A goodly place, a goodly time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Above thro' [7] many a bowery turn A walk with vary-colour'd sh.e.l.ls Wander'd engrain'd. On either side All round about the fragrant marge From fluted vase, and brazen urn In order, eastern flowers large, Some dropping low their crimson bells Half-closed, and others studded wide With disks and tiars, fed the time With odour in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Far off, and where the lemon-grove In closest coverture upsprung, The living airs of middle night Died round the bulbul [8] as he sung; Not he: but something which possess'd The darkness of the world, delight, Life, anguish, death, immortal love, Ceasing not, mingled, unrepress'd.

Apart from place, withholding [9] time, But flattering the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Black the [10] garden-bowers and grots Slumber'd: the solemn palms were ranged Above, unwoo'd of summer wind: A sudden splendour from behind Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, And, flowing rapidly between Their inters.p.a.ces, counterchanged The level lake with diamond-plots Of dark and bright. [11] A lovely time, For it was in the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Dark-blue the deep sphere overhead, Distinct with vivid stars inlaid, [12]

Grew darker from that under-flame: So, leaping lightly from the boat, With silver anchor left afloat, In marvel whence that glory came Upon me, as in sleep I sank In cool soft turf upon the bank, Entranced with that place and time, So worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Thence thro' the garden I was drawn--[13]

A realm of pleasance, many a mound, And many a shadow-chequer'd lawn Full of the city's stilly sound, [14]

And deep myrrh-thickets blowing round The stately cedar, tamarisks, Thick rosaries [15] of scented thorn, Tall orient shrubs, and obelisks Graven with emblems of the time, In honour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

With dazed vision unawares From the long alley's latticed shade Emerged, I came upon the great Pavilion of the Caliphat.

Right to the carven cedarn doors, Flung inward over spangled floors, Broad-based flights of marble stairs Ran up with golden bal.u.s.trade, After the fashion of the time, And humour of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

The fourscore windows all alight As with the quintessence of flame, A million tapers flaring bright From twisted silvers look'd [16] to shame The hollow-vaulted dark, and stream'd Upon the mooned domes aloof In inmost Bagdat, till there seem'd Hundreds of crescents on the roof Of night new-risen, that marvellous time, To celebrate the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Then stole I up, and trancedly Gazed on the Persian girl alone, Serene with argent-lidded eyes Amorous, and lashes like to rays Of darkness, and a brow of pearl Tressed with redolent ebony, In many a dark delicious curl, Flowing beneath [17] her rose-hued zone; The sweetest lady of the time, Well worthy of the golden prime Of good Haroun Alraschid.

Six columns, three on either side, Pure silver, underpropt [18] a rich Throne of the [19] ma.s.sive ore, from which Down-droop'd, in many a floating fold, Engarlanded and diaper'd With inwrought flowers, a cloth of gold.

Thereon, his deep eye laughter-stirr'd With merriment of kingly pride, Sole star of all that place and time, I saw him--in his golden prime, THE GOOD HAROUN ALRASCHID!

[Footnote 1: "Golden prime" from Shakespeare.

"That cropp'd the _golden prime_ of this sweet prince."

--_Rich. III._, i., sc. ii., 248.]

[Footnote 2: 1830. Through.] [Footnote 3: 1830. Through.]

[Footnote 4: 1830 and 1842. Sophas.] [Footnote 5: 1830. Breaded blosms.]

[Footnote 6: 1830. Through crystal.] [Footnote 7: 1830. Through.]

[Footnote 8: "Bulbul" is the Persian for nightingale. _Cf. Princes_, iv., 104:--

"O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan Shall brush her veil".]

[Footnote 9: 1830. Witholding. So 1842, 1843, 1845.]

[Footnote 10: 1830. Blackgreen.] [Footnote 11: 1830. Of saffron light.]

[Footnote 12: 1830. Unrayed.] [Footnote 13: 1830. Through ... borne.]

[Footnote 14: Shakespeare has the same expression:

"The hum of either army _stilly sounds_".

--_Henry V_., act iv., prol.]

[Footnote 15: 1842. Roseries.] [Footnote 16: 1830. Wreathed.]

[Footnote 17: 1830. Below.]

[Footnote 18: 1830. Underpropped. 1842. Underpropp'd.]

[Footnote 19: 1830. O' the.]

ODE TO MEMORY

First printed in 1830.

After the t.i.tle in 1830 ed. is "Written very early in life". The influence most perceptible in this poem is plainly Coleridge, on whose 'Songs of the Pixies' it seems to have been modelled. Tennyson considered it, and no wonder, as one of the very best of "his early and peculiarly concentrated Nature-poems". See 'Life', i., 27. It is full of vivid and accurate pictures of his Lincolnshire home and haunts. See 'Life', i., 25-48, 'pa.s.sim'.

1

Thou who stealest fire, From the fountains of the past, To glorify the present; oh, haste, Visit my low desire!

Strengthen me, enlighten me!

I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory.

2

Come not as thou camest [1] of late, Flinging the gloom of yesternight On the white day; but robed in soften'd light Of orient state.

Whilome thou camest with the morning mist, Even as a maid, whose stately brow The dew-impearled winds of dawn have kiss'd, [2]

When she, as thou, Stays on her floating locks the lovely freight Of overflowing blooms, and earliest shoots Of orient green, giving safe pledge of fruits, Which in wintertide shall star The black earth with brilliance rare.

3

Whilome thou camest with the morning mist.

And with the evening cloud, Showering thy gleaned wealth into my open breast, (Those peerless flowers which in the rudest wind Never grow sere, When rooted in the garden of the mind, Because they are the earliest of the year).

Nor was the night thy shroud.

In sweet dreams softer than unbroken rest Thou leddest by the hand thine infant Hope.

The eddying of her garments caught from thee The light of thy great presence; and the cope Of the half-attain'd futurity, Though deep not fathomless, Was cloven with the million stars which tremble O'er the deep mind of dauntless infancy.

Small thought was there of life's distress; For sure she deem'd no mist of earth could dull Those spirit-thrilling eyes so keen and beautiful: Sure she was nigher to heaven's spheres, Listening the lordly music flowing from The illimitable years.[3]

O strengthen me, enlighten me!

I faint in this obscurity, Thou dewy dawn of memory.