He sat, however, on his
couch, which was drawn across the great window, where he could look
off, when he turned his head, and see the broad green valley and the
hills beyond, or, near at hand, could watch the terrace and his own
trees, and catch a glimpse of the garden.
The great frame had lost its look of giant strength; the hands were
thinner; but the habit of his mind and spirit was the same. Again we
heard the voice; again we felt the uplift of his presence. He was
aware that he was not to stay here much longer, and when we bent over
him to say good-by, we knew and he knew it was indeed "farewell." He
was surrounded with deep love and tenderness and the delightful
presence of his little grandchildren, and when, shortly after, his
weakness increased, he doubtless heard the words sounding in his
mind:--
"Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious winter's rages,
Thou thy worldly task hast done,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages."
He asked for "Cymbeline" that he might carry the noble lines clearly
in remembrance. Later the moon shone full into the room, and in that
dim splendor, and to the music of the autumn wind, his spirit passed.
EMILY, LADY TENNYSON
When I first saw Lady Tennyson she was in the prime of life. Her two
sons, boys of eight and ten years of age perhaps, were by her side.
Farringford was at that time almost the same beautiful solitude the
lovers had found it years before, when it was first their home.
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