It may be reasonably doubted whether
this hermit-life has not injured his poetical powers; whether, great as he
really is, a little inhalation of the air of busy every-day life would not
have infused more of nature and freshness into his verse. Among his few
_Odes_ are that on the death of the Duke of Wellington, the dedication of
his poems to the Queen, and his welcome to Alexandra, Princess of Wales,
all of which are of great excellence. His _Charge of the Light Brigade_,
at Balaclava, while it gave undue currency to that stupid military
blunder, must rank as one of the finest battle-lyrics in the language.
The poetry of Tennyson is eminently representative of the Victorian age.
He has written little; but that little marks a distinct era in
versification--great harmony untrammelled by artificial _correctness_; and
in language, a search for novelty to supply the wants and correct the
faults of the poetic vocabulary. He is national in the _Idyls_;
philosophic in _The Two Voices_, and similar poems. The _Princess_ is a
gentle satire on the age; and though, in striving for the reputation of
originality, he sometimes mistakes the original for the beautiful, he is
really the laurelled poet of England in merit as well as in title.
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