Address on Literature and Arts. 125 



He has been pre-eminently the poet of his own country, 

 and of his own time. A reader who came upon Browning, 

 Morris, or even Swinburne for the first time in the garb of a 

 foreign tongue, might be long at a loss to refer them to 

 their country or even their period, but Tennyson breathes 

 England all through. He accepts as fit themes for poetry 

 the speculations of latter-day philosophies, the onward march 

 of science, the turmoil of political questions, the pressure of 

 social problems ; at the touch of his magic wand they reveal 

 their mystery and their beauty, their solemn import and 

 their deep pathos, the entangling of human hearts and lives 

 with them ; the faith that grapples with them, a bold and 

 tireless wrestler ; the hope that broods over them, an angel 

 meditating a ppean song ; the charity that suffereth long and 

 beareth all things. We feel that he has given us his best 

 through the golden years of the past, and we know that he 

 will give us his best to the end. Now that the snows of four- 

 score years crown him, it will not be strange if we miss some 

 of the old fire, the old glow of fancy, and strong free sweep 

 of execution ; yet, because he is Tennyson, we look forward 

 with glad expectation to the new poem, which they tell us 

 will come from that old man eloquent to us with Christmas 

 over the seas. 



Browning, too, " keeps the great pace neck by neck," with 

 him that is but three years his senior, for he also has another 

 Argosy well-nigh ready for the launching. It is characteristic 

 of Browning, that we cannot tell whether a great treat or a 

 great disappointment awaits us. His power we do not 

 dovibt ; it is not nine years since his "Dramatic Idyls" 

 recalled the finest work of " Men and Women," and 

 " Dramatic L3'rics." And if since then we have groaned in 

 spirit over " Jocoseria," " Ferishtah's Fancies," and " Parley- 

 ings with People of Importance," it has been not because of 

 2inj signs of weakness, but rather of wilful strength in their 

 author. Here is a poet whose genius is a rich gold mine. 

 Many a great ingot of the pure metal has he brought forth, 

 and yet — is it indolence, is it impatience, or is it scorn of his 

 readers that leads him continually to cast at their feet, or 

 rather hurl at their heads, rough masses of the native quartz, 

 starred and veined with brightness it is true, but hard and 

 refractory even to despair, bidding them do their own 

 crushing and separating if they care for gold ? 



The Romans of old gave the name of "the mules of 

 Marius " to those loyal legionaries who patiently submitted 



