of 1830 Tennyson had written -


"'Yet,' said I, in my morn of youth,
The unsunn'd freshness of my strength,
When I went forth in quest of truth,
'It is man's privilege to doubt.' . . .
Ay me! I fear
All may not doubt, but everywhere
Some must clasp Idols. Yet, my God,
Whom call I Idol? Let Thy dove
Shadow me over, and my sins
Be unremember'd, and Thy love
Enlighten me. Oh teach me yet
Somewhat before the heavy clod
Weighs on me, and the busy fret
Of that sharp-headed worm begins
In the gross blackness underneath.

Oh weary life! oh weary death!
Oh spirit and heart made desolate!
Oh damned vacillating state!"


Now the philosophy of In Memoriam may be, indeed is, regarded by
robust, first-rate, and far from sensitive minds, as a "damned
vacillating state." The poet is not so imbued with the spirit of
popular science as to be sure that he knows everything: knows that
there is nothing but atoms and ether, with no room for God or a soul.
He is far from that happy cock-certainty, and consequently is exposed