THE DEATH OF TENNYSON.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXIX, Issue 9010, 15 October 1892, Page 1 (Supplement)

THE DEATH OF TENNYSON.

No swift-flying telegram ever bore on its pinions and in its bosom a more beautiful and touching missive than the one announcing the tranquil passage of the Laureate through the vestibule of death into the imperishable temple of life (nob made with hands). Would that), with light hand and delicate touch, we could describe that last scene ! It is early morning ; the old poet is in articulo mortis; stillness reigns. Around his dying bed are gathered the treasures of his heart and homo, waiting and watching. Swept is the smile of home ; the mutual look, When hearts are of each other sure. I can imagine rare gems Damascus, Persian, Rhodian ware, delicate woodwork from Cairo, exquisite mosaics, frescoes, and a wealth of medallions, statuettes, and bronzes—all finding a place in this unique theatre. In one corner I behold, with pensiye looks and unstrung harps, the nine Muses gazing intently on the hour-glass. Close to them is a golden ladd9r passing upwards through the dome of heaven to the shining city. On its stares are cohorts of white-robed angels awaiting orders. In royal state the queen of night drives her luminous chariot ; through the open lattice hor softest beams irradiate the countenance of the dying songster. The impressive recitative now pours forth from angel lips : "The sun shall be no more thy light by day, neither for brightness shall the moon give light unto thee, but the Lord thy God shall be unto thee an everlasting light, and thy Cod thy glory." Hereafter enters another queen in her equipage of royal sympathy. Schooled by affliction, acquainted with grief, chastened by sorrow, refined and ennobled by bereavements and tears, her tender message visibly buoys up the spirits of the old bard. Of her he thus sang: — Her court was pure, her life serene ; Go I gave her peace ; her land reposed ; A thousand claims to reverence closed In her as mother, wife, and queen. What Paul prior to coronation felt when the Roman Christians met him at Appii Forum was precisely what Tennyson realised in the gracious act of Her Majesty. With dying hands held respectively by the Queens of light and love his spirit hovered between the worlds. Thus while the earth like a dissolving cloud rolled back from his poetic vision, eternity in all its solemn and imposing grandeur loomed up before the eye of hie mind. Parted from the grip of his illustrious Queens the Right Hand of tho King was laid upon him, and on his ears fell the assuring "Fear not, 1 am He that liveth and was dead and am alive for evermore, and hare the keys of hell and death." Some will say the curtain should drop here. Nothing of the kind. "Enoch Arden's Dream," "In Memoriam," "The Idylls of the King," which in their splendid imagery and graceful treatment,have charmed us, are but the efforts of the apprentice. The masterpieces will assuredly follow in the higher region. Sterling poetry is not only tho vernal but the immortal song of the soul, which death cannot wither, the grave corrode, nor eternity annihilate. If the glorious majesty of tho poet's heaven-lit genius can hero give to airy nothing a local habitation and a name, what may it not do with the substantial realities of a world, the glories of which " eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived." In tho old poet's death chamber I have sketched rare treasures of art and vertu collected from the four winds of heaven, have exhibited cohorts of angels, the rank and file of the Muses, two Queens and weeping relatives. Wondrous as is this combination it pales with insignificance when compared with the beatific vision, which in its apocalyptic splendour has now burst upon the astonished viow of the late Laureate.

To Tennyson we owe much ; surely is his poetry tho record of the last and happiest moments of an exalted mind, and his the sentiments thab make immortal all that is best and most beautiful in the world. It arrested tho vanishing apparitions which haunted the interlunations of night, and, veiling them in language, sent them forth among mankind bearing sweet news of kindred joy to those with whom their sisters abode. His remains are to bo buried in Westminster Abbey, and another illustrious namo added to the long scroll of the mighty dead. Those who have ascended tho small staircase which conducts to the, shrine of Edward the Confessor, and have taken'from thence a survey of th 6 numerous tombs, know something of the strongest of all emotions. Here tho eye looks down between pillars and funeral trophies to the chapels and chambers below, where warriors, prelate?, courtiers, statosmen, lie mouldering in their beds of darkness. But while these worthies pass on in single file through the chambers of the memory, the name of Tennyson will come to stay, because his poetry has strangely redeemed from decay the visitations of the divinity in man, and his present experience is the virgin realisation of that fulness of joy, which thrills from the centre to the circumference of being, so appositely described in his own immortal lines— Eternal process moving on, From state to state the spirit walks; And these are but the shattered stalks Or ruined chrysalis of one. John Abbott. Longfellow, in his poem of "The Singers," is said to have described three of his contemporary poets : Tennyson, Whittier, and Wordsworth. The latter died on the 23rd April, 1850, aged 80; the second, Whittier, on the Bth September, aged 84; and the third, on the 6th October, aged 82 years. THE SINGERS. God sent His Singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to Heaven again. The first, a youth, with soul of Are, Held in his hand a golden lyre; Through groves he wandered, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. The second, with a bearded face. Stood singing in the market-place. And stirred with accents deep and loud The hearts of all the listening crowd. A grey, old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ rolled Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the singers three Disputed which the best might be; For still their music seemed to start) Discordant echoes in each heart. But the Great Master said, " I see Nn best in kind, but in degree; I gave a various gift to each, To calm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of might), And be whose ear is tuned aright, Will hear no discord in the three, ttirt the most) perfect UarmoDy*".