The Early Poems of Alfred Lord Tennyson Part 18

Whither away, whither away, whither away with the sail and the oar?

Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw, Betwixt the green brink and the running foam, Sweet faces, rounded arms, and bosoms prest To little harps of gold; and while they mused, Whispering to each other half in fear, Shrill music reach'd them on the middle sea.

Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no more.

Whither away from the high green field, and the happy blossoming sh.o.r.e?

Day and night to the billow the fountain calls; Down shower the gambolling waterfalls From wandering over the lea: Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimsoned sh.e.l.ls, And thick with white bells the clover-hill swells High over the full-toned sea: O hither, come hither and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me: Hither, come hither and frolic and play; Here it is only the mew that wails; We will sing to you all the day: Mariner, mariner, furl your sails, For here are the blissful downs and dales, And merrily merrily carol the gales, And the spangle dances in bight [1] and bay, And the rainbow forms and flies on the land Over the islands free; And the rainbow lives in the curve of the sand; Hither, come hither and see; And the rainbow hangs on the poising wave, And sweet is the colour of cove and cave,

And sweet shall your welcome be: O hither, come hither, and be our lords For merry brides are we: We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee: O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the sharp clear tw.a.n.g of the golden cords Runs up the ridged sea.

Who can light on as happy a sh.o.r.e All the world o'er, all the world o'er?

Whither away? listen and stay: mariner, mariner, fly no more.

[Footnote 1: Bight is properly the coil of a rope; it then came to mean a bend, and so a corner or bay. The same phrase occurs in the 'Voyage of Maledune', v.: "and flung them in bight and bay".]

THE DESERTED HOUSE

First printed in 1830, omitted in all the editions till 1848 when it was restored. The poem is of course allegorical, and is very much in the vein of many poems in Anglo-Saxon poetry.

1

Life and Thought have gone away Side by side, Leaving door and windows wide: Careless tenants they!

2

All within is dark as night: In the windows is no light; And no murmur at the door, So frequent on its hinge before.

3

Close the door, the shutters close, Or thro' [1] the windows we shall see The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house.

4

Come away: no more of mirth Is here or merry-making sound.

The house was builded of the earth, And shall fall again to ground.

5

Come away: for Life and Thought Here no longer dwell; But in a city glorious-- A great and distant city--have bought A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us!

[Footnote 1: 1848 and 1851. Through.]

THE DYING SWAN

First printed in 1830.

The superst.i.tion here a.s.sumed is so familiar from the Cla.s.sics as well as from modern tradition that it scarcely needs ill.u.s.tration or commentary. But see Plato, 'Phaedrus', x.x.xi., and Shakespeare, 'King John', v., 7.

1

The plain was gra.s.sy, wild and bare, Wide, wild, and open to the air, Which had built up everywhere An under-roof of doleful gray. [1]

With an inner voice the river ran, Adown it floated a dying swan, And [2] loudly did lament.

It was the middle of the day.

Ever the weary wind went on, And took the reed-tops as it went.

2

Some blue peaks in the distance rose, And white against the cold-white sky, Shone out their crowning snows.

One willow over the water [3] wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Above in the wind was [4] the swallow, Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far thro' [5] the marish green and still The tangled water-courses slept, Shot over with purple, and green, and yellow.

3

The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Of that waste place with joy Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; And floating about the under-sky, Prevailing in weakness, the coronach [6] stole Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear; But anon her awful jubilant voice, With a music strange and manifold, Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold; As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is roll'd Thro' [7] the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star.

And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds, And the willow-branches h.o.a.r and dank, And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, And the silvery marish-flowers that throng The desolate creeks and pools among, Were flooded over with eddying song.

[Footnote 1: 1830. Grey.]

[Footnote 2: 1830 till 1848. Which.]

[Footnote 3: 1863. River.]

[Footnote 4: 1830. Sung.]

[Footnote 5: 1830. Through.]

[Footnote 6: A coronach is a funeral song or lamentation, from the Gaelic 'Corranach'. 'Cf'. Scott's 'Waverley', ch. xv.,

"Their wives and daughters came clapping their hands and 'crying the coronach' and shrieking".]