Alfred Tennyson

e natural age of national epic, the age of Homer. He saw the later literary epic rise in the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius, a poem with many beauties, if rather an archaistic and elaborate re

nk the gospel of" Herr Kant), or poor Guinevere to stand for the Blessed Reformation, or the Table Round for Liberal Institutions. Mercifully Tennyson never actually allegorised Arthur in that fashion. Later he thought of a musical masque of Arthur, and sketched a scenario. Finally Tennyson dropped both the allegory of Liberal principles and the musical masque in favour of the series of heroic idylls. There was only a "parabolic drift" in the intention. "There is no single fact or incident in the Idylls, h

the Welsh, or in Malory's compilation, chiefly from French sources. Tennyson is accused of "Bowdlerising" these, and of introducing gentleness, courtesy, and conscience into a literature where such qualities were unknown. I must confess myself ignorant of any early and popular, or "primitive" literature, in which human virtues, and the human conscienc

e familiar in modern ethical and psychological novels, but which are as impossible in real medi?val knights as a Bengal tiger or a Polar bear would be in a drawing-room." I confess to little acquaintance with modern ethical novels; but real medi?val knights, and still more the knights of medi?val romance, were capable of very ethical actions. To halt an army for the protection and comfort of a laundress was a highly ethical action. Perhaps Sir Red

? With discourtesy Froissart would "head the count of crimes." After a battle, he says, Scots knights and English would thank each other for a good fight, "not like the Germans." "And now, I dare say," said Malory's Sir Ector, "thou, Sir Lancelot, wast the curtiest knight that ever bare shield, . . . and thou wast the meekest man and the gentlest that ever ate in hall among ladies." Observe Sir Lancelot in the difficult pass where the Lily Maid offers her love: "Jesu defend me, for then I rewarded your father and your brother full evil for their great goodness. . . . But because, fair damsel, that ye love me as ye say ye do, I

en made false to Guinevere (Book XI. chap. viii.) After his dreaming vision of the Holy Grail, with the reproachful Voice, Sir Lancelot said, "My sin and my wickedness have brought me great dishonour, . . . and now I see and understand that my old sin hindereth and shameth me." He was human, the Lancelot of Malory,

rooted in di

ithful kept hi

conscience of Lancelot. Arthur is dead, or "In Avalon he groweth old." The Queen an

el

am f

er, and both die in religion. Thus Malory's "fierce lusty epic" is neither so lusty nor so fierce but t

ristram is in his dungeon. Sir Darras said, "Wit ye well that Sir Darras shall never destroy such a noble knight as thou art in prison, howbeit that thou hast slain three of my sons, whereby I was gr

t Malory and his sources be blamed, if to be moral is to be culpable. A few passages apart, there is no coarseness in Malory; that there are conscience, courtesy, "sweet lives," "keeping down the base in man," "amiable words," and all that Tennyson gives, and, in Mr Harrison's theory, gives without a

s Achilles, who slew his sons, except that Priam comes as a suppliant; Sir Darras has Tristram in his hands, and may slay him. He is "too polite," as Mr Harrison says: he is too good a Christian, or too good a gentleman. One would not have given a tripod for the life of Achilles had he fallen into the hands of Priam. But between 1200 B.C. (or so) and the date of Malory, new ideas about "living sweet lives" had arisen. Where and when do they not arise?

ars different races, different ages, had taken hold of the ancient Celtic legends and spiritualised them after their own manner, and moulded them to their own ideals. There may have been a historical Arthur, Comes Britanni?, after the Roman withdrawal. Ye Amherawdyr Arthur, "the Emperor Arthur," may have lived and fought, and led the Brythons to battle. But there may also have been a Brythonic deity, or culture hero, of t

was not idealised i

Giant Ogurva

ng, more na

uest. The Elaine who becomes by Lancelot the mother of Galahad "was Lancelot's rightful consort, as one recognises in her name that of Elen, the Empress, whom the story of Peredur" (Lancelot, by the confusion) "gives that hero to wife." The second Elaine, the maid of Astolat

ion of the Arthurian l

wth of myth about an Arthur,

ttany are in close relations; by the eleventh

h the Celtic peoples of this island

Arthurian matter by

rench translat

e Troyes writes poems

. Those romances reach Wales, and modify, in translation

blishes Malory's selections from French and English sources,

ay work his will on them, and Tennyson's will was to retain the chivalrous courtesy, generosity, love, and asceticism, while dimly or brightly veiling or illuminating them with his own ideals. After so many processes, from folk-tale to modern idyll, the Arth

d, is slain in a sortie. Uther weds Ygerne; both recognise Arthur as their child. However, by the Celtic custom of fosterage the infant is intrusted to Sir Ector as his dalt, or foster-child, and Uther falls in battle. Arthur is later approven king by the adventure of drawing from the stone the magic sword that no other king could move. This adventure answers to Sigmund's drawing the sword from the Branstock, in the Volsunga Saga, "Now men stand up, and none would fain be the last to lay hand to the sword,

ns facilis

fata v

of the proving of Arthur by his success in drawing the sword. The poet's object is to enfold the origin and birth of Arthur in a spiritual mystery. This is deftly accomplished by aid of the various versions of the tale that reach King Leodogran when Arthur

was to wed him

ustomary dalt, but to preserve the babe from danger. Queen Bellicent then tells Leodogran, from

ave and in the

and rode to

ught the babe, an

n heir fo

ellicent to corroborate the

iddling triple

omes Arthur: "from the great deep" he comes, and in as strange fashion, at the end, "to the great deep he goes"-a king to be

follow Christ,

d hath breathed

he same situation in

follow Jeanne,

hur, a sign to be spoken against, a test of high purposes, a belief redeeming and ennobling till faith fails, and the little rift within the lute, the love of Lancel

ther wore on

ymbol of his

was sent to b

ret

ers, in May, w

f his life." Lancelot, as we have seen, is practically a French creation, adopted to illustrate the chivalrous theory of love, with its bitter fruit. Though not of the original Celtic stock of legend, Sir Lancelot makes the romance what it is, and draws down the tragedy that originally turned on the sin of Arthur himself, the sin that gave birth to the traitor Modred. But the medi?val romancers disguised that form of

ood closed

grey king, whos

oud, man-shaped,

cairn and croml

book, or him o

adulterous fi

between war a

gs and deth

) arose from blending the Celtic Arthur (as Culture Hero) with an older divine personage, such as Zeus, who marries his sister Hera. Marriages of brother and sister are familiar in the Egyptian royal house, and that of the Incas. But the poet has a perfect right to disregard a scandalous myth which, obviously crystallised later about the figure of the mythical Celtic Arthur, was an

a mist, rose

roves to be "a blooming boy" behind the mask. The courtesy and pro

s already risen about Lancelot and the

ud whisper brea

es in various forms, but it appears to have returned, by way of France and coloured with French influences, to Wales, where it is one of the later Mabinogion. The characters are Celtic, and Nud, father of Edyrn, Geraint's defeated antagonist, appears to be recognised by Mr Rhys as "the Celtic Zeus."

rthur's Court of the appearance of a white stag. The king arranges a hunt, and Guinevere asks leave to go and

dreams, and dre

Lanc

sword was at his side, and a robe and a surcoat of satin were upon him, and two shoes of leather up

re lay late

reams, and drea

and forgetfu

st, a single m

forded Usk, and

ttle knoll bes

the hounds; bu

of hoofs, for

aring neither

ave a golden-

lashing thro'

nd so gallop'd

rf, at eithe

n apple of th

about him, as

glancing lik

it and silks

the knight follows. The prose of the Mabinog

he. "Because thou art not of honour sufficient to befit thee to speak to my Lord." Then the maiden turned her horse's head towards the knight, upon which the dwarf struck her with the whip that was in his hand across the face and the eyes, until the blood flowed forth. And the maiden, through the hurt she received from the blow, returned to Gwenhwyvar, complaining of the pain. "Very rudely has the dwarf treated thee," said Geraint. "I will go myself to know who the knight is." "Go," said Gwenhwyvar. And Geraint went up to the dwarf. "Who is yonder knight?" said Geraint. "I will not tell thee," said the dwarf. "Then wi

listen'd for t

for the bayi

und of deepest m

y a knight, l

rf lagg'd lates

and show'd a

d of haughtie

e, not mindf

all, desired hi

o demand it

cious, old a

ll his master'

rply that she s

sk it of himse

, thou shalt not,

worthy ev'n to

t her horse tow

ith his whip, a

the Queen; wh

urely I will l

the dwarf, and

s before; and

se in motion to

ith his whip, a

lood spirted u

his quick, in

e hilt, as t

his exceedi

bility of t

oth at such a

v'n a

of Geraint, who doe

exceeding

bility of t

uld be "attacked unarmed by the armed knight." Perhaps Tennyson may be blamed for omitting this obvious motive for self-restraint. Geraint therefore follows the knight in hope of finding arms, and arrives at the town all busy with preparations for the tournament of the sparrow-hawk. This was a challenge sparrow-hawk: the knight had won it twice, and if he won it

waited in th

Enid, Yniol's

e open casemen

s the sweet vo

lander in a

hink what kind

delicately c

the plumage

voice of Enid

like a man

e liquid note

g over many

and in Apr

ppice gemm'd wit

s his converse

the labour

y, 'There is t

h Geraint, who

grace, is the on

tly followed in the Idyll, as is Geraint's insistence in carrying his bride to Court in her faded silks. Geraint, however, leaves Court with Enid, not because of t

eyes, and they fell upon his breast. And the tears she shed, and the words she had spoken, awoke him; and another thing contributed to awaken him, and that was the idea that it was not in thinking of him that she spoke thus, but that it was because she loved some other man more than him, and that she wished for other society, and thereupon Geraint was troubled in his mind, and he called his squire; and when he came to him, "Go quickly," said he, "and prepare my horse and my arms, and make them ready. And do thou arise," said he to Enid, "and

hanced that on

each by eithe

blindless casem

strong warrio

cast the co

knotted column

quare of his

ch the standing

ld brook o'er

ehemently to

and sat besi

and thought

n so grandl

hadow, past th

tion of ux

ind, and bow

n heart piteo

ast and all-

e, I the poor

saying all you

e, because I

hat I think an

that he shoul

my lord and

d I gird his

him to battl

ghtful hand stri

nd at wronger

re I laid in

any more his

ded more in t

om the high lig

rd thro' me sho

, and could

r lord wounded

ed to death be

re to tell him

ur him, saying

into mere

that I am n

y, half audi

passion in he

n his broad an

e him, and by

ragments of he

ear'd she was

ught, 'In spite

s, poor man, fo

ithful to me,

e gay knight in

ved and reveren

could be guil

manful breast

an, in the swe

most, lonely

l'd his huge l

drowsy squire

d her palfrey'

forth into th

ems my spurs a

l'n so low as

on thy worst a

me.' And Enid

, let Enid le

rge thee, ask

ought her of

ntle and a

toward a ce

ept them fold

summer laid bet

and array'd h

when first h

ess, and how he

olish fears ab

journey to h

nd their coming

nys

the standing

ld brook o'er

ehemently to

rms stood out like rounded rocks that the winter torrent has ro

s, whom the Cymry call the Little King," in the tale, is not a character in the Idyll, and, generally, the gross Celtic exaggerations of Geraint's feats are toned down by Tennyson. In other respects, as when Geraint eats the mowers' dinner, the tale supplies the materials. But it does not

lash and moti

panic-stricken

ish, that on

rystal dyke

'er their shado

who stands

ining hand ag

left the tw

essy islets wh

t at the moti

boon companio

lying in th

represents the Celtic divinity described in Latin as Apollo Belenus or Belinus." [129a] In Geoffrey, Belinus, euphemerised, or reduced from god to hero, has a brother, Brennius, the Celtic Bran, King of Britain from C

ays in the castle of the knight's brother, King Pellam. Pursued from room to room by Pellam, Balin finds himself in a chamber full of relics of Joseph of Arimathea. There he seizes a spear, the very spear with which the Roman soldier pierced the side of the Crucified, and wounds Pellam. The castle falls in ruins "through that dolorous stroke." Pellam becomes the maimed king, who can only be healed by the Holy Grail. Apparently Celtic myths of obscure antiquity have been adapted in France, and interwoven with fables about Joseph of Arimathea and Christian myste

. Arthur encounters and dismounts them. Balin devotes himself to self-conquest. Then comes tidings that Pellam, of old leagued with Lot against Arthur, has taken to religion, collects relics, claims descent from Joseph of Arimathea, and owns the sacred spear that pierced the side of Christ. But Garlon is with him, the knight invisible, who appears to come f

arnest of a

hink that Lancelot and Gui

one morning, th

in that garden

ses ran from

ies crost it

range of roses

steps, the morn

adow from the

s to meet her,

ot, glanced as

walk of lilies

en; Sir Balin he

little loyal

t good morrow

ncelot with hi

still be loyal

said, 'but so

rce is loyal

rate the king

nd, fair lord,

ith his hand am

am. Last night

nt who stands w

e. All round he

light upon h

spiritual lily

emblems drew m

erfect-pure! A

ts the blosso

charm of stain

,' she said, '

many-folded

hyacinth and t

ridd'n before

days-not all a

rlier. Art tho

will send the

any matter an

ifted his large

hers, and could

gaze: so turn

Balin started

t? but I see n

ver? hear not

h begotten me

the things b

am not worthy

wn!' and in hi

rply caught his

crave permissi

range adventure

Garlon insult Guinevere, but restrains himself. Next day, again insulted for bearing "the crown scandalous" on his shield, he strikes Garlon down, is pursued, seizes the sacred

ire of

orship, boy, w

oss to earth, a

l his

the Renaissance and after. The maddened yells of Balin strike th

the goodly

of our Order

's faith in Guinevere, who is merely slandered by Garlon and Vivien. Balin acknowledges th

weave the rather confused and unintelligible adventures of Balin and Balan into the scheme, and to make it a stage in the progress of his fable. That Balin was reckless and wild Malory bears witness, but his endeav

ce could spy the

, washed over with Christian colouring. As Malory tells this part of the tale it is perhaps more strange and effective than in the Idyll. The introduc

s of Druidry still lingered, and revived after the retreat of the Romans. The medi?val romancers invented a legend that Merlin was a virgin-born child of Satan. In Tennyson he may be guessed to represent the fabled esoteric lore of old religions, with their vague pantheisms, and such magic as the tapas of Brahmanic lege

. Vivien is certainly "one of the damsels of the lake" in Malory, and the damsels of the lake seem to be lake fairies, with all their beguilements and strange unstable loves. "And always Merlin lay about the lady to have her maidenhood, and she was ever passing weary of him, and fain would have been delivered of him, for she was afraid of him because he was a devil's son. . . . So by her subtle working she made Merlin to go under that stone to let her wit of the marvels t

he knights, and

mment when her

n Arthur walk

mour issued

tion crept amo

Vivien, being

e wrought upon

eyes mock-loya

d adoration,

hints of some wh

prize him most;

n her blankly

h'd, and had not

laughter of

uld attempt the

t, she set he

famous man of

w the range of

ng his havens, s

and knew the

l'd him Wizard

with slight and

es, and faintl

ancing here an

o his kindlier

r at her petul

seem'd unlove

watch a kitten

at he half dis

t she was but

her sports wi

le, would ofte

r all-silent

xt devotion, t

felt the flatte

his own wish i

ve her true: f

ut that other

ll, and so the

ry of a girl in the old legends and romances. In these Merlin fatigues the lady by his love; she learn

ll her length an

est reverence

d was round he

out price, tha

clung about he

ke the satin

the windy gl

iss'd them, cry

I have follow'd

y you worship

ss you for it

hought roll'd a

l day in an

feeling round h

ilen

ing round his cave, like "the blind

splayed than in the contrast between the Vivien and the Elaine. Vivien is a type, her adventure is of a nature, which he has not elsewhere handled. Thackeray, who admired the Idylls so enthusiastically, might have recognised in Vivien a character not unlike some of his own, as dark as Becky Sharp, more terrible in her selfishness than that Beatrix Esmond who is still a paragon, and, in her creator's despite, a queen of hearts. In Elaine, on the other hand, Tennyson has drawn a girl so innocently passionate, and told a tale of love that never found his eart

the first order. The materials in Malory, though beautiful,

etter disguise (as he had never worn a lady's favour), Lancelot carried her scarlet pearl-embroidered sleeve in his helmet, and left his shield in Elaine's keeping. The tourney passes as in the poem, Gawain recognising Lancelot, but puzzled by the favour he wears. The wounded Lancelot "thought to do what he might while he might endure." When he is offered the prize he is so sore hurt that he "takes no force of no honour." He rides into a wood, where Lavaine draws forth the spear. Lavaine brings Lancelot to the hermit, once a knight. "I have seen the day," says the hermit, "I would have loved him the worse, because he was against my lord, King Arthur, for some time. I was one of the fellowship of the Round Table, but I thank God now I am otherwise disposed." Gawain, seeking the wounded knight, comes to Astolat, where Elaine declares "he is the man in the world that I first loved, and truly he is the last that ever I shall love." Gawain, on seeing the shield, tells Elaine that the wounded knight is Lancel

other days of other manners. His art appears in

ancelot's deadl

eturning rod

morn, arraying

she deem'd she

Sir Lancelot,

, these are my

tim's flowers b

ever prest

d ask some goo

lf or hers; 'a

sh most near to

have ye done

rs, and Prince

and, and what

host she lift

st without the

aw that she wi

ng them yet

earn it; and one

in among th

ay no longer,

o-day': then

e shall never

for want of o

ive to hear,' he

and passiona

ad. I love you

swer'd Lancelot,

y extending h

said, 'your love-

nswer'd, 'Had

dded earlier,

never will be

ried, 'I care

you still, to

d to follow you

wer'd, 'Nay, the

ye, with such

ar and eye, an

own interpr

ould I quit your

ather's kindnes

h you, not to

en, my good da

h she had smiled." Her letter is read. "Ye might have showed her," said the Queen, "some c

t Lancelot. "For since first I saw my lord, Sir Lancelot," says Lavaine, "I could never depart from him, nor nought I will, if I may follow him: she do

ng before they

ackless realm

n, gray boulder

d about the t

ists to all th

rothers, one a

ther; but their

slain his bro

ell and made th

till all their bo

into colour w

nce was king,

ne in front, a

e, and labouri

sty moonshi

crown'd skeleto

ape, and from th

ght, and turni

ittering rivul

ngly scaur he pl

his head, an

Lo, thou likewis

r in the scene of Gu

riel on the

thur's palace to

ncelot kneeling

ge, in whom

had not won e

and make me ha

the roundest

r a neck to wh

her cygnet's:

is your beau

yet O grant m

nt grief tears.

oth can pardon:

urs flying thr

ot the bond of

in it an abs

at defect: le

umours fly? th

t me in your

l believe tha

oke, half turn'd

e vast oriel-

, and tore, and

ace whereon she

eased, in one c

nce and laid

ble near her,

I am quick

ve me, Lancelo

ot the bond o

in it, what

roken easie

ar have done d

ever in my h

edge nobler.

they had been t

t, had you not

rts the valu

the giver's

your new fa

ay you: have y

at however cha

at is gracefu

break those bo

thur's Queen I

ak my mind. A

! yet I take

dd my diamonds

ese; tell her, s

an arm to wh

or a necklac

irer-as a fa

these diamonds

other of our

e, mine now to

l not ha

hich she

casement standi

wn they flash'd, a

itten surface fl

et them, and t

Lancelot leant,

all things, on

th his eyes, a

fallen, slowly

e lily mai

ike a star in

on the jealous Queen and the long-enduring Lancelot. "This is not the first time," said Sir Lancelot, "that ye have been disple

e Lancelot the man we love, not Arthur or another. Human natu

to a little s

d, Arthur, the

te perfection

aze upon the

ke word of r

a glimpse of

for me: onl

a vague suspic

ogue has tamper

fancy of hi

men to vows

ke himself: but

lt who hath n

me must have a

akes the colo

as ye know, sa

ith "the innocence of love" in Elaine. But Lancelot has the

ld without the

he not

by his conduct as regards Guinevere when she is accused by her enemies in the later chapters.

ondensation. The romances on the Grail outrun the length even of medi?val poetry and prose. They are exceedingly confused, as was natural, if that hypothesi

, I have seen

dead of night,

r horn from o

ought, 'It is n

nlight'; and t

tance beyond

me-O never h

w with breath, o

music as it

my cell a cold

ong beam stole

beatings in it

ite walls of my

lours leapin

music faded,

eam decay'd, an

erings died i

Holy Thing

her, fast thou

other knights t

ance the visi

e, and all the w

of "seeking for a sign," and of the mysticism which betokens want of faith. The Middle Ages, more than many readers know, were ages of doubt. Men desired the witness of the senses to the truth of what the Church taught, they wished to see that naked child of the romance "smite himself into" the wafer of the Sacrament. The author of the Imit

ask'd Ambrosiu

oks-and they wou

not there th

and marvels

e; which ofte

on my brevi

ims; and then g

tle thorpe that

aster'd like

alls-and mingl

very honest f

er shepherd k

ely secret in

f with gossip

hes, and teethi

ayings, childr

meaning half

dom squabbles

chatterings at t

an, in this smal

heir hens and

l. His own mysticism, which did not strive, or cry, or seek after marve

not too truly

rk a prophet

went upon t

em would follow

agmire?-lost t

gazing at a

der-scarce re

ose to whom t

ardly will be

th beheld

an wrongs to ri

pass into the

had the visio

air desires hi

may crown h

ng you held, t

ght he would ha

eing that the

rules, and is

ce of land is

nder from the

rk be done; b

of the night

ill; and many a

h he walks on s

strikes his eyeb

smites his for

a, his very h

en he feels h

self no visio

God a vision,

ye have seen wha

ing: I knew not

in a manner rarely parallelled, coloured and formed his thought on the highest things. He introduces them e

s, and, as in the poem, borrows his arms and horse, and pretends to have slain him. But in place of turning Ettarre's heart towards Pelleas, Gawain becomes her lover, and Pelleas, detecting them asleep, lays his naked sword on their necks. He then rides home to die; but Nimue (Vivien), the Lady of the Lake, restores him to health and sanity. His fever gone, he scorns Ettarre, who, by Nimue's enchantment, now loves him as much as she had hated him. Pelleas weds Nimue, and Ettarre dies of a broken heart. Tennyson, of course, could not make Nimue (his Vivien) do anything benevolent. He therefore closes his poem by a repetition of the effect in the case of Balin. Pelleas is driven desperate by

ruined woodlands" and the dank odours of decay. In that miserable season is held the Tourney of the Dead Innocence, with the blood-red prize of rubies. With a wise touch Tennyson has represented the Court as fallen not into vice only and crime, but into positive vulgarity and bad taste. The Tournament is a carnival o

rumpet sounde

lf-awaked, the

nder, and the

ind blew, and

leam, and showe

Sighing wear

d gazes on

oodlier guests

umpire, lookin

ws that ruled

ke not; once, a

rone of arbit

and the follie

laces of a he

, like a vermi

rrow face: a

billow'd round

ding welcome

er'd, taller

all in forest

hundred tiny

ut a holly-sp

tering berries

arp, a bugle

as in Britt

ith a princess

e-Sir Tristram

new, had held s

him, and now y

f his heart in

n to death: his s

gilt dragons

'd for wrath-s

ladies' colour

re Sir Tristra

gibes and flick

mutter'd, 'Crave

these in whom th

our Round Tab

, and Lancelot

ther word than

urest, brother

takest this,

agued by Lancelot

Ay, but wheref

e cast to some

Queen's fantasy.

imb, but mainl

n this pastim

the lance hat

e, I trow; but

Arthur in the

thou nor I have

hy fair Queen

und the gallery

ow'd his homage,

each to him w

Beauty and o

ueen of Beaut

se were mute, s

l courtesy is

our Round Tabl

ain, plume droopt

ries awoke, a

down in wet

black brows

crying, 'Praise t

day of Innoc

raggled at the

nly, flowering

world as blank

dden their sad

s, at this ni

ndlier colours

over a robber knight i

hur knew the v

helmet-hidden

somewhere darkl

gn'd not use o

kard, as he stre

m, overbalan

causeway heavi

est of some slo

night along th

d after the gr

lf a league, and

marbled with

less to nothin

the knights, who

d leapt down u

out his face fr

d in mire, and s

ng for their own

s, and swording

n their sodde

er and the wi

afters rang wi

vement stream'

l with yell, they

autumn night, li

up thro' Ali

ve it, and a

as the wat

East, and out be

une, and lazy-

ll the unpardonable behaviour of Arthur as narrated in Malory. Critics have usually condemned the last parting of Guinevere and Arthur, because the King doth preach too much to an unhappy woman who has no reply. The position of

am but that I l

Idylls we have not Malory's last meeting of Lancelot and Guinevere, one of t

tory passage of great beauty and appropriateness

ng the noise o

ntains by the

er, gloomy autumn, and dies in the mist o

n rose, bringin

of theme, a narrative compressed into a few days in the former, in the latter into forty days of time. The tragedy of Arthur's reign could not so be condensed; and Tennyson chose the only feasible plan. He has left a work, not absolutely perfect, ind