Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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10 The A igusta Seminary Annual. perfume and so spotless in purity. A child in years and appear- ance, a woman in sad experience, who so tenderly guarded the shield of lyancelot in the old stone tower, and who faded away like the delicate April blossoms under the noonday sun, when she found herself unloved. We often wonder how I ancelot could have withstood the charm of her innocent purity and beauty, but we must remember that his heart was filled with a guilty pas- sion for the queen. I will paint her, as I see her. Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. And her face is lily-clear, Lily-shaped and dropped in dut} ' , To the law of its own beauty. Oval cheeks encolored faintly. Which a trail of golden hair. Keeps from fading off to air. And a forehead fair and saintly Which two blue eyes under shine, Like meek prayers before a shrine. Just as the longer we look at one of Raphael ' s Madonnas the more it grows upon us and delights us by some added charm, so in reading the story of Elaine, every step increases our ad- admiration and love until she attains, in our minds, the ideal of a woman nobly planned, the perfect work of God. But we are lost in delight when we gaze upon the peerless loveliness of Guinevere, around whom, all the others circle, as the lesser lights around the radiant moon. A woman not un- usual except for her queenly beauty, only a woman capable of a great pas.sion, who says: One who loves me must have a touch of earth; The low sun makes the color, and who mirrors the soul of the ordinary woman in her jealousy of her rival — the little maid, Elaine. True to human nature, which does not ap preciate the bright flowers of summer, until their petals are blasted by the icy hand of winter, and which only, hears the melody of the bird ' s song when he has winged his flight to southern lands, Guinevere did not prize until too late, the wealth of love lavi-shed upon her by the noble King Arthur. Perhaps

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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

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The Aiii iista Seminary Annual. 11 that passionate outburst of sorrow, love and despair at his part- ing from her in the holy house at Almesbury touched some sleeijing chord within her heart, and awakened her love. What higher tribute could be paid to her beauty than is expressed in these lines. But how to take last leave of all I loved ? O golden hair, with which I used to play, Not knowing! O imperial moulded form, And beauty such as never woman wore Until it came a Kingdom ' s curse with thee. Let us wander from this epic and speak of the women de- scribed in his other peoms ; of the child-Uke witchery of fair Lilian, who clasps her tiny hands above her, So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple From beneath her gather ' d wimple Glancing with black-beaded eyes, Till the lightning laughters dimple The baby-roses in her cheeks Then away she flies. Or we might fix our attention on that vale of Ida lovelier than all the valleys of Ionian hills. whither came at noon the once beautiful CEnone, mourning the faithlessness of that perfidious, yet handsome shepherd, Prince Paris, and breathing out her sad history to Mother Ida in word of deepest despair. In many of his poems the Laureate has spoken of the rapture of love, but its peace and pure contentment are best given in the Miller ' s Daughter, Goethe ' s, Schiller ' s, Burns ' lovers speak of moments of delight, this lover speaks of the peace that has been the atmosphere of his life for many years. Look thro ' mine eyes with thine true wife, Round my true heart tkine arms entvdne ; My other dearer life in life, Look thro ' my very soul with thine. The timid, gende Amy is one of the daintiest of Tennyson ' s creations. She excites such a sensation of pleasure as we feel ' ' in seeing a delicately tinted, quaindy shaped china cup, or in finding a curiously veined, richly flushed shell on the sea shore ' As the heart-broken old wanderer paces up and down the sandy tracts lying before the stately pile of Locksley Hall, his mind strays back to the love of his boy-hood, Amy loved me, Amy failed me, Amy was a timid child.