work would have been premature in Tennyson's youth, and, indeed, it
would still be premature. The comparative science of religious
evolution is even now very tentative, and does not yield materials of
sufficient stability for an epic, even if such an epic could be
forced into the mould of the Arthur legends, a feat perhaps
impossible, and certainly undesirable. A truly fantastic allegory
must have been the result, and it is fortunate that the poet
abandoned the idea in favour of more human themes. Moreover, he
recognised very early that his was not a Muse de longue haleine; that
he must be "short." We may therefore feel certain that his early
sorrow and discouragement were salutary to him as a poet, and as a
man. He became more sympathetic, more tender, and was obliged to put
forth that stoical self-control, and strenuous courage and endurance,
through which alone his poetic career was rendered possible. "He had
the susceptibility of a child or a woman," says his friend; "he had
also" (it was a strange combination) "the strength of a giant or of a
god." Without these qualities he must have broken down between 1833
and 1842 into a hypochondriac, or a morose, if majestic, failure.
Poor, obscure, and unhappy, he overcame the world, and passed from
darkness into light. The "poetic temperament" in another not gifted
with his endurance and persistent strength would have achieved ruin.

Most of us remember Taine's parallel between Tennyson and Alfred de
Musset. The French critic has no high approval of Tennyson's
"respectability" and long peaceful life, as compared with the wrecked
life and genius of Musset, l'enfant perdu of love, wine, and song.
This is a theory like another, and is perhaps attractive to the
young. The poet must have strong passions, or how can he sing of
them: he must be tossed and whirled in the stress of things, like
Shelley's autumn leaves; -