Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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The Augusta Seminary Annual. 7 Lo ! I forgive thee as enternal God Forgives: do thou for thine own soul rest. I cannot touch thy lips, they are not mine, But Lancelot ' s nay, they never were the King ' s. Let no man dream but that I Love thee still. Perchance, and so thou purify thou soul, We two may meet before high God. ' ' And Guinevere her love for the King at last awakened, cries out in her grief, Now I see thee what thou art, Thou art the highest and most noble too. Is there none will tell the King I love him though so late? The Passing of Arthur is more distinctly Homeric than any of the Idyls. Arthur wounded and dying, cries aloud, My God, thou hast forgotten me in my death. Nay, God my Christ, I pass, but shall not die. I am going a long way, To the Island valley of Avilion; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies Deep meadow ' d, happy, fair with orchard lawns And bowery hollows crown ' d with summer sea, Where I will heal me of my grievous wound. And then Sir Bevidere places him in the black boat where the three dark queens were sitting, And watches him Till the hull look ' d one black dot against the verge of dawn. Straining his eyes beneath an arch of hand, he sees the boat that bears the king Somewhere far off, pass on and on and go From less to less and vanish into light. Sally Lane.

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6 ' Ihe Augusta Setiiinary Annual. mist, and often blazes with light like that which flashed from the holy wizard ' sbook, when the covers were unclasped. It rose slowly to a music slowly breathed, A cloud that gathered shape. The Coming of Arthur is but an introduction to the Idyls. Tennyson seems only half in earnest, for he has not yet thrown the whole power of his wonderful genius into the work. How- ever, he gives us a picture of Arthur ' s court when the Round Table was in its highest glory. The splendor of the presence of the King Throned and delivering doom, Fills the ' • long- vaulted hall. There his knights are sworn to their vows Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness And, loving, utter faithfulness in love, And uttermost obedience to the King. Arthur, the blameless King, gathers around him. A glorious company of men To serve as model for the mighty world. In the morbid jealousy of Geraint we see the first shadow of the world-taint which overthrew the glory of the Round Table. Elaine though less epical than Guinevere must be classed as one of the ' mountain summits of English poetry For pathetic sweetness and absolute beauty of narrative and rhythm, Elaine still remains dearest to the heart of maiden, youth or sage. The portrait of lyancelot is a higher, more difficult achieve- ment than that of Arthur. Tennyson here gives expression to the thought that no man can be truly happy in sin. Eancelot is not merely a man of the world, but a hero who, though he has swerved from the path of virtue, is at heart, as truly heroic, as deeply in sympathy with righteousness and honor as Arthur himelf. And now the glory of the Round Table grows less and less. At the Last Tournament it is almost gone and in Guinevere the heaven is clothed with sackcloth. There is nothing finer in modern verse than the interview between Arthur and his remorseful wife.

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Tlie Augusta Seminary Annual. Tennyson ' s Women. ' Tennyson as a landscape word-painter is intensely true. A painter might perfectly rely upon his statement of facts, and lay fearlessly on the canvas the little clouds ' sun-fringed, ' which float in his skies. He has also excelled as no other modern bard has done in representing the feeling and manners of men and gods living in that far-off period, shadowed by the mists of antiquity, but, however keen may be his appreciation of the character of him who was made both sovereign and protector of women, still he charms us most when he tunes his lyre to the praise of woman and sings of love, that mystic and indescribable power, which has worked the weal or woe of man as far back as we can see through the vista of } ' ears. The lyaureate has described in so interesting and pleasing a manner, the characters of his heroines given in the Idyls of the King, that were we to confine ourselves to them alone, we should find many tender and lovely portraits as we turn its pages, each a keepsake, gilt-edged, embossed with flowers and decorations, richly got up, soft, full of delicate faces, always elegant and al- ways correct, which one might take to be sketched at random and which are yet carefully drawn, on white vellum, delicately touched by their out line, all selected to rest and occupy the soft, white hands of a young bride. The first to claim our notice is Lynette, the gay and saucy damsel of high lineage and a brow Ma} blossom and a cheek of apple blossom, Hawk-ej es; and lightly was her slender nose Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower. Lynette ' s face is as variable in expression as the sky on an April day, while her nature is more vivacious than any of the ladies 4escribed in the Idyls. She is coquettish, piquant, high spirited and yet withal generous and ready to acknowledge her faults. We cannot suppress the smile of amusement which plays about our lips as we read of her wild ride with Gareth through the gloomy forests overshadowed by the foliage of the