TimbuctooA poem which obtainedthe Chancellor’s Medalat theCambridge CommencementM.DCCCXXIXby A. TENNYSONOf Trinity College.Printed in the CambridgeChronicle and Journalfor Friday, 10th July, 1839, and at the University Press by James Smith, among theProfusiones Academicæ Praemiis annuis dignatæ, et in Curiâ Cantabrigiensi Recitatæ Comitiis MaximisA.D. M.DCCCXXIX. Reprinted in an edition of theCambridge Prize Poemsfrom 1813 to 1858 inclusive, by Messrs. Macmillan in 1859, but without any alteration, except in punctuation and the substitution of small letters for capitals where the change was appropriate; and again in 1893 in the appendix to the reprint of thePoems by Two Brothers.Deep in that lion-haunted island liesA mystic city, goal of enterprise.—(Chapman.)I stood upon the Mountain which o’erlooksThe narrow seas, whose rapid intervalParts Afric from green Europe, when the SunHad fall’n below th’ Atlantick, and aboveThe silent Heavens were blench’d with faery light,Uncertain whether faery light or cloud,Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep, deep blueSlumber’d unfathomable, and the starsWere flooded over with clear glory and pale.I gaz’d upon the sheeny coast beyond,There where the Giant of old Time infixedThe limits of his prowess, pillars highLong time eras’d from Earth: even as the seaWhen weary of wild inroad buildeth upHuge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves.And much I mus’d on legends quaint and oldWhich whilome won the hearts of all on EarthToward their brightness, ev’n as flame draws air;But had their being in the heart of ManAs air is th’ life of flame: and thou wert thenA center’d glory—circled Memory,Divinest Atalantis, whom the wavesHave buried deep, and thou of later nameImperial Eldorado roof’d with gold:Shadows to which, despite all shocks of Change,All on-set of capricious Accident,Men clung with yearning Hope which would not die.As when in some great City where the wallsShake, and the streets with ghastly faces throng’dDo utter forth a subterranean voice,Among the inner columns far retir’dAt midnight, in the lone Acropolis.Before the awful Genius of the placeKneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the whileAbove her head the weak lamp dips and winksUnto the fearful summoning without:Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees,Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth onThose eyes which wear no light but that wherewithHer phantasy informs them. Where are yeThrones of the Western wave, fair Islands green?Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glooms,The blossoming abysses of your hills?Your flowering Capes and your gold-sanded baysBlown round with happy airs of odorous winds?Where are the infinite ways which, Seraph-trod,Wound thro’ your great Elysian solitudes,Whose lowest depths were, as with visible love,Fill’d with Divine effulgence, circumfus’d,Flowing between the clear and polish’d stems,And ever circling round their emerald conesIn coronals and glories, such as girdThe unfading foreheads of the Saints in Heaven?For nothing visible, they say, had birthIn that blest ground but it was play’d aboutWith its peculiar glory. Then I rais’dMy voice and cried “Wide Afric, doth thy SunLighten, thy hills enfold a City as fairAs those which starr’d the night o’ the Elder World?Or is the rumour of thy TimbuctooA dream as frail as those of ancient Time?”A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light!A rustling of white wings! The bright descentOf a young Seraph! and he stood beside meThere on the ridge, and look’d into my faceWith his unutterable, shining orbs,So that with hasty motion I did veilMy vision with both hands, and saw before meSuch colour’d spots as dance athwart the eyesOf those that gaze upon the noonday Sun.Girt with a Zone of flashing gold beneathHis breast, and compass’d round about his browWith triple arch of everchanging bows,And circled with the glory of living lightAnd alternation of all hues, he stood.“O child of man, why muse you here aloneUpon the Mountain, on the dreams of oldWhich fill’d the Earth with passing loveliness,Which flung strange music on the howling winds,And odours rapt from remote Paradise?Thy sense is clogg’d with dull mortality,Thy spirit fetter’d with the bond of clay:Open thine eye and see.” I look’d, but notUpon his face, for it was wonderfulWith its exceeding brightness, and the lightOf the great angel mind which look’d from outThe starry glowing of his restless eyes.I felt my soul grow mighty, and my spiritWith supernatural excitation boundWithin me, and my mental eye grew largeWith such a vast circumference of thought,That in my vanity I seem’d to standUpon the outward verge and bound aloneOf full beautitude. Each failing senseAs with a momentary flash of lightGrew thrillingly distinct and keen. I sawThe smallest grain that dappled the dark Earth,The indistinctest atom in deep air,The Moon’s white cities, and the opal widthOf her small glowing lakes, her silver heightsUnvisited with dew of vagrant cloud,And the unsounded, undescended depthOf her black hollows. The clear GalaxyShorn of its hoary lustre, wonderful,Distinct and vivid with sharp points of lightBlaze within blaze, an unimagin’d depthAnd harmony of planet-girded SunsAnd moon-encircled planets, wheel in wheel,Arch’d the wan Sapphire. Nay, the hum of men,Or other things talking in unknown tongues,And notes of busy life in distant worldsBeat like a far wave on my anxious ear.A maze of piercing, trackless, thrilling thoughtsInvolving and embracing each with eachRapid as fire, inextricably link’d,Expanding momently with every sightAnd sound which struck the palpitating sense,The issue of strong impulse, hurried throughThe riv’n rapt brain: as when in some large lakeFrom pressure of descendant crags, which lapseDisjointed, crumbling from their parent slopeAt slender interval, the level calmIs ridg’d with restless and increasing spheresWhich break upon each other, each th’ effectOf separate impulse, but more fleet and strongThan its precursor, till the eye in vainAmid the wild unrest of swimming shadeDappled with hollow and alternate riseOf interpenetrated arc, would scanDefinite round.I know not if I shapeThese things with accurate similitudeFrom visible objects, for but dimly now,Less vivid than a half-forgotten dream,The memory of that mental excellenceComes o’er me, and it may be I entwineThe indecision of my present mindWith its past clearness, yet it seems to meAs even then the torrent of quick thoughtAbsorbed me from the nature of itselfWith its own fleetness. Where is he that borneAdown the sloping of an arrowy stream,Could link his shallop to the fleeting edge,And muse midway with philosophic calmUpon the wondrous laws which regulateThe fierceness of the bounding element?My thoughts which long had grovell’d in the slimeOf this dull world, like dusky worms which houseBeneath unshaken waters, but at onceUpon some earth-awakening day of springDo pass from gloom to glory, and aloftWinnow the purple, bearing on both sidesDouble display of starlit wings which burnFanlike and fibred, with intensest bloom:E’en so my thoughts, ere while so low, now feltUnutterable buoyancy and strengthTo bear them upward through the trackless fieldsOf undefin’d existence far and free.Then first within the South methought I sawA wilderness of spires, and chrystal pileOf rampart upon rampart, dome on dome,Illimitable range of battlementOn battlement, and the Imperial heightOf Canopy o’ercanopied.Behind,In diamond light, upsprung the dazzling ConesOf Pyramids, as far surpassing Earth’sAs Heaven than Earth is fairer. Each aloftUpon his narrow’d Eminence bore globesOf wheeling suns, or stars, or semblancesOf either, showering circular abyssOf radiance. But the glory of the placeStood out a pillar’d front of burnish’d goldInterminably high, if gold it wereOr metal more ethereal, and beneathTwo doors of blinding brilliance, where no gazeMight rest, stood open, and the eye could scanThrough length of porch and lake and boundless hall,Part of a throne of fiery flame, where fromThe snowy skirting of a garment hung,And glimpse of multitudes of multitudesThat minister’d around it—if I sawThese things distinctly, for my human brainStagger’d beneath the vision, and thick nightCame down upon my eyelids, and I fell.With ministering hand he rais’d me up;Then with a mournful and ineffable smile,Which but to look on for a moment fill’dMy eyes with irresistible sweet tears,In accents of majestic melody,Like a swol’n river’s gushings in still nightMingled with floating music, thus he spake:“There is no mightier Spirit than I to swayThe heart of man: and teach him to attainBy shadowing forth the Unattainable;And step by step to scale that mighty stairWhose landing-place is wrapt about with cloudsOf glory of Heaven.[1]With earliest Light of Spring,And in the glow of sallow Summertide,And in red Autumn when the winds are wildWith gambols, and when full-voiced Winter roofsThe headland with inviolate white snow,I play about his heart a thousand ways,Visit his eyes with visions, and his earsWith harmonies of wind and wave and wood—Of winds which tell of waters, and of watersBetraying the close kisses of the wind—And win him unto me: and few there beSo gross of heart who have not felt and knownA higher than they see: They with dim eyesBehold me darkling. Lo! I have given theeTo understand my presence, and to feelMy fullness; I have fill’d thy lips with power.I have rais’d thee nigher to the Spheres of Heaven,Man’s first, last home: and thou with ravish’d senseListenest the lordly music flowing fromTh’illimitable years. I am the Spirit,The permeating life which courseth throughAll th’ intricate and labyrinthine veinsOf the great vine of Fable, which, outspreadWith growth of shadowing leaf and clusters rare,Reacheth to every corner under Heaven,Deep-rooted in the living soil of truth:So that men’s hopes and fears take refuge inThe fragrance of its complicated gloomsAnd cool impleached twilights. Child of Man,See’st thou yon river, whose translucent wave,Forth issuing from darkness, windeth throughThe argent streets o’ the City, imagingThe soft inversion of her tremulous Domes.Her gardens frequent with the stately Palm,Her Pagods hung with music of sweet bells.Her obelisks of ranged Chrysolite,Minarets and towers? Lo! how he passeth by,And gulphs himself in sands, as not enduringTo carry through the world those waves, which boreThe reflex of my City in their depths.Oh City! Oh latest Throne! where I was rais’dTo be a mystery of lovelinessUnto all eyes, the time is well nigh comeWhen I must render up this glorious homeTo keenDiscovery: soon yon brilliant towersShall darken with the waving of her wand;Darken, and shrink and shiver into huts,Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand,Low-built, mud-wall’d, Barbarian settlement,How chang’d from this fair City!”Thus far the Spirit:Then parted Heavenward on the wing: and IWas left alone on Calpe, and the MoonHad fallen from the night, and all was dark![1]Be ye perfect even as your Father in Heaven is perfect.
A poem which obtainedthe Chancellor’s Medalat theCambridge CommencementM.DCCCXXIXby A. TENNYSONOf Trinity College.
Printed in the CambridgeChronicle and Journalfor Friday, 10th July, 1839, and at the University Press by James Smith, among theProfusiones Academicæ Praemiis annuis dignatæ, et in Curiâ Cantabrigiensi Recitatæ Comitiis MaximisA.D. M.DCCCXXIX. Reprinted in an edition of theCambridge Prize Poemsfrom 1813 to 1858 inclusive, by Messrs. Macmillan in 1859, but without any alteration, except in punctuation and the substitution of small letters for capitals where the change was appropriate; and again in 1893 in the appendix to the reprint of thePoems by Two Brothers.
Deep in that lion-haunted island liesA mystic city, goal of enterprise.—(Chapman.)
I stood upon the Mountain which o’erlooksThe narrow seas, whose rapid intervalParts Afric from green Europe, when the SunHad fall’n below th’ Atlantick, and aboveThe silent Heavens were blench’d with faery light,Uncertain whether faery light or cloud,Flowing Southward, and the chasms of deep, deep blueSlumber’d unfathomable, and the starsWere flooded over with clear glory and pale.I gaz’d upon the sheeny coast beyond,There where the Giant of old Time infixedThe limits of his prowess, pillars highLong time eras’d from Earth: even as the seaWhen weary of wild inroad buildeth upHuge mounds whereby to stay his yeasty waves.And much I mus’d on legends quaint and oldWhich whilome won the hearts of all on EarthToward their brightness, ev’n as flame draws air;But had their being in the heart of ManAs air is th’ life of flame: and thou wert thenA center’d glory—circled Memory,Divinest Atalantis, whom the wavesHave buried deep, and thou of later nameImperial Eldorado roof’d with gold:Shadows to which, despite all shocks of Change,All on-set of capricious Accident,Men clung with yearning Hope which would not die.As when in some great City where the wallsShake, and the streets with ghastly faces throng’dDo utter forth a subterranean voice,Among the inner columns far retir’dAt midnight, in the lone Acropolis.Before the awful Genius of the placeKneels the pale Priestess in deep faith, the whileAbove her head the weak lamp dips and winksUnto the fearful summoning without:Nathless she ever clasps the marble knees,Bathes the cold hand with tears, and gazeth onThose eyes which wear no light but that wherewithHer phantasy informs them. Where are yeThrones of the Western wave, fair Islands green?Where are your moonlight halls, your cedarn glooms,The blossoming abysses of your hills?Your flowering Capes and your gold-sanded baysBlown round with happy airs of odorous winds?Where are the infinite ways which, Seraph-trod,Wound thro’ your great Elysian solitudes,Whose lowest depths were, as with visible love,Fill’d with Divine effulgence, circumfus’d,Flowing between the clear and polish’d stems,And ever circling round their emerald conesIn coronals and glories, such as girdThe unfading foreheads of the Saints in Heaven?For nothing visible, they say, had birthIn that blest ground but it was play’d aboutWith its peculiar glory. Then I rais’dMy voice and cried “Wide Afric, doth thy SunLighten, thy hills enfold a City as fairAs those which starr’d the night o’ the Elder World?Or is the rumour of thy TimbuctooA dream as frail as those of ancient Time?”A curve of whitening, flashing, ebbing light!A rustling of white wings! The bright descentOf a young Seraph! and he stood beside meThere on the ridge, and look’d into my faceWith his unutterable, shining orbs,So that with hasty motion I did veilMy vision with both hands, and saw before meSuch colour’d spots as dance athwart the eyesOf those that gaze upon the noonday Sun.Girt with a Zone of flashing gold beneathHis breast, and compass’d round about his browWith triple arch of everchanging bows,And circled with the glory of living lightAnd alternation of all hues, he stood.“O child of man, why muse you here aloneUpon the Mountain, on the dreams of oldWhich fill’d the Earth with passing loveliness,Which flung strange music on the howling winds,And odours rapt from remote Paradise?Thy sense is clogg’d with dull mortality,Thy spirit fetter’d with the bond of clay:Open thine eye and see.” I look’d, but notUpon his face, for it was wonderfulWith its exceeding brightness, and the lightOf the great angel mind which look’d from outThe starry glowing of his restless eyes.I felt my soul grow mighty, and my spiritWith supernatural excitation boundWithin me, and my mental eye grew largeWith such a vast circumference of thought,That in my vanity I seem’d to standUpon the outward verge and bound aloneOf full beautitude. Each failing senseAs with a momentary flash of lightGrew thrillingly distinct and keen. I sawThe smallest grain that dappled the dark Earth,The indistinctest atom in deep air,The Moon’s white cities, and the opal widthOf her small glowing lakes, her silver heightsUnvisited with dew of vagrant cloud,And the unsounded, undescended depthOf her black hollows. The clear GalaxyShorn of its hoary lustre, wonderful,Distinct and vivid with sharp points of lightBlaze within blaze, an unimagin’d depthAnd harmony of planet-girded SunsAnd moon-encircled planets, wheel in wheel,Arch’d the wan Sapphire. Nay, the hum of men,Or other things talking in unknown tongues,And notes of busy life in distant worldsBeat like a far wave on my anxious ear.A maze of piercing, trackless, thrilling thoughtsInvolving and embracing each with eachRapid as fire, inextricably link’d,Expanding momently with every sightAnd sound which struck the palpitating sense,The issue of strong impulse, hurried throughThe riv’n rapt brain: as when in some large lakeFrom pressure of descendant crags, which lapseDisjointed, crumbling from their parent slopeAt slender interval, the level calmIs ridg’d with restless and increasing spheresWhich break upon each other, each th’ effectOf separate impulse, but more fleet and strongThan its precursor, till the eye in vainAmid the wild unrest of swimming shadeDappled with hollow and alternate riseOf interpenetrated arc, would scanDefinite round.I know not if I shapeThese things with accurate similitudeFrom visible objects, for but dimly now,Less vivid than a half-forgotten dream,The memory of that mental excellenceComes o’er me, and it may be I entwineThe indecision of my present mindWith its past clearness, yet it seems to meAs even then the torrent of quick thoughtAbsorbed me from the nature of itselfWith its own fleetness. Where is he that borneAdown the sloping of an arrowy stream,Could link his shallop to the fleeting edge,And muse midway with philosophic calmUpon the wondrous laws which regulateThe fierceness of the bounding element?My thoughts which long had grovell’d in the slimeOf this dull world, like dusky worms which houseBeneath unshaken waters, but at onceUpon some earth-awakening day of springDo pass from gloom to glory, and aloftWinnow the purple, bearing on both sidesDouble display of starlit wings which burnFanlike and fibred, with intensest bloom:E’en so my thoughts, ere while so low, now feltUnutterable buoyancy and strengthTo bear them upward through the trackless fieldsOf undefin’d existence far and free.Then first within the South methought I sawA wilderness of spires, and chrystal pileOf rampart upon rampart, dome on dome,Illimitable range of battlementOn battlement, and the Imperial heightOf Canopy o’ercanopied.Behind,In diamond light, upsprung the dazzling ConesOf Pyramids, as far surpassing Earth’sAs Heaven than Earth is fairer. Each aloftUpon his narrow’d Eminence bore globesOf wheeling suns, or stars, or semblancesOf either, showering circular abyssOf radiance. But the glory of the placeStood out a pillar’d front of burnish’d goldInterminably high, if gold it wereOr metal more ethereal, and beneathTwo doors of blinding brilliance, where no gazeMight rest, stood open, and the eye could scanThrough length of porch and lake and boundless hall,Part of a throne of fiery flame, where fromThe snowy skirting of a garment hung,And glimpse of multitudes of multitudesThat minister’d around it—if I sawThese things distinctly, for my human brainStagger’d beneath the vision, and thick nightCame down upon my eyelids, and I fell.With ministering hand he rais’d me up;Then with a mournful and ineffable smile,Which but to look on for a moment fill’dMy eyes with irresistible sweet tears,In accents of majestic melody,Like a swol’n river’s gushings in still nightMingled with floating music, thus he spake:“There is no mightier Spirit than I to swayThe heart of man: and teach him to attainBy shadowing forth the Unattainable;And step by step to scale that mighty stairWhose landing-place is wrapt about with cloudsOf glory of Heaven.[1]With earliest Light of Spring,And in the glow of sallow Summertide,And in red Autumn when the winds are wildWith gambols, and when full-voiced Winter roofsThe headland with inviolate white snow,I play about his heart a thousand ways,Visit his eyes with visions, and his earsWith harmonies of wind and wave and wood—Of winds which tell of waters, and of watersBetraying the close kisses of the wind—And win him unto me: and few there beSo gross of heart who have not felt and knownA higher than they see: They with dim eyesBehold me darkling. Lo! I have given theeTo understand my presence, and to feelMy fullness; I have fill’d thy lips with power.I have rais’d thee nigher to the Spheres of Heaven,Man’s first, last home: and thou with ravish’d senseListenest the lordly music flowing fromTh’illimitable years. I am the Spirit,The permeating life which courseth throughAll th’ intricate and labyrinthine veinsOf the great vine of Fable, which, outspreadWith growth of shadowing leaf and clusters rare,Reacheth to every corner under Heaven,Deep-rooted in the living soil of truth:So that men’s hopes and fears take refuge inThe fragrance of its complicated gloomsAnd cool impleached twilights. Child of Man,See’st thou yon river, whose translucent wave,Forth issuing from darkness, windeth throughThe argent streets o’ the City, imagingThe soft inversion of her tremulous Domes.Her gardens frequent with the stately Palm,Her Pagods hung with music of sweet bells.Her obelisks of ranged Chrysolite,Minarets and towers? Lo! how he passeth by,And gulphs himself in sands, as not enduringTo carry through the world those waves, which boreThe reflex of my City in their depths.Oh City! Oh latest Throne! where I was rais’dTo be a mystery of lovelinessUnto all eyes, the time is well nigh comeWhen I must render up this glorious homeTo keenDiscovery: soon yon brilliant towersShall darken with the waving of her wand;Darken, and shrink and shiver into huts,Black specks amid a waste of dreary sand,Low-built, mud-wall’d, Barbarian settlement,How chang’d from this fair City!”Thus far the Spirit:Then parted Heavenward on the wing: and IWas left alone on Calpe, and the MoonHad fallen from the night, and all was dark!
[1]Be ye perfect even as your Father in Heaven is perfect.