Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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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

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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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The AuQ;usta Seminary Anmial. 9 stately trees; their path, now leading up a winding slope, bor- dered by the sweet wild flowers which the sun stealing between the branches has stopped to kiss; now winding by the margin of the dreary mere, while Lynette ' s words of sarcasm and wit ring out in the clear air, followed by snatches of merry song teeming with derision of the kitchen-knave. It would seem as if the poet had delineated Enid upon the opposite page to serve as a contrast to Lynette, showing us the sweetness and power of a true woman, whose influence exerted at the fireside will be felt for good in the outside world. Geraint, the poet says, Loved her as he loved the light of heaven, And as the light of heaven varies. Now at sun rise, now at sun set, now b)- night With moon and trembling stars, so loved Geraint To make her beauty vary day Oy day, In crimsons and in purples and in gems, Her sweet submission to her husband ' s will, her utter con- fidence in his juds ment, her tender devotion to him when woimded, mark her as the noblest type of wifehood. Her joy at her lord ' s recovery and their flight from the castle of Doorm, is very touching. She did not -weep. But o ' er her meek eyes came a happy mist LiUe that which kept the heart of Eden green. Before the useful trouble of the rain. We shudder as we come to Vivien, for though she possesses a perfect beauty, still that same beauty creates a feeling of repul- sion, such as we experience when a glittering serpent approaches, we are fascinated in spite of ourselves, yet repelled. And her in- tellect was as keen as her beauty was dazzling, for by her astute- ness and suavity even Merlin, the mighty soothsayer of that day, was enslaved and finally ruined. To aid his fall the evil spirits were convoked in that violent storm, which rent the heav- ens and felled the mighty forest oaks. But though we may delight in the gaiety of Lynette and admire the loyalty and meekness of Enid, though Vivien may fascinate us, yet we feel the deepest love and sympathy for the sweet little Elaine, called the lily maid of Astolat from her resemblance to those sweet summer flowers, so fragrant in