What exquisite taste the poet has shown in this anecdote ! And how proud must we feel of an age that can produce sentiments so entirely unknown to the classical poets! So much for the soft delicacy of Philip's character. Enoch's character on the other hand is cast in a firmer and manlier mould. He is a God-fearing man, of strong purpose, and inflexible will. Thus when he has once decided that it will be best for himself and his wife that he should sail for foreign lands, no fears or gentle expostulations turn him from his purpose. He roughly sermonizes and bids her cast all her care upon God who will always be near to help her. The same spirit of manliness and heroism is observable when he returns home after many years absence. Conscious that it would only be pain to her to know of his existence, he resolutely refuses to make himself known to her; and persists in his determination even to his death. In looking at these two characters, the one remarkable for delicacy and soft devotion, the other for firmness and heroism, no one can fail to observe a strong phase of resemblance to the other ideal characters of humanity which the poet has portrayed in king Arthur. Now it has often been observed that while Mr. Tennyson's imagination is peculiarly rich and fertile in pictures of female characters, yet he has only conceived one type of manly excellence. At first therefore the public welcomed this new volume as a step forward. But on closer scrutiny the lines of individuality which at first seemed to distinguish king Arthur from Enoch Arden begin to fade, and the two characters almost imperceptibly to melt into one. For in both there is the same chivalrous devotion to woman, the same manliness and heroism. No one in short can read the story of Enoch Arden, and his severe contest with his own feelings, without being reminded of Mr. Tennyson's earlier poem. I remarked before that the plot of Enoch Arden reminded one very strongly of the Tragedies of Sophocles. But the resemblance between the two poets is carried to a still further extent in the details and working-out of the poem. The Greek Tragedians employed a contrivance known as the eipovéia in order to excite the interest of their hearers. This irony' consisted in putting into the mouths of their characters dark sayings which had a double meaning. The chorus, for instance, used frequently to utter words which, while they really alluded to the crisis of the plot, yet admitted of a second interpretation. Thus the reader was no sooner startled by hints at some awful impending calamity, than his fears were lulled by a new interpretation which he had not expected. Mr. Tennyson employs this contrivance no less than three times in the first poem of the volume before us. Thus when the two lads were quarrelling about Annie he makes her weep And prayed them not to quarrel for her sake The same idea is also brought out when Enoch's children, accustomed to the kind face of Philip, played with him and called him "father Philip." And lastly, just before Annie married Philip, the poet makes her open a Bible at the words, "Under a palm tree." The reader who suspects the plot seems at once to understand the allusion. But then his fears are for a time calmed by reading the interpretation which Annie puts upon it. Certainly Mr. Tennyson has used this contrivance with considerable effect, and it adds much to the interest of the story. Again the language itself is often highly classical, and we find instances of that curiosa felicitas for which Horace is so highly celebrated. I could select many instances of this, but time and space prevent my doing so, and I shall therefore content myself with taking two which seem to me almost inimitable. Speaking of Philip's agony when he saw Enoch and Annie sitting together, the laureate says of him He slipt aside and like a wounded life And again he calls Annie's little boy The rosy idol of her solitudes. What a world of thought is contained in these exquisite expressions! What countless images and associations do they call up before the mind's eye! And this certainly is the greatest praise a poet can win. For in such expressions consists the magical influence of poetry. The volume before us also marks progress in another direction. For while the mechanism of its language is brought to an exquisite degree of perfection it is not so overburdened with alliteration as some of Mr. Tennyson's former poems. There is a certain point after which frequent alliteration begins to be tedious, and to sound heavily to the ear; and I am inclined to think that Mr. Tennyson has sometimes crossed the boundary line. But in Enoch Arden he has kept himself quite free from this fault, and it is not too much to say that every word is in its right place. Change the form of one sentence; substitute one epithet for another, and the whole charm and ring of his verses is lost. His command of language is truly wonderful, and the way, in which he makes the rhythm of his verse serve his purpose, baffles all description. Take for instance the grand sonorous line about the sea which appears in his description of the Tropical Island. The league long roller thundering on the reef. Who can read this billowy verse without picturing to himself the lazy force of ocean' rolling against the rocks that bar its onward course. The beauty of such a verse is, that it suggests far more than it says. For it opens to the imagination a long vista of grand scenes and objects of contemplation. In short, to borrow an expression of Macaulay, it strikes as it were a key note, and the melody follows as a matter of course. Other lines might be quoted which produce the same effect, as And again So too The lustre of the long convolvuluses. The silent waters slipping from the hills. The dead weight of the dead leaf bore it down. A line composed entirely of monosyllables and therefore well calculated to express the feelings of a man who is viewing nature with the disconsolate eye of despair. Indeed the whole poem, while it teems with the melody and richness of language which marked what is generally called the Classical period of English Literature, yet contains a depth of tone, with a fire and force in narrative, as well as an insight into the more delicate feelings and sensibilities of human nature which were entirely unknown to Pope and his contemporaries. Before I leave the poem of Enoch Arden, a few remarks about the last two lines will not be out of place. After describing the touching death of Enoch, the poet, as I endeavoured to show above, evidently experienced no small difficulty. How was he to dismiss the characters in whom the reader had been led to take such a keen and lively interest? Would not every one wish to hear how Annie bore the news of her husband's heroic life and death? These then were questions, the solution of which was beset with peculiar difficulties; and if the laureate had only consented to leave them unsolved, his readers would have recognized their difficulties and pardoned the poet for not treading on such delicate ground. But instead of acting thus he proceeds as follows: So past the strong heroic soul away. And when they buried him, the little port The first line is well enough, and it would have been fortunate for the poet if he could have stopped there: but the idea contained in the last two lines is nothing less than ignoble. In fact, nothing could be conceived more completely out of place, or more contrary to the whole spirit of the poem. Now the word 'costlier' is perhaps the most unfortunate epithet that Mr. Tennyson could have applied. For it suggests the pomp and pageantry that attends the funerals of wealthy men. Here however was no wealthy nobleman. On the contrary Enoch was an ideal man who had suddenly been cut off from the rest of the world, and plunged into the deepest misery. Alone he battled with his bitter destiny, and just when he had hoped to receive the "fair guerdon" and to be rewarded for his life of self devotion and heroism, he was again torn from the object of his dearest longings even while it was within his grasp, and consigned to darkness and solitude for ever. And all these sorrows he had voluntarily taken upon himself to avoid giving pain to another. Surely then a funeral veiled with mysterious darkness would have more befitted such strong heroism. Who, for instance, in comparing Wolfe's description of the burial of Sir John Moore, can help feeling the grandeur which naturally surrounds such a simple but interesting scene? No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud they wound him, With his martial cloak around him. This is the only blot, and it must be confessed that it is a serious one, on a poem which in other respects must rank among the finest of Mr. Tennyson's productions. For while it is remarkable throughout for simplicity of narrative and richness of imagery, it is more even and regular than any of its predecessors, In my endeavour to criticise Enoch Arden I have been carried on to speak at greater length than I had intended. And I find that I have already exceeded the time and space allotted to me. I am therefore reluctantly compelled to leave my task unfinished for the present: but I hope soon to be able to say something about the rest of these poems, which, though inferior to Enoch Arden, are still full of interest to all Mr. Tennyson's admirers. W. L. W. A MAY TERM MEMORY. SHE wore a sweet pink bonnet, And as I gazed upon it, My heart was not my own. Tho' few other things I care for, 'Twas at the May Term Races Amid a thousand Graces No form with her's could vie. On Grassy's sward enamelled She reigned fair Beauty's Queen; And every heart entrammell'd With the charms of sweet eighteen. Once more I saw that Bonnet- |