Sweet as the noise, in parched plains,
Of bubbling wells that fret the stones,
(_If any sense in me remains_)
Thy words will be--thy cheerful tones
As welcome to--my _crumbling bones_!'--p. 4.
'_If any sense in me remains!_'--This doubt is inconsistent with the
opening stanza of the piece, and, in fact, too modest; we take upon
ourselves to re-assure Mr. Tennyson, that, even after he shall be dead
and buried, as much '_sense_' will still remain as he has now the good
fortune to possess.
We have quoted these first two poems in _extenso_, to obviate any
suspicion of our having made a partial or delusive selection. We cannot
afford space--we wish we could--for an equally minute examination of the
rest of the volume, but we shall make a few extracts to show--what we
solemnly affirm--that every page teems with beauties hardly less
surprising.
_The Lady of Shalott_ is a poem in four parts, the story of which we
decline to maim by such an analysis as we could give, but it opens
thus--
'On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and _meet the sky_--
And _through_ the field the road runs _by_.
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