Identifier: poeticdramaticwo01tenn (find matches)
Title: The poetic and dramatic works of Alfred lord Tennyson
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, Baron, 1809-1892
Subjects:
Publisher: Boston and New York, Houghton, Mifflin and company
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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eversion ever dragging Evolu-tion in the mud. 200 What are men that He should heed us ? cried the king of sacred song;Insects of an hour, that hourly work their brother insect wrong, While the silent heavens roll, and suns along their fiery way,All their planets whirling round them, flash a million miles a day. Many an seon moulded earth beforeher highest, man, was born, Many an aeon too may pass when earthis manless and forlorn, Earth so huge, and yet so bounded —pools of salt, and plots of land — Shallow skin of green and azure —chains of mountain, grains ofsand ! Only That which made us meant us tobe mightier by and by, 209 Set the sphere of all the boundlessheavens within the human eye, Sent the shadow of Himself, theboundless, thro the human soul; Boundless inward in the atom, bound-less outward in the Whole. Here is Locksley Hall, my grandson,here the lion-guarded gate. Not to-night in Locksley Hall — to-morrow— you, you come solate. LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER 655
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1 In this gap between the sandhills, whence you see the Locksley tower,Here we met, our latest meeting — Amy — sixty years ago Wreckd — your train—or all butwreckd ? a shatterd wheel ? avicious boy ! Good, this forward, you that preachit, is it well to wish you joy ? Is it well that while we range withScience, glorying in the Time, City children soak and blacken souland sense in city slime ? There among the glooming alleys Pro-gress halts on palsied feet, Crime and hunger cast our maidens bythe thousand on the street. 220 There the master scrimps his haggardsempstress of her daily bread, There a single sordid attic holds theliving and the dead. There the smouldering fire of fevercreeps across the rotted floor, And the crowded couch of incest inthe warrens of the poor. Nay, yourhope For-aud your pardon, cryward/ yours areyouth, but I —Eighty winters leave the dog too lameto follow with the cry, 656 LOCKSLEY HALL SIXTY YEARS AFTER, ETC. Lame and old, and past his time, andpass

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