Queen Victoria’s album consolativum, with extracts from Lord Alfred Tennyson's poem In Memoriam A.H.H.


These extracts of poetry are contained within Queen Victoria's album consolativum, compiled after the death of her husband Prince Albert in 1861. The Queen and her Royal Household transcribed poetry which offered solace in the wake of Albert's death, including passages from In Memoriam A.H.H. by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Although they met only twice, Queen Victoria greatly admired the works of Tennyson and she told him that his poem, a requiem for the poet's friend Henry Hallam, provided her with great comfort.


Du Blume Gottes &c. Osborne. 1862. 1.
Whatever way my days Tennyson. 2
I sometimes hold do. 4
I hold it true do. 5.
I Know that this was life do. 6.
Nor could I weary do. 7.
Balmoral. 22 October 1861. A. 8
Gott macht lebendig Schiller 11.
Des Todes rührendes Bild &c. Goethe. 13.
Geisterzug J. Kerner 14.
There’s not a heath F. 17
His presence, not his memory. 18.
He taught the cheerfulness &c. 20.
In mich hast deine Seele A. Zeller 22.
One writes that, “Other friends” &c. Tennyson. 25.
And if along with these do. 26.
Then echo like our voices rung do. 27.
Till slowly worn do. 29
The great Intelligence fair do. 30.
Dear friend, far off &c. do. 31.
Thy voice is on the rolling air do. 32.
Gebrochen ist der Sturm A. Zeller. 33.
Letter from the Duchess of Coburg 1831. 34.
Frost. La Motte Fouqué 35.
There is no death A. Reynett. 37.
Dark house by which once more Tennyson. 39.
The lesser griefs do. 40.
And was the day do. 43.

[shelfmark on opposite page, in pencil:] ADD [MS] 62089

Pages.                                                                  Pages.
To find I every pleasant spot. Tennyson. 44             To speak no Slander Tennyson.107.
Sollt ich die Schlummernden A. Zeller 45                  Lebewohl 109
Das Schwerste J. Kerner 50.                                   And are those dear ones 111
Do we indeed desire the dead Tennyson. 54             Ye shall He be in rest Solomon 113.
Wie der Herr die Garten Blűthen 56                         They sin who tell us Love Coleridge 116.
Letter from Countess Blűcher 3 Janry. 1862. 57.       Du bist wie eine Blume Heine. 117.
do. do. 11 “ 1862. 61.                                            Nun hast Du mir v. Chamisso 118.
Dedication to “Idylls of the King” Tennyson 63          Die Liebe ist der stolzeste Sturm 120
Letter from Dr N. Macleod 28 Decr. 1861 69             Ich habe zur letzten guten Nacht. Dinglestedt. 12.   
Die Vereinigung J. Lange 78.                                   Es ist der Tag so still verbracht. F. Ruperte 123.
Einsam, einsam! 80                                                Wenn ich auf dem Lager liege Heine 126                                   
Ferne, Nahe, Liebe Möves 82                                   Ich sag es Jeden, dass er lebt Novalis 128
Armuth der Erde do. 85                                          Wer einsam sitzt do. 132
Wie bang habe ich das Haus 88                               All along the Valley Tennyson 137
The Commemoration of the faithful 90.                    Wie er war ist er geblieben Zedlitz 138
In our times of sorrow 100.                                     Was weinest Du Deine Aűglein do. 139
When the hours of day Longfellow 104.

Widmung, übersetzt. Tennyson. 142.
One sweetly solemn thought 147.
Thy first glad earthly task 149.
Lead Kindly Light 150.
Widowhood 151.
Du weinst o Königin in Coburg’s A.v. Heeringen 154
Wenn du auf disem Leichenstein 156.
Ottilie Wildermuthen, Uhland’s Wittwe 157.
Thoughts of Consolation 158.
Death of Wallenstein Transl. by Coleridge 161
Le cœur de l’homme M. de Guérin 163.
Es ist so öd in Hall ŭ Saal 166
The Queen at the Rosenau N. Michell 175
The land o’ the leal 179.
Es brauchet Wahrheit 181.
Shrink not from grief C. Kingsley 182.


Whatever way my days


I felt and feel, tho’

                        left alone;

His being working in

                        mine own,

The footsteps of his

                        life in mine;



A life that all the

                        Muses deck’d

With gifts of grace, that

                        might express




All-subtilising intellect;


And so my passion hath

                        not swerved

To works of weakness, but

                        I find

An image comforting

                        the mind,

And in my grief a

                        strength reserved.



            Tennyson’s “In Memoriam”




I sometimes hold it half

                            a sin

To put in words the grief

                            I feel;

For words, like nature,

                            half reveal

And half conceal the

                            Soul within.



In words like weeds I’ll

                            wrap me o’er,

Like coarsest clothes

                            against the cold;

But that large grief

                            which these enfold

Is given in outline,

                            & no more.


ditto -  V



I hold it true whate’er


I feel it, when I sorrow


‘T is better to have

                         loved & lost

Than never to have

                         loved at all.


ditto XXVII



I know that this was life,

                        - the track.

Whereon with equal

                        feet we fared;

And then, as now,

                        the day prepared

The daily burden for

                        the back.


But this it was that

                        made me move

As light as carrier-birds

                        in air;

I loved the weight

                        I had to bear,

Because it needed

                        help of love:




Nor could I weary,

                        heart or limb,

Where mighty love

                        would cleave in twain

The lading of a single


And part it, giving

                        half to Him.


ditto  XXV

One writes that ‘Other friends remain’,
       That ‘Loss is common to the race’ -
       And common is the commonplace,
And vacant chaff well meant for grain.

That loss is common would not make
       My own less bitter, rather more;
       Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.

Tennyson’s “In Memoriam.”


And if along with these should come

            The man I held as half-divine;

            Should strike a sudden hand in mine,

And ask a thousand things of home;


And I should tell him all my pain,

            And how my life had dropp’d of late,

            And he should sorrow o’er my state

And marvel what possess’d my brain.


And I perceived no touch of change,

            No hint of death in all his frame,

            But found him all in all the same,

I should not feel it to be strange.



- ditto. XIV.


Then echo-like our voices rang;

            We sung, tho’ every eye was dim,

            A merry song we sang with him

Last year: impetuously we sang:


We ceased: a gentler feeling crept

            Upon us: surely rest is meet:

            ‘They rest’, we said, ‘their sleep is sweet’,

And silence follow’d, and we wept.


Our voices took a higher range;

            Once more we sang: ‘They do not die

            Nor lose their mortal sympathy,

Nor change to us, although they change;


Rapt from the fickle and the frail

            With gather’d power, yet the same,

            Pierces the keen seraphic flame

From orb to orb, from veil to veil.’


Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn,
         Draw forth the cheerful day from night:
         O Father, touch the east, and light
The light that shone when Hope was born.


               ditto. XXX.

Till slowly worn her earthly robe,
         Her lavish mission richly wrought,
         Leaving great legacies of thought,
Thy spirit should fail from off the globe;

What time mine own might also flee,
         As link’d with thine in love and fate,
         And hovering o’er the dolorous strait
To the other shore, involved in thee,

Arrive at last the blessed goal,
         And He that died in Holy Land
         Would reach us out the shining hand,
And take us as a single soul.

What reed was that on which I learnt?
          Ah, backward fancy, wherefore wake
          The old bitterness again, and break
The low beginnings of content:

          ditto. LXXXIII


The great Intelligences fair

            That range above our mortal state,

            In circle round the blessed gate,

Received and gave him welcome there;


And led him thro’ the blissful climes,

            And show’d him in the fountain fresh

            All knowledge that the sons of flesh

Shall gather in the cycled times.


But I remain’d, whose hopes were dim,

            Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth,

            To wander on a darken’d earth,

Where all things round me breathed of him.


O friendship, equal-poised control,

            O heart, with kindliest motion warm,

            O sacred essence, other form,

O solemn ghost, O crowned soul!



            - ditto.  LXXXIV. -


Dear friend, far off, my lost desire,

            So far, so near, in woe and weal;

            O loved the most, when most I feel

There is a lower and a higher


Known and unknown; human, divine;

            Sweet human hand and lips and eye;

            Dear heavenly friend that canst not die,

Mine, mine, for ever, ever mine;


Strange friend, past, present, and to be;

            Loved deeplier, darklier understood;

            Behold, I dream a dream of good

And mingle all the world with thee.



            - ditto.  CXXVIII. -


Thy voice is on the rolling air;

            I hear thee where the waters run;

            Thou standest in the rising sun,

And in the setting thou art fair.


What art thou then?  I cannot guess;

            But tho’ I seem in star and flower

            To feel thee some diffusive power,

I do not therefore love thee less:


My love involves the love before;

            My love is vaster passion now;

            Tho’ mix’d with God and Nature thou,

I seem to love thee more and more.


Far off thou art, but ever nigh;

            I have thee still, and I rejoice;

            I prosper, circled with thy voice;

I shall not lose thee tho’ I die.



            - ditto.  CXXIX. -



Dark house, by which once

                        more I stand

Here in the long unlovely


Doors, where my heart was

                        used to beat

So quickly, waiting for

                        a hand.-



VII  Tennyson’s “In Memoriam”


The lesser griefs that may
                     be said,
That breathe a thousand
                     tender vows,
Are but as servants in a
Where lies the master newly

Who speak their feeling as
                    it is.
And weep the fullness from
                    the mind:
“It will be hard” they say
                    “to find
“Another service such as



And was the day of my


As pure and perfect

                        as I say?

The very source and

                        fount of day

Is dash’d with wandering

                        isles of night.


If all was good and fair

                        we meet,

This earth had been

                        the Paradise

It never look’d to

                        human eyes

Since Adam left his

                        garden yet.


ditto.  XXIV -





So find I every pleasant


In which we two were

                        wont to meet,

The field, the chamber

                        and the street,

For all is dark where

                        thou art not.



ditto.  VIII


Do we indeed desire

                        the dead

Should still be near

                        us at our side?

Is there no baseness

                        we would hide?

No inner vileness that

                        we dread?


Shall He for whose

                        applause I strove,

I had such reverence

                        for His blame,

See with clear eye

                        some hidden shame

And I be lessen’d in

                        His love?





I wrong the grave with

                        fears untrue:

Shall love be blamed

                        for want of faith?

There must be wisdom

                        with great Death:

The dead shall look

                        me thro’ & thro’.



Be near us when we

                        climb or fall:

Ye watch, like God,

                        the rolling hours

With larger eyes than


To make allowance

                        for us all.


L[ord] Tennyson’s “In Memoriam.

Full title:
Queen Victoria’s album consolativum
Manuscript / Notebook
Queen Victoria and the royal household, Alfred Lord Tennyson
© David Lord Tennyson
Usage terms
Creative Commons Attribution Non Commercial licence
Held by
British Library
Add MS 62089

Full catalogue details

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