In rick-fire days,
When Dives loathed the times, and paced his land
In fear of worse,
And sanguine Lazarus felt vacant hand.
Fill with his purse;
For lowly minds were madden'd to the height
By tonguester tricks,
And once I well remember that red night
When thirty ricks,
All flaming, made an English homestead Hell—
These hands of mine
Have helped to pass a bucket from the well
Along the line.
Dyma lun a ddengys na wnaed Tennyson i gyfranogi mewn chwyldroadau; yr oedd gweled ychydig deisi ar dân yn ddigon o fraw iddo, ac ni welai lawer oddi tan y cwbl ond y "tonguester tricks"—castiau cynhyrfwyr. Ceir yr un teimlad yn "Locksley Hall" a "Maud"; ac yn y gerdd "Love thou thy Land," ceir y llinellau a ganlyn:
But pamper not a hasty time,
Nor feed with crude imaginings
The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings,
That every sophister can lime.
Ym mhob cyfeiriad o'i eiddo at Ffrainc, dengys fod ganddo ofn pob symudiad egniol mewn gwleidyddiaeth. Yn wir, y mae arwr "Locksley Hall" yn debyg o fod yn bortreiad da o Tennyson ei hun—dyn a chanddo ryw awydd am grwydro a
