The fourth canto contains the grand crash. It is also the canto which closes the humorous or serio-comic part of the story, the transition being made from jest to earnest at the request of Lilia, who, as spokeswoman for the ladies in the poem, objected to the banter in the first four cantos;
“They hated banter, wished for something real,
A gallant fight, a noble Princess—why
Not make her true heroic,—true sublime?
Or all, they said, as earnest as the close?
Which yet,” replies the poet, “scarce could be.”
The crash comes when Cyril, honest-hearted Cyril, after the party, tired from geologizing and astronomizing, are seated in a silken pavilion indulging in meat, wine and song, responds to the request of the Princess for a song that would have in it something of the flavor and manners of his countrywomen in the North. Cyril is a merry fellow and reminds one not a little of Shakespeare’s Mercutio. He is the least sentimental of the three friends, and while the Prince has been dwelling in cloudland, rocked in airy dreams, Cyril has given himself up to the excellent vintage of the southern kingdom, and so, wrought upon by the purple grape and his own sense of sport, he trolls out, in absolute forgetfulness of his disguise, a rollicking love-song in mellow and melodious tenor. Such song was not, of course, meant for the ears of the Princess and her companions, and so Florian nods at him frowning, Psyche flushes and wans, Melissa droops her brows, the Prince smites him on the breast, while the noble Ida, shocked beyond all endurance, cries, “Forbear, sir!” and “Home! to horse!” and dashing off on her steed falls into the river and is rescued from death by the Prince.
In the fifth canto the Northern King has marched with his army into the Southern kingdom, and, anxious for the safety of his son, has surrounded the Princess Ida’s domain. He has taken the King, her father, a prisoner. Meantime, by judgment of the Princess Ida, the Prince and his two companions have been ignominiously thrust out of the University and reach the camp of the investing army in draggled female attire. Ida’s warlike brothers, fearing for their sister’s safety, march their troops northward to protect her. After a parley between the two armies, it is decided that the matter be finally settled by a tournament between fifty knights on each side—the hand of the Princess to be the reward of the Prince if his side win. The fight takes place and terminates unsuccessfully for the Prince, who loses his bride and is wounded nearly to death.
The tournament scene is, indeed, a magnificent passage and has about it a certain Homeric swiftness of movement and action that is in strong contrast to some of Tennyson’s more labored narrative. We feel the shock of combat and shiver of lance as we read the following vehement lines, full of the pulse and power of the lists:
“Empanoplied and plumed