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Chapter 6
Eigenvalues and Eigenvectors
6.1 Eigenvalues and Eigenvectors
1  1 1 
1. Determine which of x1 =   , x 2 =   , and x 3 =   are eigenvectors of
1 2  0
 5 3 
A=  ,
 6 4 
and determine the associated eigenvalues.
Ans: x1 is an eigenvector with eigenvalue 2, x 2 is an eigenvector with eigenvalue 1 .

 1 2  2
2. Determine which of x1 =  1 , x 2 =  0  , and x3 =  1  are eigenvectors of
   
0   0   1 

11 11 7 
A =  7 7 5 ,
 3 3 1

and determine the associated eigenvalues.

Ans: x1 is an eigenvector with eigenvalue 0, x3 is an eigenvector with eigenvalue 2.

3. Find a basis for the eigenspace associated with eigenvalue  = 3 for matrix
1 1 
A=  
2 2
 1  
Ans:    
2 
4. Find a basis for the eigenspace associated with eigenvalue  = 1 for matrix
13 12 8
A =  6 5 4
12 12 7 

2 
 
Ans:   1  
 
2 
  
5. Find a basis for the eigenspace associated with eigenvalue  = 1 for the matrix
  4 4 3
A =  5 5 3
 0 0 1

 4 3 
 
Ans:   5  ,  0  
   
 0  5 
    
6. Find the characteristic polynomial, the eigenvalues, and a basis for each eigenspace for the
matrix
 7 6 
A=  
 9 8 
1  2 
Ans: det  A   I 2  =    1   2  , eigenvalues   1, 2 , bases for eigenspaces    ,    ,
1  3 
respectively
7. Find the characteristic polynomial, the eigenvalues, and a basis for each eigenspace for the
matrix
 8 12 
A=  
 4 6 
3  2 
Ans: det  A   I 2  =     2  , eigenvalues   0,2 , bases for eigenspaces     ,     ,
  2    1  
respectively
8. Find the characteristic polynomial, the eigenvalues, and a basis for each eigenspace for the
matrix

 4 2 1
A =  2 4 1
 6 6 1

 1   1  
 
Ans: det  A   I 3  =     2     3 , eigenvalues   2, 3 , bases for eigenspaces  1 , 0  ,
2
   
 0   2  
    

  1 
  
  1  , respectively
  3 
  
9. Find the characteristic polynomial, the eigenvalues, and a basis for each eigenspace for the
matrix
  1 2 0
A =  3 6 6 
 4 8 9 

  2  
 
Ans: det  A   I 3  =     1   3 , eigenvalues   0, 1, 3 , bases for eigenspaces   1  ,
 
 0 
  

2   1  
     
  0   , and   1   , respectively
 1   2 
     
10. Find the characteristic polynomial, the eigenvalues, and a basis for each eigenspace for the
matrix
7 9 9 3
 4 5 11 6 
A=  
0 0 5 4 
 
0 0 9 7 

3 
  
 2 
Ans: det  A   I 4  =    1    1 , eigenvalues   1,1 , bases for eigenspaces     , and
2 2

 0  
 0  

 0 
  
  1 
  , respectively
 2 
  3 

11. True or False: An n  n matrix A can have no more than n eigenvalues.

Ans: True
12. True or False: If p    = det  A   I n  is the characteristic polynomial of an n  n matrix A,

and p  0  = 0 , then A is not invertible.

Ans: True
13. True or False: Suppose the n  n matrix A has n distinct eigenvalues. Then the dimension of
each eigenspace is 1.
Ans: True
14. True or False: If u and v are both eigenvectors of an n  n matrix A, then u  v is also an
eigenvector of A.
Ans: False
15. True or False: If   0 is an eigenvalue of an invertible n  n matrix A, then  1 is an
eigenvalue of the matrix A1 .
Ans: True

6.2 Diagonalization
1. Compute A3 if A = PDP 1 .
 2 3 2 0
P=  ,D= 
 1 0 0 1 
 1 14 
Ans: 
0 8

2. Compute A3 if A = PDP 1 .
 1 0 1  1 0 0
P = 0 1 3 , D =  0 2 0
 
0 0 1  0 0 3

 1 0 28
Ans:  0 8 57 
 0 0 27 

3. Find the matrix A that has the given eigenvalues and corresponding eigenvectors.
 1    3 
1 = 1      ; 2 = 3     
 1    2 
 7 6 
Ans:  
 4 3 
4. Find the matrix A that has the given eigenvalues and bases for the corresponding eigenspaces.
 0    2  1 
       
1  2    1  ; 2  1   1  ; 3  1  1 
  3   0  1 
        

7 12 4 
Ans: 7 13 5 
9 18 8 

5. Find the matrix A that has the given eigenvalues and bases for the corresponding eigenspaces.
  2     0   1 
    
1 = 1    0   ; 2 = 0    1 ,  1 
  1    1  0  
       
  2 2 2
Ans:  0 0 0 
 1 1 1

6. Diagonalize the matrix A, if possible.

 4 10 
A=  
 3 7 
1 0   2 5
Ans: A = PDP 1 where D =   , P= 
0 2   1 3
7. Diagonalize the matrix A, if possible.
 28 22 8
A =  40 31 11
 4 2 0 

0 0 0   1 2 1
Ans: A = PDP where D = 0 1 0  , and P =  2 1 1
1  
0 0 2   2 10 1

8. Diagonalize the matrix A, if possible.

0 0 0 1
0 1 0 0 
A= 
0 0 2 0
 
0 0 0 3

0 0 0 0 1 0 0 1
0 1 0 
0 0 1 0 0 
Ans: A = PDP 1 where D =  , and P = 
0 0 2 0 0 0 1 0
   
0 0 0 3 0 0 0 3

9. Diagonalize the given matrix A, and use the diagonalization to compute A100 .
 2 6 
A= 
 2 5 
 4  3  2100 6  2100  6
Ans:  
2  2  2 4  2100  3
100

10. Diagonalize the given matrix A, and use the diagonalization to compute A100 .
 6 5 4
A =  6 5 4
 1 1 1
  2 1 0 
Ans:  2 1 0 
1 1 1 

11. True or False: If an n  n matrix A has n distinct eigenvalues, then A is diagonalizable.

Ans: True
0 1 
12. True or False: The matrix A =   is diagonalizable.
0 0
Ans: False
13. True or False: If A and B are 2  2 diagonalizable matrices, then AB is diagonalizable.
Ans: False
14. True or False: If Au1 = 1u1 and Au 2 = 2u 2 , where 1  2 , and u1 and u 2 are nonzero

vectors, then u1 , u2  is linearly independent.

Ans: True
15. True or False: If A is diagonalizable, then AT is diagonalizable.
Ans: True

6.3 Complex Eigenvalues

1. Find the eigenvalues and a basis for each eigenspace for the given matrix.
 2 4 
A=  
 2 2 
 1  i    1  i  
Ans:  = 2i      ,  = 2i    
 i     i  
2. Find the eigenvalues and a basis for each eigenspace for the given matrix.
 1 2 
A=  
 5 5 
 1  i    1  i  
Ans:  = 2  i      ,  = 2  i   
2  i   2  i  
3. Find the eigenvalues and a basis for each eigenspace for the given matrix.
 1 0 1
A = 0 1 1
0 1 1

 i     i     1 
       
Ans:  = 1  i   i  ,  = 1  i   i  ,  = 1    0  
     
  1    1  0 
        
4. Find the eigenvalues and a basis for each eigenspace for the given matrix.
1 1 0 0
0 2 1 0 
A= 
0 0 1 1
 
0 0 1 1

 1    1     1  i     1  i  
          
 0    1    1  i    1  i  
Ans:  = 1    ,  = 2    ,  = 1  i    ,  = 1 i   
 0   0    2i     2i  
 0    0    
2    
2  

5. Determine the rotation and dilation that result from multiplying vectors in R 2 by the given
matrix.
1 1
A= 
1 1
1
Ans: rotation:  , dilation: 2
4
6. Determine the rotation and dilation that result from multiplying vectors in R 2 by the given
matrix.
 3 10 
A= 
10 3

Ans: rotation: tan 1 10 / 3  1.279 radians, dilation: 109  10.44

7. Find the rotation–dilation matrix B within the given matrix A.

 0 3 
A=  
2 0 
 0  6
Ans: B =  
 6 0 
8. Find the rotation–dilation matrix B within the given matrix A.
 9 4 
A=  
10 3
 3 2 
Ans: B = 
2 3

 2 4 
9. Factor the matrix A =   from Question 1 in the form A  PBP 1 where B is a rotation–
 2 2 
dilation matrix.
 1  1 0  2
Ans: A  PBP 1 , where P    and B   
1 0  2 0 

 1 2 
10. Factor the matrix A =   from Question 2 in the form A  PBP 1 where B is a rotation–
 5 5 
dilation matrix.
 1 1  2  1
Ans: A  PBP 1 , where P    and B   
2 1  1 2 

11. Factor the given matrix A in the form A  PBP 1 where B is a rotation–dilation matrix. Find
the dilation and angle of rotation. Use this information to evaluate the matrix power A601
without computing it directly.
 1 1
A  
  1 0

 1 3
 1 3   
  2 2  , dilation: 1, angle of rotation:
 2  and B  
1
Ans: A  PBP , where P
 2  3 1
 1 0
 2 2 
 ,A
601
A.
3
12. True or False: If A is a real matrix, and  is a complex eigenvalue of A, then  is also an
eigenvalue of A.
Ans: True
13. True or False: If A is a real matrix and  is an eigenvalue of A with Im    0 and

corresponding eigenvector u, then Imu  0 .

Ans: True
a  b
14.True or False: If the 2  2 invertible matrix A has hidden rotation–dilation matrix 
a 
,
b

1 / a  1 / b
where a , b  0, then A1 has hidden rotation–dilation matrix 
1 / a 
.
1 / b
Ans: False
15. True or False: If  is an eigenvalue of the real n  n matrix A with corresponding eigenvector
u , then Re  is an eigenvalue of A with corresponding eigenvector Reu  .
Ans: False

6.4 Systems of Differential Equations

1. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y ' = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
 1   1  0  
1 = 2      , 2 =      
  2  2  1  

1  0
Ans: y = c1e 2t    c2 e  t / 2  
 2 1 
2. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
1   2    1 
       
1 = 2    2   , 2 = 1    0   , 3 = 0    1 
1   1     1 
        

1  2  1
Ans: y = c1e 2t  2   c e  t  0   c  1
  2   3 
1  1   1

3. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
 1     1 1 
    
1 = 0    0   , 2 = 2    3 , 1 
 1     1 1 
       

1   1 1
  2 t   2t  
Ans: y = c1 0   c2e  3  c3e 1
1   1 1

4. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
 1  i   1  i  
1 = 4i      , 2 = 4i    
2  i    2  i  
 1   1   1   1 
Ans: y  c1  cos4t    sin 4t     c2  sin 4t    cos 4t   
 2  1    2  1 
5. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
2  i   2  i  
1 = 3  i      , 2 = 3  i    
  i    i  
  2  1    2  1 
Ans: y = c1e3t  cos  t     sin  t      c2e 3t  sin  t     cos  t    
 0  1   0  1 
6. The coefficient matrix for a system of linear differential equations of the form y = Ay has the
given eigenvalues and eigenspace bases. Find the general solution for the system.
  1  i     i  
       
1 = 5    1  , 2 = 2  2i   1  , 3 = 2  2i    1  ,
  1  i     i  
        

 1  0  1   0  1 
 5t 
   
Ans: y  c1e 1  c e cos2t  1  sin 2t  0   c3e  sin 2t  1  cos2t 0 
 2t     2t  
  2         
 1  0  1   0  1 
 
7. Find the general solution for the system
y1  4 y1  2 y2
y 2  15 y1  7 y2

 2  1
Ans: y  c1e t    c2 e 2t  
 5 3
8. Find the general solution for the system
1
y1  y1  y2
2
y2  2 y1  y2

 0   1   0   1 
Ans: y  c1et  cos  t     sin  t      c2et  sin  t     cos  t    
 2 0    2 0  
9. Find the solution for the system that satisfies the condition at t = 0 .
y1  2 y1  3 y2 y1 0   1
,

y2   3 y1  2 y2 y2 0   2

 1  0   1  0  
Ans: y  e 2t  cos  3t     sin  3t      2e 2t  sin  3t     cos  3t    
 0  1   0   1 
10. Find the solution for the system that satisfies the condition at t = 0 .
y1   3 y1  8 y2  4 y3 y1 0   0
y2   2 y1  3 y2  2 y3 , y2 0   1
y3  2 y1  2 y2  y3 y3 0   0

 1    3  1 
 
Ans: y  e 0  e  sin 2t   2  cos 2t   1 
 t t  
     
 1     1 
   2

11. Suppose that two countries are in an arms race modeled by the system of differential equations
 y1   2 y1  y2
, where y1 , and y2 are measured in thousands. Find the solution for the
y2  2 y1  y2

system with initial conditions y1 0  9  y2 0 , and use it to predict the long-term amounts of
arms held by each country.
 1  1
Ans: y  6    3e 3t   ; long-term amounts: y1  6,000 and y2  12,000
 2  1
12. True or False: If a , b, r , q  0 , and y1 , y2 are solutions to the initial-value problem

y1   ay1  by2

, with y1 0  r , and y2 0   q , then y1 t   y2 t   r  q for all t.
y2  ay1  by2
Ans: True
13. True or False: If A is a real square matrix with complex eigenvalue  and associated
 
eigenvector u , then Im e t u is a real solution to the system y  Ay .
Ans: True
14. True or False: Suppose that A is an n  n matrix and y  e t u is a solution to the system of
linear differential equations y   Ay where u is an eigenvector of A with associated eigenvalue

 . Let k be any scalar. Then y  ke t u is a solution to the system y   kAy .

Ans: False
15. True or False: Suppose that A is an n  n matrix and y  e t u is a solution to the system of
linear differential equations y  Ay where u is an eigenvector of A with associated eigenvalue
t
 . If A is invertible, then y  e  u is a solution to the system y   A 1y .
Ans: True

6.5 Approximation Methods

1. Compute the first three iterations of the Power Method without scaling, starting with the given
x 0 , where

 5 2  1 
A=   , x0 =   .
 4 3 0 
 5  33  229 
Ans: x1 =   , x 2 =   , x3 =  
 4   32   228
2. Compute the first three iterations of the Power Method without scaling, starting with the given
x 0 , where
  0 0 3 1 
A =  2 1 3 , x0 =  2  .
 
 3 2 1  2 

 6  27   141
Ans: x1 =  10 , x 2 =  49  , x3 =  244 
   
 9  47   226 

3. Compute the first two iterations of the Power Method with scaling, starting with the given x 0 ,
rounding any numerical values to two decimal places.
 10 6   2
A=   , x0 =  
 6 4   1
 1.0   1.0 
Ans: x1 =   , x2 =  
 0.62   0.62 
4. Compute the first two iterations of the Power Method with scaling, starting with the given x 0 ,
rounding any numerical values to two decimal places.
 8 8 4  1
A =  8 8 4 , x0 = 0 
 
 4 4 5 0 

 1.00  1.00
Ans: x1    1.00 , x 2    1.00
 

 0.50  0.58

5. Compute the first two iterations of the Inverse Power Method, starting with the given x 0 ,
rounding any numerical values to two decimal places.
9 4  1 
A=   , x0 =  
 8 3  0
0.38 0.48 
Ans: x1 =   , x2 =  
 1.0   1.0 
6. Compute the first two iterations of the Shifted Inverse Power Method, starting with the given
x 0 , to determine the eigenvalue of A closest to c = 2 , rounding any numerical values to two
decimal places.
 3 12  0 
A=   , x0 =  
 4 11 1 
 1.00  1.00 
Ans: x1    , x2   
 0.42  0.48
7. The dominant eigenvalue of the matrix A given below is  = 4 . Compute the first two iterations
 of the Shifted Power Method with scaling, starting with the given x 0 , to determine the

eigenvalue farthest from  = 4 , rounding any numerical values to two decimal places.
 2 2 2  1 

A =  2 3 1 , x 0 = 0

 2 2 2 1 

 1.0  1.0 
Ans: x1 = 0.25 , x 2 = 0.36 
 
 1.0  1.0 

8. Use the Power Method with scaling to determine an eigenvalue and associated eigenvector of A,
starting with the given x 0 .

 22 15  0
A=   , x0 =  
 28 19  1 
 3
Ans: eigenvalue:   2 , eigenvector: x1   
 4
9. Use the Power Method with scaling to determine an eigenvalue and associated eigenvector of A,
starting with the given x 0 .

 9 9 36  1 
A =  2 2 4  , x0 = 0
 

 2 1 5 0

 3
Ans: eigenvalue:   3 , eigenvector:  2
 1

10. Use the Power Method with scaling to determine an eigenvalue and associated eigenvector of A,
starting with the given x 0 .

 5 2 2  1 

A =  3 5 0  , x0 = 0

 23 19 6  0

2 
Ans: eigenvalue:   2 , eigenvector: 2
 1

 1 3  1
11. True or False: The Power Method applied to the matrix A    and vector x 0   
0  1  1
converges.
Ans: False
 1 3 1
12. True or False: The Power Method applied to the matrix A    and vector x 0   
1  1 1
converges.
Ans: False
 1 1
13. True or False: The Inverse Power Method applied to the matrix A    and vector
 2  1
 1
x 0    converges.
 1
Ans: False
14. True or False: The Shifted Inverse Power Method for an invertible n  n matrix A is
implemented by applying the Power Method to A 1  cI n for some scalar c.
Ans: False
15. True or False: Suppose A is a 5 5 matrix having eigenvalues  4,  2, 1, 4, and 7 . Then

 A  I 5 1 has dominant eigenvalue   1 .

Ans: True
Exploring the Variety of Random
Documents with Different Content
contemplating it with delight. But he did not know why. He grew up,
was educated, became a man and became a painter; and still he
could not forget the charm of the picture that had pleased him when
a child. One day a young English girl, a friend of his sister's, comes
to the house on a visit. He is greatly startled on seeing her, because
her face is exactly like the face of the saint in the picture book. He
falls in love with her, and they are engaged to be married. But
before that time he paints her portrait, and as her portrait happens
to be the best work of the kind that he ever did, he sends it to the
Royal Academy to be put on exhibition. Critics greatly praise the
picture, but one of them remarks that at Bologna in Italy there is a
painting of St. Agnes that very much resembles it. Upon this he goes
to Italy to find the picture, and does find it after a great deal of
trouble. It is said to be the work of a certain Angiolieri, who lived
some four hundred years ago. Every detail of the face proves to be
exactly like that of the living face which he painted in London. Being
greatly startled by this discovery, he examines the catalogue of
paintings, which he bought at the door, in order to find out whether
there is anything else said in it about the model from whom
Angiolieri painted that St. Agnes. He cannot find any information
about the model; but he finds out that in another part of the
building there is a portrait of Angiolieri, painted by himself. I think
you know that many famous artists have painted portraits of
themselves. Greatly interested, he hurries to where the picture is
hanging, and finds, to his amazement, that the portrait of Angiolieri
is exactly like himself—the very image of him. Was it then possible
that, four hundred years before, he himself might have been
Angiolieri, and had painted that picture of St. Agnes?
A fever seizes upon him, one of those fevers only too common in
Italy. While he is still under its influence, he dreams a dream. He is
in a picture gallery; and on the wall he sees Angiolieri's painting
hanging up; and there is a great crowd looking at it. In that crowd
he sees his betrothed, leaning upon the arm of another man. Then
he feels angrily jealous, and says to the strange man, tapping him
on the shoulder, "Sir, I am engaged to that lady!" Then the man
turns round; and as he turns round, his face proves to be the face of
Angiolieri, and his dress is the costume of four hundred years ago,
and he says, "She is not mine, good friend—but neither is she
thine." As he speaks his face falls in, like the face of a dead man,
and becomes the face of a skull. From this dream we can guess the
conclusion which the author intended.
On returning to England, when the painter attempted to speak of
what he had seen and learned, his family believed him insane, and
forbade him to speak on the subject any more. Also he was warned
that should he speak of it to his betrothed, the marriage would be
broken off. Accordingly, though he obeys, he is placed in a very
unhappy position. All about him there is the oppression of a mystery
involving two lives; and he cannot even try to solve it—cannot speak
about it to the person whom it most directly concerns.... And here
the fragment breaks.
If this admirable story had been finished, the result could not have
been more impressive than is this sudden interruption. We know that
Rossetti intended to make the betrothed girl also the victim of a
mysterious destiny; but he did not intend, it appears, to elucidate
the reason of the thing in detail. That would have indeed destroyed
the shadowy charm of the recital. While the causes of things remain
vague and mysterious, the pleasurable fear of the unknown remains
with the reader. But if you try to account for everything, at once the
illusion vanishes, and the art becomes dead. It seems to me that
Rossetti has given in this unfinished tale a very fine suggestion of
what use the old romances still are. It was by careful study of them,
combined with his great knowledge of art, that he was able to
produce, both in his poetry and in his prose, the exquisite charm of
reality in unreality. Reading either, you have the sensation of actually
seeing, touching, feeling, and yet you know that the whole thing is
practically impossible. No art of romance can rise higher than this.
And speaking of that soul-woman, whose portrait was painted in the
former story, reminds me of an incident in Taine's wonderful book
"De l'Intelligence," which is à propos. It is actually on record that a
French artist had the following curious hallucination:
He was ill, from overwork perhaps, and opening his eyes after a
feverish sleep, he saw a beautiful lady seated at his bedside, with
one hand upon the bed cover, and he said to himself, "This is
certainly an illusion caused by my nervous condition. But how
beautiful an illusion it is! And how wonderfully luminous and delicate
is that hand! If I dared only put my hand where it is, I wonder what
would happen. Probably the whole thing would vanish at once, and I
should lose the pleasure of looking at it."
Suddenly, as if answering his thought, a voice as clear as the voice
of a bird said to him, "I am not a shadow; and you can take my
hand and kiss it if you like." He did lift the lady's hand to his lips and
felt it, and then he entered into conversation with her. The
conversation continued until interrupted by the entrance of the
doctor attending the patient. This is the record of an extraordinary
case of double consciousness—the illusion and the reason working
together in such harmony that neither in the slightest degree
disturbed the other. Rossetti's figures, whether of the Middle Ages or
of modern times, seem also like the results of a double
consciousness. We can touch them and feel them, although they are
ghosts.
As I said before, he might have been one of the greatest of romantic
story tellers had he turned his attention in that direction and kept his
health. No better proof of this could be asked for than the printed
plans of several stories which he never had time to develop. He
collected the material from the study of Old French and Old Italian
poets chiefly; but that material, when thrown into the crucible of his
imagination, assumed totally novel and strange forms. I may tell you
the outline of one story by way of conclusion. It was a beautiful
idea; and it is a great regret that it could not have been executed in
the author's lifetime:
One day a king and his favourite knight, while hunting in a forest,
visited the house of a woodcutter, or something of that kind, to ask
for water—both being very thirsty. The water was served to them by
a young girl of such extraordinary beauty that both the king and the
knight were greatly startled. The knight falls in love with the maid,
and afterwards asks the king's leave to woo her. But when he comes
to woo, he finds out that the maid has become enamoured of the
king, whom she does not know to be the king. She says that, unless
she can marry him she will never become a wife. The king therefore
himself goes to her to plead for his friend. "I cannot marry you," he
says, "because I am married already. But my friend, who loves you
very much, is not married; and if you will wed him I shall make him
a baron and confer upon him the gift of many castles."
The young girl to please the king accepts the knight; a grand
wedding takes place at the king's castle; and the knight is made a
great noble, and is gifted with many rich estates. Then the king
makes this arrangement with the bride: "I will never visit you or
allow you to visit me, because we love each other too much. But,
once every year, when I go to hunt in the forest with your husband,
you shall bring me a cup of water, just as on the first day, when we
saw you."
After this the king saw her three times;—that is to say, in three
successive years she greeted him with the cup of water when he
went hunting. In the fourth year she died, leaving behind her a little
daughter.
The sorrowing husband carefully brought up the little girl—or, at
least caused her to be carefully brought up; but he never presented
her to the king, or spoke of her, because the death of the mother
was a subject too painful for either of them to talk about.
But when the girl was sixteen years old, she looked so exactly like
her mother, that the father was startled by the resemblance. And he
thought, "To-morrow I shall present her to the king." And to his
daughter he said, "To-morrow I am going to hunt with the king.
When we are on our way home, we shall stop at a little cottage in
the wood—the little cottage in which your mother used to live. Do
you then wait in the cottage, and when the king comes, bring him a
cup of water, just as your mother did."
So next day the king and his baron approached the cottage after
their hunt; and the king was greatly astonished and moved by the
apparition of a young girl offering him a cup of water—so strangely
did she resemble the girl whom he had seen in the same place
nearly twenty years before. And as he took the cup from her hand,
his heart went out toward her, and he asked his companion, "Is this
indeed the ghost of her?—or another dear vision?" But before the
companion could make any answer—lo! another shadow stood
between the king and the girl; and none could have said which was
which, so exactly each beautiful face resembled the other—only the
second apparition wore peasant clothes. And she that wore the
clothes of a peasant girl kissed the king as he sat upon his horse,
and disappeared. And the king immediately, on receiving that kiss
and returning it, fell forward and died.
This is a vague, charming romance indeed, for some one to take up
and develop. Of course the figure in the peasant clothes is the spirit
of the mother of the girl. There are many pretty stories somewhat
resembling this in the old Japanese story books, but none quite the
same; and I venture to recommend anybody who understands the
literary value of such things to attempt a modified version of
Rossetti's outline in Japanese. Some things would, of course, have to
be changed; but no small changes would in the least affect the
charm of the story as a whole.
In conclusion, I may observe that the object of this little lecture has
not been merely to interest you in the prose of Rossetti, but also to
quicken your interest in the subject of romance in general.
Remember that no matter how learned or how scientific the world
may become, romance can never die. No greater mistake could be
made by the Japanese student than that of despising the romantic
element in the literature of his own country. Recently I have been
thinking very often that a great deal might be done toward the
development of later literature by remodelling and reanimating the
romance of the older centuries. I believe that many young writers
think chiefly about the possibility of writing something entirely new.
This is a great literary misfortune; for the writing of something
entirely new is scarcely possible for any human being. The greatest
Western writers have not become great by trying to write what is
new, but by writing over again in a much better way, that which is
old. Rossetti and Tennyson and scores of others made the world
richer simply by going back to the literature of a thousand years
ago, and giving it re-birth. Like everything else, even a good story
must die and be re-born hundreds of times before it shows the
highest possibilities of beauty. All literary history is a story of re-birth
—periods of death and restful forgetfulness alternating with periods
of resurrection and activity. In the domain of pure literature nobody
need ever be troubled for want of a subject. He has only to look for
something which has been dead for a very long time, and to give
that body a new soul. In romance it would be absurd to think about
despising a subject, because it is unscientific. Science has nothing to
do with pure romance or poetry, though it may enrich both. These
are emotional flowers; and what we can do for them is only to
transplant and cultivate them, much as roses or chrysanthemums
are cultivated. The original wild flower is very simple; but the clever
gardener can develop the simple blossom into a marvellous
compound apparition, displaying ten petals where the original could
show but one. Now the same horticultural process can be carried out
with any good story or poem or drama in Japan, just as readily as in
any other country. The romantic has nothing to gain from the new
learning except in the direction of pure art; the new learning, by
enriching the language and enlarging the imagination, makes it
possible to express the ancient beauty in a new and much more
beautiful way. Tennyson might be quoted in illustration. What is the
difference between his two or three hundred lines of wondrous
poetry entitled "The Passing of Arthur," and the earliest thirteenth or
fourteenth century idea of the same mythical event? The facts in
either case are the same. But the language and the imagery are a
thousand times more forcible and more vivid in the Victorian poet.
Indeed, progress in belles-lettres is almost altogether brought about
by making old things conform to the imagination of succeeding
generations; and poesy, like the human race, of which it represents
the emotional spirit, must change its dress and the colour of its
dress as the world also changes.

CHAPTER III

STUDIES IN SWINBURNE

A good modern critic has said that the resemblance between Shelley
and Algernon Charles Swinburne is of so astonishing a kind that it
tempts one to believe that Swinburne is Shelley in a new body, that
the soul of the drowned poet really came back to life again, and
returned to finish at Oxford University the studies interrupted by his
expulsion at the beginning of the century. The fancy is pretty; and it
is supported by a number of queer analogies. Swinburne, like
Shelley, is well born; like Shelley, he has been from his early days at
Eton a furious radical; like Shelley, he has always been an enemy of
Christianity; and like Shelley, he has also been an enemy of
conventions and prejudices of every description. At the beginning of
the century Swinburne would certainly have been treated just as
Byron and Shelley were treated, but times are changed to-day; the
public has become more generous and more sensible, and critics
generally recognise Swinburne as the greatest verse writer English
literature produced. He will certainly have justice done him after his
death, if not during his life.
If Swinburne were Shelley reborn, we should have to recognise that
he gained a good deal of wisdom from the experiences of his former
life. He is altogether an incomparably stronger character than
Shelley. He kept his radicalism for his poetry, and never in any
manner outraged the conventions of society in such matters as
might relate to his private life. He is also a far greater poet than
Shelley—greater than Tennyson, greater than Rossetti, greater than
Browning, greater than any other Englishman, not excepting Milton,
in the mastery of verse. He is also probably one of the greatest of
scholars among the poets of any country, writing poetry in English or
French, in Greek and Latin. For learning, there are certainly few
among the poets of England who would not have been obliged to
bow before him. He is also the greatest living English dramatist—I
might as well say the greatest English dramatist of the nineteenth
century. Except the "Cenci" of Shelley, there is no other great drama
since 1800 to be placed beside the dramas of Swinburne; and the
"Prometheus Unbound" by Shelley is far surpassed by Swinburne's
Greek tragedy of "Atalanta in Calydon." Another feature of
Swinburne's genius is his critical capacity. He is a great critic; so
great that he has been able to make his enemies afraid of him, as
well as to help to distinction struggling young men of talent whose
work he admires. You will perceive what force there must be in the
man. Born in 1837, he has never ceased to produce poetry from the
time of his University days, and he still writes, with the result that
the bulk of his work probably exceeds the work of any other great
poet of the century. If he be indeed the reborn Shelley, it is certain
that Shelley has become a giant.
I may have surprised you by saying that Swinburne is the greatest of
all our poets. But understand that I am speaking of poetry as
distinguished from prose, of poetry as rhythm and rhyme, as melody
and measure. By greatest of poets I mean the greatest master of
verse. If you were to ask me whether Swinburne has as great a
quality as Tennyson or as Rossetti or as Browning, either in the
moral or philosophical sense, I should say no. Greatest of all in the
knowledge and use of words, he is perhaps less than any of the
three in the higher emotional, moral, sympathetic, and philosophical
qualities that give poetry its charm for even those who know nothing
about the art of words. And of all the Victorian poets, Swinburne will
be the least useful to students of these literary classes. The
extraordinary powers that distinguish him are powers requiring not
only a perfect knowledge of English, but a perfect knowledge of
those higher forms of literary expression which are especially the
outcome of classical study. Swinburne's scholarship is one of the
great obstacles to his being understood by any who are not scholars
themselves in the very same direction; in this sense he would be, I
think, quite as useless to you as Milton in the matter of form. In
value to you he would be far below Milton in the matter of thought
and sentiment.
There are several ways of studying poetry. The greater number of
people who buy the books of poets, and who find pleasure in them,
do not know anything about the rules of verse. Out of one hundred
thousand Englishmen who read Tennyson, I doubt very much if one
thousand know the worth of his art. English University students, who
have taken a literary course, probably do understand very well; but a
poet's reputation and fortune are not made by scholars, but by the
great mass of half-educated people. They read for sentiment, for
emotion, for imagination; and they are quite satisfied with the
pleasure given them by the poet in this way. They are improving and
educating themselves when they read him, and for this it is not
necessary that they should know the methods, of his work, but only
that they should know its results. The educators of the great mass of
any people in Europe are, in this sense, the poets.
The other way of studying a poet is the scholarly way, the critical
method (I do not mean the philosophical method; that is beside our
subject); we read a poet closely, carefully, observing every new and
unfamiliar word, every beautiful phrase and unaccustomed term,
every device of rhythm or rhyme, sound or colour that he has to give
us. Our capacity to study any poet in this way depends a good deal
upon literary habit and upon educational opportunity. By the first
method I doubt whether you could find much in Swinburne. He is
like Shelley, often without substance of any kind. By the second
method we can do a great deal with a choice of texts from his best
work. I think it better to state this clearly beforehand, so that you
may not be disappointed, failing to find in him the beautiful haunting
thoughts that you can find in Rossetti or in Tennyson or in Browning.
Here I must digress a little. I must speak of the worst side of
Swinburne as well as of the best. The worst is nearly all in one book,
not a very large book, which made the greatest excitement in
England that had been made since the appearance of Byron's "Don
Juan." It is the greatest lyrical gift ever given to English literature,
this book; but it is also, in some respects, the most immoral book
yet written by an English poet. The work of Byron, at its worst, is
pure and innocent by comparison with the work of Swinburne in this
book. It is astonishing that the English public could have allowed the
book to exist. Probably it was forgiven on account of its beauty.
Some years ago, I remember, an excellent English review said, in
speaking of a certain French poem, that it was the most beautiful
poem of its kind in the French language, but that, unfortunately, the
subject could not be mentioned in print. Of course when there is a
great beauty and great voluptuousness at the same time, it is the
former, not the latter, that makes the greatness of the work. There
must be something very good to excuse the existence of the bad.
Much of the work of Swinburne is like that French poem, valuable for
the beauty and condemnable for the badness in it—and touching
upon subjects which cannot be named at all. Why he did this work
we must try to understand without prejudice.
First, as to the man himself. We must not suppose that a person is
necessarily immoral in his life because he happens to write
something which is immoral, any more than we should suppose a
person whose writings are extremely moral to be incapable of doing
anything of a vicious or foolish kind. Shelley, for example, is a very
chaste poet—there is not one improper line in the whole of his
poetry; but his life was decidedly unfortunate. Exactly the reverse
happens in the case of Swinburne, who has written thousands of
immoral lines. The fact is that many persons are apt to mistake
artistic feeling for vicious feeling, and a spirit of revolt against
conventions for a general hatred of moral law. I must ask you to try
to put yourselves for a moment in the place of a young student,
such as Swinburne was at the time of these writings, and try to
imagine how he felt about things. In every Western boy—indeed, I
may say in every civilised boy—there are several distinct periods,
corresponding to the various periods in the history of human
progress. Both psychologically and physiologically the history of the
race is repeated in the history of the individual. The child is a
savage, without religion, without tenderness, with a good deal of
cruelty and cunning in his little soul. He is this because the first
faculties that are developed within him are the faculties for self-
preservation, the faculties of primitive man. Then ideas of right and
wrong and religious feelings are quickened within him by home-
training, and he becomes somewhat like the man of the Middle Ages
—he enters into his mediæval period. Then in the course of his
college studies he is gradually introduced to a knowledge of the
wonderful old Greek civilisation, civilisation socially and, in some
respects, even morally superior to anything in the existing world;
and he enters into the period of his Renaissance. If he be very
sensitive to beauty, if he have the æsthetic faculty largely developed,
there will almost certainly come upon him an enthusiastic love and
reverence for the old paganism, and a corresponding dislike of his
modern surroundings. This feeling may last only for a short time, or
it may change his whole life. One fact to observe is this, that it is
just about the time when a young man's passions are strongest that
the story of Greek life is suddenly expounded to him in the course of
his studies; and you must remember that the æsthetic faculty is
primarily based upon the sensuous life. Now in Swinburne's case we
have an abnormal æsthetic and scholarly faculty brought into
contact with these influences at a very early age; and the result
must have been to that young mind like the shock of an earth-
quake. We must also imagine the natural consequence of this
enthusiasm in a violent reaction against all literary, religious, or
social conventions that endeavour to keep the spirit of the old
paganism hidden and suppressed within narrow limits, as a
dangerous thing. Finally we must suppose the natural effect of
opposition upon this mind, the effect of threats, sneers, or
prohibitions, like oil upon fire. For young Swinburne was, and still is,
a man of exceeding courage, incapable of fear of any sort. A great
idea suddenly came to him, and he resolved to put it into execution.
This idea was nothing less than to attempt to obtain for English
poetry the same liberty enjoyed by French poetry in recent times, to
attempt to obtain the right of absolute liberty of expression in all
directions, and to provoke the contest with such a bold stroke as
never had been dared before. The result was the book that has been
so much condemned.
We cannot say that Swinburne was successful in this attempt at
reform. He attempted a little too much, and attempted it too soon.
Even in his own time the great French poet Charles Baudelaire was
publicly condemned in a French court for having written verse less
daring than Swinburne's. The great French novelist Flaubert also had
to answer in court for the production of a novel that is now thought
to be very innocent. It was only at a considerably later time that the
French poets obtained such liberty of expression as allowed of the
excesses of writers like Zola or of poets like Richepin. Altogether
Swinburne's fight was premature. He must now see that it was. But I
should not like to say that he was entirely wrong. The result of
absolute liberty in French literature gives us a good idea of what
would be the result of absolute liberty in English literature.
Extravagances of immorality were followed by extravagances of
vulgarity as well, and after the novelty of the thing was over a
reaction set in, provoked by disgust and national shame. Exactly the
same thing would happen in England after a brief period of vicious
carnival; the English tide of opinion would set in the contrary
direction with immense force, and would bring about such a
tyrannical conservatism in letters as would signify, for the time
being, a serious check upon progress. As a matter of fact, we cannot
do in English literature what can be done in French literature.
Swinburne might, but there is only one Swinburne. The English
language is not perfect enough, not graceful and flexible enough, to
admit of elegant immorality; and the English character is not refined
enough. A Frenchman can say very daring things, very immoral
things, gracefully; an Englishman cannot. Only one Englishman has
approached the possibility; and that Englishman is Swinburne
himself.
I think you will now understand what Swinburne's purpose was, and
be able to judge of it. His mistakes were due not only to his youth
but also to his astonishing genius; for he could not then know how
much superior in ability he actually was to any other English poet.
He imagined that there were many who might do what he could do.
The truth is that hundreds of years may pass before another
Englishman is born capable of doing what Swinburne could do. Men
of letters have long ago forgiven him, because of this astonishing
power. They say, "We know the poems are improper, but we have
nothing else like them, and English literature cannot afford to lose
them." The scholars have forgiven him, because his worst faults are
always scholarly; and a common person cannot understand his worst
allusions. Indeed, one must be much of a classical scholar to
comprehend what is most condemnable in the first series of the
"Poems and Ballads." Their extreme laxity will not be perceived
without elaborate explanation, and no one can venture to explain—I
do not mean in a university class room only, I mean even in printed
criticism. When this was attempted by the poet's enemies, he was
able to point out, with great effect, that the explanations were much
more immoral than the poems.
Now in considering Swinburne's poetry in a short course of lectures,
I think it will be well to begin by explaining his philosophical
position; for every poet has a philosophy of his own. As I have
already said, there is less of this visible in Swinburne than in the
other Victorian poets, but the little there is has a particular and
beautiful interest, which we shall be able to illustrate in a series of
quotations. I am presuming a little in speaking about his philosophy
because there has been nothing of importance written about his
philosophy, nor has he himself ever made a plain statement of it. In
such a case I can only surmise, and you need not consider my
opinion as definitive. Swinburne is, like George Meredith, an
evolutionist, and he has something of the spiritual element in him
which we notice in Meredith as a philosopher—but always with this
difference, that Meredith makes evolution preach a moral law, and
Swinburne does not. But here we notice that Swinburne's evolution
is something totally different from Meredith's in its origin. I have said
to you that Meredith expresses evolutional philosophy according to
Herbert Spencer; I consider him the greatest of our philosophical
poets for that very reason. Swinburne does not appear to have felt
the influence of Herbert Spencer; he seems rather to reflect the
opinions of Comte—especially of Comte as interpreted by Lewes,
and perhaps by Frederic Harrison. He speaks of the Religion of
Humanity, of the Divinity of Man, and of other things which indicate
the influence of Comte. Furthermore, I must say, being myself a
disciple of Spencer, that Swinburne's sociological and radical opinions
are quite incompatible with evolutional philosophy as expounded by
Spencer. Indeed, Swinburne's views about government, about
fraternity and equality, about liberty in all matters of thought and
action, are heresies for the strictly scientific mind. The great thinkers
of our century have exposed and overthrown the old fallacies of the
French revolutionary school as to the equality of men and the
meaning of liberty and fraternity. Swinburne still champions, or
appears to champion, some of the erroneous ideas of Rousseau.
Otherwise there is little fault to be found with his thoughts
concerning the ultimate nature of things, except in the deep
melancholy that always accompanies them. Meredith is a grand
optimist. Swinburne is something very like a pessimist. There is no
joy and no hope in his tone of speaking about the mystery of death;
rather we find ourselves listening to the tone of the ancient Roman
Epicureans, in the time when faith was dying, and when philosophy
attempted, without success, to establish a religion of duty founded
upon pure ethics.
An important test of any writer's metaphysical position is what he
believes about the soul. Swinburne's idea is very well expressed in
the prelude to his "Songs before Sunrise." A single stanza would be
enough in this case; but we shall give two, in order to show the
pantheistic side of the poet's faith.
Because man's soul is man's God still,
What wind soever waft his will
Across the waves of day and night
To port or shipwreck, left or right,
By shores and shoals of good and ill;
And still its flame at mainmast height
Through the rent air that foam-flakes fill
Sustains the indomitable light
Whence only man hath strength to steer
 Or helm to handle without fear.

Save his own soul's light overhead,

None leads him, and none ever led,
Across birth's hidden harbour-bar,
Past youth where shoreward shallows are,
Through age that drives on toward the red
Vast void of sunset hailed from far.
To the equal waters of the dead;
Save his own soul he hath no star,
And sinks, except his own soul guide,
Helmless in middle turn of tide.
This is a very plain statement not only that man has no god, and
that he makes his own gods, but that he never had a creator or a
god of any kind. He has no divine help, no one to pray to, no one to
trust except himself. So far this is in tolerable accord with the
teaching of the Buddha, "Be ye lights unto yourselves; seek no
refuge but in yourselves." But the question comes, What is man's
soul? Is it divine? Is it part of the universal soul, a supreme and
infinite intelligence? There is another meaning in the first line of the
first stanza which I quoted to you about man's soul being man's
god. Some verses from the wonderful poem called "On the Downs"
will make the meaning plainer.
"No light to lighten and no rod
To chasten men? Is there no God?"
So girt with anguish, iron-zoned,
Went my soul weeping as she trod
Between the men enthroned
And men that groaned.

O fool, that for brute cries of wrong

Heard not the grey glad mother's song
Ring response from the hills and waves,
But heard harsh noises all day long
Of spirits that were slaves
 And dwelt in graves.
.......
With all her tongues of life and death,
With all her bloom and blood and breath,
From all years dead and all things done,
In the ear of man the mother saith,
"There is no God, O son,
If thou be none."
This is the declaration of a belief in the divinity of man, a doctrine
well known to students of Comte. It is not altogether in disaccord
with Oriental philosophy; you must not suppose Swinburne to be
speaking of individual divinity, but of a universal divinity expressing
itself in human thought and feeling. His view of life is that the
essential thing is to live as excellently as possible, but we must not
suppose that excellence is used in the moral sense. Swinburne's idea
of excellence is the idea of completeness. His notions of right and
wrong are not the religious or the social notions of right and wrong.
In this respect he sometimes seems to think very much like the
German philosopher Nietzsche. Nevertheless he does tell us that the
real spirit of the universe is a spirit of love, a doctrine at which
Huxley would certainly have laughed. But it is beautiful doctrine in
its way, even if not true, and admirably suits the purposes of poetry.
I think that I need not say much more here about Swinburne's
philosophy; you will understand that he is at once a pantheist and
an evolutionist, and that is sufficient for our purposes. But it is
necessary to remember this in order to understand many things in
his verse, and especially in order to understand some of his
extraordinary attitudes in condemning what most men respect, and
in praising what most men condemn. Remember also that his
judgments, like those of Nature, are never moral; they are not
always the reverse, but they are founded entirely upon æsthetic
perception. Those who praise him especially are men in revolt like
himself. Therefore he praised Walt Whitman, at a time when Walt
Whitman was being condemned everywhere for certain faults in his
compositions; therefore he sang the praises of Baudelaire, as none
other had done before him (and here he is certainly right); therefore
he praised Théophile Gautier's "Mademoiselle de Maupin," calling it
"the golden book of spirit and sense"; therefore also he wrote a
sonnet praising Burton's translation of the Arabian Nights, which
made a great scandal in England because it translated all the
obscene passages which nobody else had ventured to put into
English or French. The æsthetic judgment in all these cases is
correct, but I will not venture to pronounce upon the moral
judgment any further than to say this, that Swinburne delights in
courage, and that literary courage in his eyes covers a multitude of
sins.
Not a few, however, of these daring songs of praise are among the
most wonderful triumphs of modern lyric verse. I should like, for
example, to quote to you the whole of his ode to Villon, but I fear
that because of its length, and the unfamiliarity of the subject, we
cannot afford the time. I will quote the closing stanza as a specimen
of the rest, and I am sure that you will see its beauty.
Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,
A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire;
Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame.
But from thy feet now death has washed the mire,
Love reads out first at head of all our quire,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
Each stanza ends with this strange refrain of "sad bad glad mad,"
adjectives which excellently express the changeful and extraordinary
character of that poor student of Paris with whose name modern
French literature properly begins. He lived a terrible and reckless life,
very nearly ending with the gallows; he was an associate at one time
of princes and bishops, at another time of thieves and prostitutes;
he would be one day a spendthrift, the next day a beggar or a
prisoner; and he sang of all these experiences as no man ever sang
before or since. Really Swinburne's praise in this case is not only just
—it represents the best possible estimate of the singer's faults and
virtues combined.
To speak in detail of the great range of subjects chosen by
Swinburne is not possible within the limits of this lecture. I am going
to make selections from every part of his production, except the
dramatic, as well as I can, and the selections will be made with a
view especially to show you the music of his verse and the brilliance
of his language. Most of his poems are above the ordinary lyrical
length rather than below it, and I hope that you will not be
disappointed if I do not often give the whole of a poem, for the
selections will contain, I am sure, the best part of the poem.
Being a descendant of great seamen, Swinburne had every reason to
sing of the sea; and he has sung of it better than any one else. A
great number of his poems are sea-poems, or poems containing
descriptions of the sea in all its moods, splendours, or terrors. Sun,
sea, and wind are favourite subjects with him, and I know of nothing
in the whole of his work finer than his description of the wind as the
lover of the sea. The verses I am going to quote are from a great
composition entitled "By the North Sea." The personal pronoun "he"
in the first line means the wind personified.
The delight that he takes but in living
Is more than of all things that live:
For the world that has all things for giving
Has nothing so goodly to give:
But more than delight his desire is,
For the goal where his pinions would be
Is immortal as air or as fire is,
Immense as the sea.

Though hence come the moan that he borrows

From darkness and depth of the night,
Though hence be the spring of his sorrows,
Hence too is the joy of his might;
The delight that his doom is for ever
To seek and desire and rejoice,
And the sense that eternity never
Shall silence his voice.
 That satiety never may stifle
Nor weariness ever estrange
Nor time be so strong as to rifle
Nor change be so great as to change
His gift that renews in the giving,
The joy that exalts him to be
Alone of all elements living
The lord of the sea.

What is fire, that its flame should consume her?

More fierce than all fires are her waves:
What is earth, that its gulfs should entomb her?
More deep are her own than their graves.
Life shrinks from his pinions that cover
The darkness by thunders bedinned;
But she knows him, her lord and her lover,
The godhead of wind.
This titanic personification of sea and wind is sublime, but
Swinburne has many other ways of personifying wind and sea, and
sometimes the element of tenderness and love is not wanting.
Sometimes the sea is addressed as a goddess, but more often she is
addressed as a mother, and some of the most exquisite forms of
such address are found in poems which have, properly speaking,
nothing to do with the sea at all. A good example is in the poem
called "The Triumph of Time." The words are supposed to be spoken
by a person who is going to drown himself.
O fair green-girdled mother of mine,
Sea, that art clothed with the sun and the rain,
Thy sweet hard kisses are strong like wine,
Thy large embraces are keen like pain.
Save me and hide me with all thy waves,
Find me one grave of thy thousand graves,
Those pure cold populous graves of thine,
Wrought without hand in a world without stain.
We shall also find great wonder and beauty in Swinburne's hymns to
the sun, which is also for him, as for the poets of old, a living god,
and which certainly is, in a scientific sense, the lord of all life within
this world. The best expression of this feeling is in a poem called
"Off Shore," describing sunrise over the sea, and the glory of light.
Light, perfect and visible
Godhead of God!
God indivisible,
Lifts but his rod,
And the shadows are scattered in sunder, and darkness
is light at his nod.

At the touch of his wand,

At the nod of his head
From the spaces beyond
Where the dawn hath her bed,
Earth, water, and air are transfigured, and rise as one
risen from the dead.

He puts forth his hand,

And the mountains are thrilled
To the heart as they stand
In his presence, fulfilled
With his glory that utters his grace upon earth, and
her sorrows are stilled.
.........

As a kiss on my brow
Be the light of thy grace,
Be thy glance on me now
From the pride of thy place:
As the sign of a sire to a son be the light on my face
of thy face.
.........