain the meaning of the last two lines.



THE STRAYED REVELLER

"I have such a love for these forms and this old Greek world, that perhaps I infuse a little soul into my dealings with them, which saves me from being entirely ennuyx, professorial and pedantic." (Matthew Arnold, in a letter to his sister, dated February, 1858.)

Circe, according to Greek mythology, was an enchantress, who dwelt in the island of AEaea, and who possessed the power to transform men into beasts. (See any mythological text on Ulysses' wanderings.) In Arnold's fantastic, visionary poem, the magic potion, by which this transformation is accomplished, affects not the body, but the mind of the youth.

12. ivy-cinctured. That is, girdled with ivy, symbolic of Bacchus, the god of wine and revelry, whose forehead was crowned with ivy. See also l. 33. [180]

36. rout. Consult dictionary.

38. Iacchus. In the Eleusinian mysteries, Bacchus bore the name of Iacchus. fane. A temple. From the Latin fanum, a place of worship dedicated to any deity.

48. The lions sleeping. As Ulysses' companions approached Circe's palace, following their landing on her island, they found themselves "surrounded by lions, tigers, and wolves, not fierce but tamed by Circe's art, for she was a powerful magician."

67. Pan's flute music! Pan, the god of pastures and woodlands, was the inventor of the syrinx, or shepherd's flute, with which he accompanied himself and his followers in the dance.

71. Ulysses. The celebrated hero of the Trojan war; also famous for his wanderings. One of his chief adventures, on his return voyage from Troy, was with the enchantress Circe, with whom he tarried a year, forgetful of his faithful wife, Penelope, at home.

72. Art. That is, are you. (Now used only in solemn or poetic style.)

73. range. Wander aimlessly about.

74. See what the day brings. That is, the youth. See ll. 24-52

81. Nymphs. Goddesses of the mountains, forests, meadows, or waters, belonging to the lower rank of deities.

102-107. Compare in thought with Tennyson's poem, Ulysses.

110. The favour'd guest of Circe. Ulysses. See note, l. 71.

120. Muses. Daughters of Jupiter and Minemosyne, nine in number. According to the earliest writers the Muses were only the inspiring goddesses of song; but later they were looked to as the divinities presiding over the different kinds of poetry, and over the arts and sciences. [181] 130-135. Note the poet's device for presenting a series of mental pictures. Compare with Tennyson's plan in his Palace of Art. Does Arnold's plan seem more or less mechanical than Tennyson's?

135-142. Tiresias. The blind prophet of Thebes (l. 142), the chief city in Boeotia, near the river Asopus (l. 138). In his youth, Tiresias unwittingly came upon Athene while she was bathing, and was punished by the loss of sight. As a recompense for this misfortune, the goddess afterward gave him knowledge of future events. The inhabitants of Thebes looked to Tiresias for direction in times of war.

143. Centaurs. Monsters, half man, half horse.

145. Pelion. A mountain in eastern Thessaly, famous in Greek mythology. In the war between the giants and the gods, the former, in their efforts to scale the heavens, piled Ossa upon Olympus and Pelion upon Ossa.

151-161. What in these lines enables you to determine the people and country alluded to?

162-167. Scythian ... embers. The ancient Greek term for the nomadic tribes inhabiting the whole north and northeast Europe and Asia. As a distinct people they built no cities, and formed no general government, but wandered from place to place by tribes, in their rude, covered carts (see l. 164), living upon the coarsest kind of food (ll. 166-167).

177-180. Clusters of lonely mounds, etc. That is, ruins of ancient cities.

183. Chorasmian stream. See note, l. 878, Sohrab and Rustum.

197. milk-barr'd onyx-stones. A reference to the white streaks, or bars, common to the onyx.

206. Happy Islands. Mythical islands lying far to the west, the abode of the heroes after death.

220. Hera's anger. Hera (or Juno), wife to Jupiter, was noted for her violent temper and jealousy. She is here represented as visiting punishment upon the bard, perhaps out of jealousy of the gods who had endowed him with poetic power, and his life, thus afflicted, seems lengthened to seven ages. [182]

228-229. Lapithae. In Greek legends, a fierce Thessalian race, governed by Pirothous, a half-brother to the Centaurs. Theseus. The chief hero of Attica, who, according to tradition, united the several tribes of Attica into one state, with Athens as the capital. His life was filled with adventure. The reference here is to the time of the marriage of Pirothous and Hippodamia, on which occasion the Centaurs, who were among the guests, became intoxicated, and offered indignities to the bride. In the fight that followed, Theseus joined with the Lapithae, and many of the Centaurs were slain.

231. Alcmena's dreadful son. Hercules. On his expedition to capture the Arcadian boar, his third labor, Hercules became involved in a broil with the Centaurs, and in self-defence slew several of them with his arrows.

245. Oxus stream. See note, l. 2, Sohrab and Rustum.

254. Heroes. The demigods of mythology.

257. Troy. The capital of Troas, Asia Minor; the seat of the Trojan war.

254-260. Shortly after the close of the Trojan war, a party of heroes from all parts of Greece, many of whom had participated in the expeditions against Thebes and Troy, set out under the leadership of Jason to capture the Golden Fleece. Leaving the shores of Thessaly, the adventurers sailed eastward and finally came to the entrance of the Euxine Sea (the unknown sea, l. 260), which was guarded by the Clashing Islands. Following the instructions of the sage Phineus, Jason let fly a dove between the islands, and at the moment of rebound the expedition passed safely through. The ship in which the adventurers sailed was called the Argo, after its builder, Argus; hence our term Argonauts. [183] 261. Silenus. A divinity of Asiatic origin; foster-father to Bacchus and leader of the Fauns (l. 265), satyr-like divinities, half man, half goat, sometimes represented in art as hearing torches (l. 274).

275. Maenad. A bacchante,—a priestess or votary of Bacchus.

276. Faun with torches. See note, l. 261.

What is the situation at the beginning of the poem? What effect does the "liquor" have upon the youth? Why is the presence of Ulysses so much in harmony with the situation? How does he greet Circe; how the youth? What does his presence suggest to the latter? Why? Note the vividness of the pictures he describes; also the swiftness with which he changes from one to another. What power is ascribed to the poet? Why his "pain"? What effect is gained by closing the poem with the same words with which it is opened? Why the irregular verse used?



DOVER BEACH

In this poem is expressed the peculiar turn of Arnold's mind, at once religious and sceptical, philosophical and emotional. It is one of his most passionate interpretations of life.

15. Sophocles (495-406 B.C.). One of the three great tragic poets of Greece. His rivals were AEschylus (526-456 B.C.) and Euripides (486-406 B.C.).

16. AEgean Sea. See note, l. 236, The Scholar-Gipsy.

* * * * *

Image the scene in the opening stanzas. What is the author's mood? Why does he call some one to look on the scene with him? What is the "eternal note of sadness"? Why connect it in thought with the sea? Why does this thought suggest Sophocles? What thought next presents itself to the author's mind? From what source must one's help and comfort then be drawn? Why so? Why the irregular versification? State the theme of the poem. [184]



PHILOMELA

"Philomela unites the sensibilities and intellectual experience of modern Englishmen with the luminousness and simplicity of Greek poetry."—SAINTSBURY.

The myth of the nightingale has long been a favorite with the poets, who have variously interpreted the bird's song. See Coleridge's, Keats's, and Wordsworth's poems on the subject. The most common version of the myth, the one followed by Arnold, is as follows:—

"Pandion (son of Erichthonius, special ward to Minerva) had two daughters, Procne and Philomela, of whom he gave the former in marriage to Tereus, king of Thrace (or of Daulis in Phocis). This ruler, after his wife had borne him a son, Itys (or Itylus), wearied of her, plucked out her tongue by the roots to insure her silence, and, pretending that she was dead, took in marriage the other sister, Philomela. Procne, by means of a web, into which she wove her story, informed Philomela of the horrible truth. In revenge upon Tereus, the sisters killed Itylus, and served up the child as food to the father; but the gods, in indignation, transformed Procne into a swallow, Philomela into a nightingale, forever bemoaning the murdered Itylus, and Tereus into a hawk, forever pursuing the sisters."—GAYLEY'S Classic Myths.

4. Use the subjoined questions in studying the poem.

5. O wanderer from a Grecian shore. See note, l. 27.

8. Note the aptness and beauty of the adjectives in this line, not one of which could be omitted without irreparable loss.

18. Thracian wild. Thrace was the name used by the early Greeks for the entire region north of Greece. [185] 21. The too clear web, etc. See introductory note to poem for explanation of this and the following lines.

27. Daulis. A city of Phocis, Greece, twelve miles northeast of Delphi; the scene of the myth of Philomela. Cephessian vale. The valley of the Cephissus, a small stream running through Doris, Phocis, and Boeotia, into the Euboean Gulf.