In Memoriam A.H.H.: “Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?”

By Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred Tennyson was born on August 6th, 1809, in Somersby, Lincolnshire, the fourth of twelve children. Most of Tennyson's early education was under the direction of his father, although he did spend four unhappy years at a nearby grammar school. He left home in 1827 to join his elder brothers at Trinity College, Cambridge, more to escape his father than a desire for serious academic work. At Trinity he was living for the first time among young men of his own age who knew little of his problems. He was delighted to make new friends; he was handsome, intelligent, humorous, a gifted impersonator and soon at the center of those interested in poetry and conversation. That same year, he and his brother Charles published Poems by Two Brothers. Although the poems in the book were of teenage quality, they attracted the attention of the “Apostles," a select undergraduate literary club led by Arthur Hallam. The “Apostles” provided Tennyson with friendship and confidence. Hallam and Tennyson became the best of friends; they toured Europe together in 1830 and again in 1832. Hallam’s sudden death in 1833 greatly affected the young poet. The long elegy In Memoriam and many of Tennyson’s other poems are tributes to Hallam. In 1830, Tennyson published Poems, Chiefly Lyrical and in 1832 he published a second volume entitled simply Poems. Some reviewers condemned these books as “affected” and “obscure.” Tennyson, stung by the reviews, would not publish another book for nine years. In 1836, he became engaged to Emily Sellwood. When he lost his inheritance on a failed investment in 1840, the engagement was cancelled. In 1842, however, Tennyson’s Poems [in two volumes] was a tremendous critical and popular success. In 1850, with the publication of In Memoriam, Tennyson’s reputation was pre-eminent. He was also selected as Poet Laureate in succession to Wordsworth and, to complete a wonderful year, he married Emily Sellwood. At the age of 41, Tennyson had established himself as the most popular poet of the Victorian era. The money from his poetry [at times exceeding 10,000 pounds per year] allowed him to purchase a home in the country and to write in relative seclusion. His appearance—a large and bearded man, he regularly wore a cloak and a broad brimmed hat—enhanced his notoriety. In 1859, Tennyson published the first poems of Idylls of the Kings, which sold more than 10,000 copies in a fortnight. In 1884, he accepted a peerage, becoming Alfred Lord Tennyson. On October 6th, 1892, an hour or so after midnight, surrounded by his family, he died at Aldworth. It is said that the moonlight was streaming through the window and Tennyson himself was holding open a volume of Shakespeare. He was buried in Westminster Abbey.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Copyright Group
• Release date: Mar 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781785438592

Alfred Lord Tennyson

Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) was a British poet. Born into a middle-class family in Somersby, England, Tennyson began writing poems with his brothers as a teenager. In 1827, he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, joining a secret society known as the Cambridge Apostles and publishing his first book of poems, a collection of juvenile verse written by Tennyson and his brother Charles. He was awarded the Chancellor’s Gold Medal in 1829 for his poem “Timbuktu” and, in 1830, published Poems Chiefly Lyrical, his debut individual collection. Following the death of his father in 1831, Tennyson withdrew from Cambridge to care for his family. His second volume of poems, The Lady of Shalott (1833), was a critical and commercial failure that put his career on hold for the next decade. That same year, Tennyson’s friend Arthur Hallam died from a stroke while on holiday in Vienna, an event that shook the young poet and formed the inspiration for his masterpiece, In Memoriam A.H.H. (1850). The poem, a long sequence of elegiac lyrics exploring themes of loss and mourning, helped secure Tennyson the position of Poet Laureate, to which he was appointed in 1850 following the death of William Wordsworth. Tennyson would hold the position until the end of his life, making his the longest tenure in British history. With most of his best work behind him, Tennyson continued to write and publish poems, many of which adhered to the requirements of his position by focusing on political and historical themes relevant to the British royal family and peerage. An important bridge between Romanticism and the Pre-Raphaelites, Tennyson remains one of Britain’s most popular and influential poets.

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In Memoriam A.H.H. by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Originally titled - The Way of the Soul

Alfred Tennyson was born on August 6th, 1809, in Somersby, Lincolnshire, the fourth of twelve children.

Most of Tennyson's early education was under the direction of his father, although he did spend four unhappy years at a nearby grammar school. He left home in 1827 to join his elder brothers at Trinity College, Cambridge, more to escape his father than a desire for serious academic work. At Trinity he was living for the first time among young men of his own age who knew little of his problems. He was delighted to make new friends; he was handsome, intelligent, humorous, a gifted impersonator and soon at the center of those interested in poetry and conversation.

That same year, he and his brother Charles published Poems by Two Brothers. Although the poems in the book were of teenage quality, they attracted the attention of the Apostles, a select undergraduate literary club led by Arthur Hallam. The Apostles provided Tennyson with friendship and confidence. Hallam and Tennyson became the best of friends; they toured Europe together in 1830 and again in 1832. Hallam’s sudden death in 1833 greatly affected the young poet. The long elegy In Memoriam and many of Tennyson’s other poems are tributes to Hallam.

In 1830, Tennyson published Poems, Chiefly Lyrical and in 1832 he published a second volume entitled simply Poems. Some reviewers condemned these books as affected and obscure. Tennyson, stung by the reviews, would not publish another book for nine years.

In 1836, he became engaged to Emily Sellwood. When he lost his inheritance on a failed investment in 1840, the engagement was cancelled.

In 1842, however, Tennyson’s Poems (in two volumes) was a tremendous critical and popular success. In 1850, with the publication of In Memoriam, Tennyson’s reputation was pre-eminent. He was also selected as Poet Laureate in succession to Wordsworth and, to complete a wonderful year, he married Emily Sellwood.

At the age of 41, Tennyson had established himself as the most popular poet of the Victorian era. The money from his poetry (at times exceeding 10,000 pounds per year) allowed him to purchase a home in the country and to write in relative seclusion. His appearance—a large and bearded man, he regularly wore a cloak and a broad brimmed hat—enhanced his notoriety. 

In 1859, Tennyson published the first poems of Idylls of the Kings, which sold more than 10,000 copies in a fortnight. In 1884, he accepted a peerage, becoming Alfred Lord Tennyson.

On October 6th, 1892, an hour or so after midnight, surrounded by his family, he died at Aldworth.  It is said that the moonlight was streaming through the window and Tennyson himself was holding open a volume of Shakespeare.

He was buried in Westminster Abbey.

Index of Contents

Prologue

Verses I – CXXXI

Epilogue

Alfred Lordy Tennyson – A Short Biography

Alfred Lord Tennyson – A Concise Bibliography

IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.

PROLOGUE

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,

Whom we, that have not seen thy face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace,

Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;

Thou madest Life in man and brute;

Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot

Is on the skull which thou hast made.

Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:

Thou madest man, he knows not why,

He thinks he was not made to die;

And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,

The highest, holiest manhood, thou.

Our wills are ours, we know not how;

Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be:

They are but broken lights of thee,

And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;

For knowledge is of things we see

And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,

But more of reverence in us dwell;

That mind and soul, according well,

May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;

We mock thee when we do not fear:

But help thy foolish ones to bear;

Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me;

What seem'd my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man,

And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.

I trust he lives in thee, and there

I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,

Confusions of a wasted youth;

Forgive them where they fail in truth,

And in thy wisdom make me wise.

1849.

I

I held it truth, with him who sings

To one clear harp in divers tones,

That men may rise on stepping-stones

Of their dead selves to higher things.

But who shall so forecast the years

And find in loss a gain to match?

Or reach a hand thro' time to catch

The far-off interest of tears?

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,

Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground,

Than that the victor Hours should scorn

The long result of love, and boast,

`Behold the man that loved and lost,

But all he was is overworn.'

II

Old Yew, which graspest at the stones

That name the under-lying dead,

Thy fibres net the dreamless head,

Thy roots are wrapt about the bones.

The seasons bring the flower again,

And bring the firstling to the flock;

And in the dusk of thee, the clock

Beats out the little lives of men.

O, not for thee the glow, the bloom,

Who changest not in any gale,

Nor branding summer suns avail

To touch thy thousand years of gloom:

And gazing on thee, sullen tree,

Sick for thy stubborn hardihood,

I seem to fail from out my blood

And grow incorporate into thee.

III

O Sorrow, cruel fellowship,

O Priestess in the vaults of Death,

O sweet and bitter in a breath,

What whispers from thy lying lip?

'The stars,' she whispers, `blindly run;

A web is wov'n across the sky;

From out waste places comes a cry,

And murmurs from the dying sun:

'And all the phantom, Nature, stands—

With all the music in her tone,

A hollow echo of my own,—

A hollow form with empty hands.'

And shall I take