Mariana in the South

First printed in 1833.

This poem had been written as early as 1831 (see Arthur Hallam's letter, 'Life', i., 284-5, Appendix), and Lord Tennyson tells us that it "came to my father as he was travelling between Narbonne and Perpignan"; how vividly the characteristic features of Southern France are depicted must be obvious to every one who is familiar with them. It is interesting to compare it with the companion poem; the central position is the same in both, desolate loneliness, and the mood is the same, but the setting is far more picturesque and is therefore more dwelt upon. The poem was very greatly altered when re-published in 1842, that text being practically the final one, there being no important variants afterwards.

In the edition of 1833 the poem opened with the following stanza, which was afterwards excised and the stanza of the present text substituted.

Behind the barren hill upsprung With pointed rocks against the light, The crag sharpshadowed overhung Each glaring creek and inlet bright. Far, far, one light blue ridge was seen, Looming like baseless fairyland; Eastward a slip of burning sand, Dark-rimmed with sea, and bare of green, Down in the dry salt-marshes stood That house dark latticed. Not a breath Swayed the sick vineyard underneath, Or moved the dusty southernwood. "Madonna," with melodious moan Sang Mariana, night and morn, "Madonna! lo! I am all alone, Love-forgotten and love-forlorn."

With one black shadow at its feet, The house thro' all the level shines, Close-latticed to the brooding heat, And silent in its dusty vines: A faint-blue ridge upon the right, An empty river-bed before, And shallows on a distant shore, In glaring sand and inlets bright. But "Ave Mary," made she moan, And "Ave Mary," night and morn, And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn".

She, as her carol sadder grew, From brow and bosom slowly down [1] Thro' rosy taper fingers drew Her streaming curls of deepest brown To left and right, [2] and made appear, Still-lighted in a secret shrine, Her melancholy eyes divine, [3] The home of woe without a tear. And "Ave Mary," was her moan, [4] "Madonna, sad is night and morn"; And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn".

Till all the crimson changed, [5] and past Into deep orange o'er the sea, Low on her knees herself she cast, Before Our Lady murmur'd she; Complaining, "Mother, give me grace To help me of my weary load". And on the liquid mirror glow'd The clear perfection of her face. "Is this the form," she made her moan, "That won his praises night and morn?" And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone, I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn". [6]

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat, Nor any cloud would cross the