And I divinity of fervour (I use the word divinity by design: the inspiration of God must have prompted this movement to those whom even then He was calling to His presence), that two results followed. As regarded the enemy, this 23rd Dragoons, not, I believe, originally three hundred and fifty strong, paralysed a French column, six thousand strong, then ascended the hill, and fixed the gaze of the wbole French army. As regarded themselves, 10 the 23rd were supposed at first to have been barely not annihilated; but eventually, I believe, about one in four survived. this, then, was the regiment-a regiment already for some hours glorified and hallowed 15 had rested their wearied heads upon their to the ear of all London, as lying stretched, by a large majority, upon one bloody aceldama 26 in which the young trooper served whose mother was now talking in a spirit of such joyous enthusiasm. Did I tell her the truth? 20 been memorably engaged; but so much was Had I the heart to break up her dreams? No. To-morrow, said I to myself—to-morrow, or the next day, will publish the worst. For one night more, wherefore should she not sleep in peace? After to-morrow, the chances are too 25 many that peace will forsake her pillow. This brief respite, then, let her owe to my gift and my forbearance. But, if I told her not of the bloody price that had been paid, not, therefore, was I silent on the contributions from her son's 30 regiment to that day's service and glory. I showed her not the funeral banners under which the noble regiment was sleeping. lifted not the overshadowing laurels from the bloody trench in which horse and rider lay 5 mangled together. But I told her how these dear children of England, officers and privates, had leaped their horses over all obstacles as gaily as hunters to the morning's chase. I told her how they rode their horses into the mists of death (saying to myself, but not saying to her), and laid down their young lives for thee, O mother England! as willingly-poured out their noble blood as cheerfully-as ever, after a long day's sport, when infants, they 26 "The field of blood." See Acts i. 19. mother's knees, or had sunk to sleep in her arms. Strange it is, yet true, that she seemed to have no fears for her son's safety, even after this knowledge that the 23rd Dragoons had she enraptured by the knowledge that his regiment, and therefore that he, had rendered conspicuous service in the dreadful conflict— a service which had actually made them, within the last twelve hours, the foremost topic of conversation in London-so absolutely was fear swallowed up in joy-that, in the mere simplicity of her fervent nature, the poor woman threw her arms round my neck, as she thought of her son, and gave to me the kiss which secretly was meant for him. That doat upon each other, friends to man, 1 Tennyson wrote the following notes on this poem in 1890: "Trench said to me, when we were at Trinity together, Tennyson, we cannot live in art."" "The Palace of Art' is the embodiment of my own belief that the Godlike life is with man and for man, that 'Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are three sisters,' etc." (Memoir, by H. Tennyson, I. 118.) Tennyson made a number of changes in this poem, especially for the edition of 1842. The version here given is the final and more familiar one. THE PALACE OF ART I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, A huge crag-platform, smooth as burnish'd brass, I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light. Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf 5 10 And "while the world runs round and round," I said "Reign thou apart a quiet king, Still as, while Saturn whirls, his steadfast shade Sleeps on his luminous ring." To which my soul made answer readily: "Trust me, in bliss I shall abide In this great mansion, that is built for me, So royal-rich and wide." 15 20 Four courts I made, East, West and South and North, In each a squared lawn, wherefrom The golden gorge of dragons spouted forth And round the cool green courts there ran a ΓΟΥ Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow Of spouted fountain-floods; And round the roofs a gilded gallery 25 That lent broad verge1 to distant lands, 30 Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky Dipt down to sea and sands. Or the maid-mother by a crucifix, In tracts of pasture sunny-warm, Or in a clear-walled city on the sea, Wound with white roses, slept Saint Cecily; Or thronging all one porch of Paradise The dying Islamite, with hands and eyes Or mythic Uther's deeply-wounded son1 Or hollowing one hand against his ear, 95 100 105 The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king3 to hear Of wisdom and of law. Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, And many a tract of palm and rice, The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd A summer fann'd with spice. 110 115 The ragged rims of thunder brooding low, With shadow-streaks of rain. 75 Sole as a flying star shot thro' the sky Above the pillar'd town. 125 And one, the reapers at their sultry toil. In front they bound the sheaves. Behind Were realms of upland, prodigal in oil, And hoary to the wind.2 80 Nor these alone; but every legend fair Which the supreme Caucasian mind Carved out of Nature for itself was there, Not less than life design'd. Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung, Moved of themselves, with silver sound; 130 And with choice paintings of wise men I hung The royal dais round. St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, whose harmonies brought an angel down from heaven. Cf. Dryden's Song for St. Cecilia's Day, p. 277, and his Alexander's Feast, p. 278, supra. King Arthur, according to legend the son of Uther Pendragon. Numa Pompilius, according to legend the second King of Rome. The "wood-nymph," Egeria, met him in a grove near the city, and there taught him how to frame laws and religious ceremonies for his people. Or Kama, the Hindoo god of love. |