The Miller's Daughter by Lord Alfred Tennyson (2024)

First published in 1833. It was greatly altered when republished in1842, and in some respects, so Fitzgerald thought, not for the better.No alterations of much importance were made in it after 1842.

Thecharacters as well as the scenery were, it seems, purely imaginary.Tennyson said that if he thought of any mill it was that of Trumpington,near Cambridge, which bears a general resemblance to the picture heregiven.

In the first edition the poem opened with the following stanza, whichthe 'Quarterly' ridiculed, and which was afterwards excised. Itsomission is surely not to be regretted, whatever Fitzgerald may havethought.

I met in all the close green ways,While walking with my line and rod,The wealthy miller's mealy face,Like the moon in an ivy-tod.He looked so jolly and so good--While fishing in the milldam-water,I laughed to see him as he stood,And dreamt not of the miller's daughter.

* * * * * *

I see the wealthy miller yet,His double chin, his portly size,And who that knew him could forgetThe busy wrinkles round his eyes?The slow wise smile that, round aboutHis dusty forehead drily curl'd,Seem'd half-within and half-without,And full of dealings with the world?

In yonder chair I see him sit,Three fingers round the old silver cup--I see his gray eyes twinkle yetAt his own jest--gray eyes lit upWith summer lightnings of a soulSo full of summer warmth, so glad,So healthy, sound, and clear and whole,His memory scarce can make me [1] sad.

Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss:My own sweet [2] Alice, we must die.There's somewhat in this world amissShall be unriddled by and by.There's somewhat flows to us in life,But more is taken quite away.Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, [3]That we may die the self-same day.

Have I not found a happy earth?I least should breathe a thought of pain.Would God renew me from my birthI'd almost live my life again.So sweet it seems with thee to walk,And once again to woo thee mine--It seems in after-dinner talkAcross the walnuts and the wine--[4]

To be the long and listless boyLate-left an orphan of the squire,Where this old mansion mounted highLooks down upon the village spire: [5]For even here, [6] where I and youHave lived and loved alone so long,Each morn my sleep was broken thro'By some wild skylark's matin song.

And oft I heard the tender doveIn firry woodlands making moan; [7]But ere I saw your eyes, my love,I had no motion of my own.For scarce my life with fancy play'dBefore I dream'd that pleasant dream--Still hither thither idly sway'dLike those long mosses [8] in the stream.

Or from the bridge I lean'd to hearThe milldam rushing down with noise,And see the minnows everywhereIn crystal eddies glance and poise,The tall flag-flowers when [9] they sprungBelow the range of stepping-stones,Or those three chestnuts near, that hungIn masses thick with milky cones. [10]

But, Alice, what an hour was that,When after roving in the woods('Twas April then), I came and satBelow the chestnuts, when their budsWere glistening to the breezy blue;And on the slope, an absent fool,I cast me down, nor thought of you,But angled in the higher pool. [11]

A love-song I had somewhere read,An echo from a measured strain,Beat time to nothing in my headFrom some odd corner of the brain.It haunted me, the morning long,With weary sameness in the rhymes,The phantom of a silent song,That went and came a thousand times.

Then leapt a trout. In lazy moodI watch'd the little circles die;They past into the level flood,And there a vision caught my eye;The reflex of a beauteous form,A glowing arm, a gleaming neck,As when a sunbeam wavers warmWithin the dark and dimpled beck. [12]

For you remember, you had set,That morning, on the casem*nt's edge [13]A long green box of mignonette,And you were leaning from the ledge:And when I raised my eyes, aboveThey met with two so full and bright--Such eyes! I swear to you, my love,That these have never lost their light. [14]

I loved, and love dispell'd the fearThat I should die an early death:For love possess'd the atmosphere,And filled the breast with purer breath.My mother thought, What ails the boy?For I was alter'd, and beganTo move about the house with joy,And with the certain step of man.

I loved the brimming wave that swamThro' quiet meadows round the mill,The sleepy pool above the dam,The pool beneath it never still,The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor,The dark round of the dripping wheel,The very air about the doorMade misty with the floating meal.

And oft in ramblings on the wold,When April nights begin to blow,And April's crescent glimmer'd cold,I saw the village lights below;I knew your taper far away,And full at heart of trembling hope,From off the wold I came, and layUpon the freshly-flower'd slope. [15]

The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill;And "by that lamp," I thought "she sits!"The white chalk-quarry [16] from the hillGleam'd to the flying moon by fits."O that I were beside her now!O will she answer if I call?O would she give me vow for vow,Sweet Alice, if I told her all?" [17]

Sometimes I saw you sit and spin;And, in the pauses of the wind,Sometimes I heard you sing within;Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind.At last you rose and moved the light,And the long shadow of the chairFlitted across into the night,And all the casem*nt darken'd there.

But when at last I dared to speak,The lanes, you know, were white with may,Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheekFlush'd like the coming of the day; [18]And so it was--half-sly, half-shy, [19]You would, and would not, little one!Although I pleaded tenderly,And you and I were all alone.

And slowly was my mother broughtTo yield consent to my desire:She wish'd me happy, but she thoughtI might have look'd a little higher;And I was young--too young to wed:"Yet must I love her for your sake;Go fetch your Alice here," she said:Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake.

And down I went to fetch my bride:But, Alice, you were ill at ease;This dress and that by turns you tried,Too fearful that you should not please.I loved you better for your fears,I knew you could not look but well;And dews, that would have fall'n in tears,I kiss'd away before they fell. [20]

I watch'd the little flutterings,The doubt my mother would not see;She spoke at large of many things,And at the last she spoke of me;And turning look'd upon your face,As near this door you sat apart,And rose, and, with a silent graceApproaching, press'd you heart to heart. [21]

Ah, well--but sing the foolish songI gave you, Alice, on the day [22]When, arm in arm, we went along,A pensive pair, and you were gay,With bridal flowers--that I may seem,As in the nights of old, to lieBeside the mill-wheel in the stream,While those full chestnuts whisper by. [23]

It is the miller's daughter,And she is grown so dear, so dear,That I would be the jewelThat trembles at [24] her ear:For hid in ringlets day and night,I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdleAbout her dainty, dainty waist,And her heart would beat against me,In sorrow and in rest:And I should know if it beat right,I'd clasp it round so close and tight. [25]

And I would be the necklace,And all day long to fall and rise [26]Upon her balmy bosom,With her laughter or her sighs,And I would lie so light, so light, [27]I scarce should be [28] unclasp'd at night.

A trifle, sweet! which true love spellsTrue love interprets--right alone.His light upon the letter dwells,For all the spirit is his own. [29]So, if I waste words now, in truthYou must blame Love. His early rageHad force to make me rhyme in youthAnd makes me talk too much in age. [30]

And now those vivid hours are gone,Like mine own life to me thou art,Where Past and Present, wound in one,Do make a garland for the heart:So sing [31] that other song I made,Half anger'd with my happy lot,The day, when in the chestnut shadeI found the blue Forget-me-not. [32]

Love that hath us in the net, [33]Can he pass, and we forget?Many suns arise and set.Many a chance the years beget.Love the gift is Love the debt.Even so.Love is hurt with jar and fret.Love is made a vague regret.Eyes with idle tears are wet.Idle habit links us yet.What is love? for we forget:Ah, no! no! [34]

Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife,Round my true heart thine arms entwine;My other dearer life in life,Look thro' my very soul with thine!Untouch'd with any shade of years,May those kind eyes for ever dwell!They have not shed a many tears,Dear eyes, since first I knew them well.

Yet tears they shed: they had their partOf sorrow: for when time was ripe,The still affection of the heartBecame an outward breathing type,That into stillness past again,And left a want unknown before;Although the loss that brought us pain,That loss but made us love the more.

With farther lookings on. The kiss,The woven arms, seem but to beWeak symbols of the settled bliss,The comfort, I have found in thee:But that God bless thee, dear--who wroughtTwo spirits to one equal mind--With blessings beyond hope or thought,With blessings which no words can find.

Arise, and let us wander forth,To yon old mill across the wolds;For look, the sunset, south and north, [35]Winds all the vale in rosy folds,And fires your narrow casem*nt glass,Touching the sullen pool below:On the chalk-hill the bearded grassIs dry and dewless. Let us go.

[Footnote 1: 1833. Scarce makes me.]

[Footnote 2: 1833. Darling.]

[Footnote 3: 1833. Own sweet wife.]

[Footnote 4: This stanza was added in 1842.]

[Footnote 5: 1833.

My father's mansion, mounted highLooked down upon the village spire.I was a long and listless boy,And son and heir unto the squire.]

[Footnote 6: 1833. In these dear walls.]

[Footnote 7: 1833.

I often heard the cooing doveIn firry woodlands mourn alone.]

[Footnote 8: 1833. The long mosses.]

[Footnote 9: 1842-1851. Where.]

[Footnote 10: This stanza was added in 1842, taking the place of thefollowing which was excised:--

Sometimes I whistled in the wind,Sometimes I angled, thought and deedTorpid, as swallows left behindThat winter 'neath the floating weed:At will to wander every wayFrom brook to brook my sole delight,As lithe eels over meadows grayOft shift their glimmering pool by night.

In 1833 this stanza ran thus:--

I loved from off the bridge to hearThe rushing sound the water made,And see the fish that everywhereIn the back-current glanced and played;Low down the tall flag-flower that sprungBeside the noisy stepping-stones,And the massed chestnut boughs that hungThick-studded over with white cones,]

[Footnote 11: In 1833 the following took the place of the above stanzawhich was added in 1842:--

How dear to me in youth, my love,Was everything about the mill,The black and silent pool above,The pool beneath that ne'er stood still,The meal sacks on the whitened floor,The dark round of the dripping wheel,The very air about the door--Made misty with the floating meal!

Thus in 1833:--

Remember you that pleasant dayWhen, after roving in the woods,('Twas April then) I came and layBeneath those gummy chestnut budThat glistened in the April blue,Upon the slope so smooth and cool,I lay and never thought of _you_,But angled in the deep mill pool.]

[Footnote 12: Thus in 1833:--

A water-rat from off the bankPlunged in the stream. With idle care,Downlooking thro' the sedges rank,I saw your troubled image there.Upon the dark and dimpled beckIt wandered like a floating light,A full fair form, a warm white neck,And two white arms--how rosy white!]

[Footnote 13: 1872. Casem*nt-edge.]

[Footnote 14: Thus in 1833:--

If you remember, you had setUpon the narrow casem*nt-edgeA long green box of mignonette,And you were leaning from the ledge.I raised my eyes at once: aboveThey met two eyes so blue and bright,Such eyes! I swear to you, my love,That they have never lost their light.

After this stanza the following was inserted in 1833 but excised in1842:--

That slope beneath the chestnut tallIs wooed with choicest breaths of air:Methinks that I could tell you allThe cowslips and the kingcups there.Each coltsfoot down the grassy bent,Whose round leaves hold the gathered shower,Each quaintly-folded cuckoo pint,And silver-paly cuckoo flower.]

[Footnote 15: Thus in 1833:--

In rambling on the eastern wold,When thro' the showery April nightsTheir hueless crescent glimmered cold,From all the other village lightsI knew your taper far away.My heart was full of trembling hope,Down from the wold I came and layUpon the dewy-swarded slope.]

[Footnote 16; Mr. Cuming Walters in his interesting volume 'In TennysonLand', p. 75, notices that the white chalk quarry at Thetford can beseen from Stockworth Mill, which seems to show that if Tennyson did takethe mill from Trumpington he must also have had his mind on ThetfordMill. Tennyson seems to have taken delight in baffling those who wishedto localise his scenes. He went out of his way to say that thetopographical studies of Messrs. Church and Napier were the only oneswhich could he relied upon. But Mr. Cuming Walters' book is far moresatisfactory than their thin studies.]

[Footnote 17: Thus in 1833:--

The white chalk quarry from the hillUpon the broken ripple gleamed,I murmured lowly, sitting still,While round my feet the eddy streamed:"Oh! that I were the wreath she wreathes,The mirror where her sight she feeds,The song she sings, the air she breathes,The letters of the books she reads".]

[Footnote 18: 1833.

I loved, but when I dared to speakMy love, the lanes were white with MayYour ripe lips moved not, but your cheekFlushed like the coming of the day.]

[Footnote 19: 1833. Rosecheekt, roselipt, half-sly, half-shy.]

[Footnote 20: Cf. Milton, 'Paradise Lost';--

Two other precious drops that ready stoodHe, ere they fell, kiss'd.]

[Footnote 21: These three stanzas were added in 1842, the followingbeing excised:--

Remember you the clear moonlight,That whitened all the eastern ridge,When o'er the water, dancing white,I stepped upon the old mill-bridge.I heard you whisper from aboveA lute-toned whisper, "I am here";I murmured, "Speak again, my love,The stream is loud: I cannot hear ".

I heard, as I have seemed to hear,When all the under-air was still,The low voice of the glad new yearCall to the freshly-flowered hill.I heard, as I have often heardThe nightingale in leavy woodsCall to its mate, when nothing stirredTo left or right but falling floods.]

[Footnote 22: 1842. I gave you on the joyful day.]

[Footnote 23: In 1833 the following stanza took the place of the onehere substituted in 1842:--

Come, Alice, sing to me the songI made you on our marriage day,When, arm in arm, we went alongHalf-tearfully, and you were gayWith brooch and ring: for I shall seem,The while you sing that song, to hearThe mill-wheel turning in the stream,And the green chestnut whisper near.

In 1833 the song began thus, the present stanza taking its place in1842:--

I wish I were her earring,Ambushed in auburn ringlets sleek,(So might my shadow trembleOver her downy cheek),Hid in her hair, all day and night,Touching her neck so warm and white.]

[Footnote 24: 1872. In.]

[Footnote 25: 1833.

I wish I were the girdleBuckled about her dainty waist,That her heart might beat against me,In sorrow and in rest.I should know well if it beat right,I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

This stanza bears so close a resemblance to a stanza in JoshuaSylvester's 'Woodman's Bear' (see Sylvester's 'Works', ed. 1641, p. 616)that a correspondent asked Tennyson whether Sylvester had suggested it.Tennyson replied that he had never seen Sylvester's lines ('Life ofTennyson', iii., 51). The lines are:--

But her slender virgin wasteMade mee beare her girdle spightWhich the same by day imbrac'tThough it were cast off by nightThat I wisht, I dare not say,To be girdle night and day.

For other parallels see the present Editor's 'Illustrations ofTennyson', p. 39.]

[Footnote 26: 1833.

I wish I were her necklace,So might I ever fall and rise.]

[Footnote 27: 1833. So warm and light.]

[Footnote 28: 1833. I would not be.]

[Footnote 29: 1833.

For o'er each letter broods and dwells,(Like light from running waters thrownOn flowery swaths) the blissful flameOf his sweet eyes, that, day and night,With pulses thrilling thro' his frameDo inly tremble, starry bright.]

[Footnote 30: Thus in 1833:--

How I waste language--yet in truthYou must blame love, whose early rageMade me a rhymster in my youth,And over-garrulous in age.]

[Footnote 31: 1833. Sing me.]

[Footnote 32: 1833.

When in the breezy limewood-shade.I found the blue forget-me-not.]

[Footnote 33: In 1833 the following song took the place of the song inthe text:--

 All yesternight you met me not,My ladylove, forget me not.When I am gone, regret me not.But, here or there, forget me not.With your arched eyebrow threat me not,And tremulous eyes, like April skies,That seem to say, "forget me not,"I pray you, love, forget me not.
 In idle sorrow set me not;Regret me not; forget me not;Oh! leave me not: oh, let me notWear quite away;--forget me not.With roguish laughter fret me not.From dewy eyes, like April skies,That ever _look_, "forget me not".Blue as the blue forget-me-not.]

[Footnote 34: These two stanzas were added in 1842.]

[Footnote 35: 1833.

I've half a mind to walk, my love,To the old mill across the woldsFor look! the sunset from above,]

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