"For many weeks about his loins he wore
The rope that haled the buckets from the well.
Twisted as tight as I could knot the noose;"
yet the climax of it all is, "Have mercy, mercy: take away my sin."
The Catholic aspects in St. Agnes' Eve and Sir Galahad, are no less marked than those of St. Simeon Stylites. As a devout breathing of a dying nun, the first of these poems is touching and exquisite. The snows lie deep on the convent-roof, and the shadows of its towers "slant down the snowy sward," while she prays and says:
"As these white robes are soiled and dark.
To yonder shining ground;
As this pale taper's earthly spark,
To yonder argent round;
So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;
So in mine earthly house I am,
To that I hope to be."
All heaven bursts its "starry floors," the gates roll back, the heavenly Bridegroom waits to welcome and purify the sister's departing soul. The vision dilates. It is mysteriously vague—mysteriously distinct:
"The sabbaths of eternity.
One sabbath deep and wide—
A light upon the shining sea—
The Bridegroom with his bride!"
There is in such verse an indescribably Catholic tone. It is like the heavenly music of faith, which pervades the Paradise of Dante, and which (in spite of the lax lives of the authors) runs through the "Sacred Songs" of Moore, and the Epistle of Eloisa, and The Dying Christian's Address to his Soul, by Pope. But if Tennyson has proved equal to portraying a Catholic saint, he has also depicted most graphically a Catholic knight of romance. Sir Galahad, one of the ornaments of King Arthur's court, (Idylls of the King., p. 213,) whose
"strength is as the strength of ten,
Because his heart is pure,"
goes in quest of the Sangreal—the sacred wine. He hears the noise of hymns amid the dark stems of the forest, sees in vision the snowy altar-cloth with swinging censers and "silver vessels sparkling clean." He sails, in magic barks, on "lonely mountain meres," and catches glimpses of angels with folded feet "in stoles of white," bearing the holy grail.
"Ah! blessed vision! blood of God! My spirit beats her mortal bars.
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-light mingles with the stars. ...
So pass I hostel, hall, and grange.
By bridge and ford, by park and pale.
All armed I ride, whate'er betide.
Until I find the holy grail."
Poems, p. 336.