Take almost any one of Tennyson's more serious poems, and
it will be found pervaded by the thought of life as to be fulfilled and
perfected only through moral endurance and struggle. "Ulysses" is no
restless aimless wanderer; he is driven forth from inaction and security
by that necessity which impels the higher life, once begun within, to
press on toward its perfecting this all-possible sorrow, peril, and fear.
"The Lotos-eaters" are no mere legendary myth: they shadow forth what the
lower instincts of our humanity are ever urging us all to seek--ease and
release from the ceaseless struggle against wrong, the ceaseless
straining on toward right. "In Memoriam" is the record of love "making
perfect through suffering:" struggling on through the valley of the
shadow of death toward the far-off, faith-seen light "behind the veil."
"The Vision of Sin" portrays to us humanity choosing enjoyment as its
only aim; and of necessity sinking into degradation so profound, that
even the large heart and clear eye of the poet can but breathe out in sad
bewilderment, "Is there any hope?"--can but dimly see, far off over the
darkness, "God make Himself an awful rose of dawn.
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