AUDLEY COURT by Alfred Tennyson (Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis)

 

AUDLEY COURT

by Alfred Tennyson

(Poem, Summary, Paraphrase & Analysis) 

AUDLEY COURT

“The Bull, the Fleece are cramm’d, and overflowing,

With hot humanity; the barns are throng’d

With rough-hew’d bumpkins, for the county's in,

And stirr’d with election: I’ll along!

Canvass the boroughs with the candidate.”

 

“Why should I want to canvass for a fool?

The vainest Popinjay in all the town!

I never loved a party or a cause—

The first man that I met would serve as well,

As serve the end: God, what a world is this!

I have not shown, perhaps, a proper love

To my own kind, but I have loved my horse,

And that’s the best of things I ever had.

But, now, I’d like to see your candidate;

I’d like to see him, for the world is wide,

And I might chance upon a better man.”

 

He laugh’d, and answer’d, “You are hard to please.”

 

“Hard! Well, perhaps so. Yet I have my creed,

And if I be not with you, I am not

Against you: that’s my motto. If I can

But help you, I’ll not harm you.”

 

Thereupon

He turn’d his horse’s head, and smiling said,

“Come, boy, you shall see something of the world.”

 

And so we rode together; and the wind

Blew fresh from off the hills, and shook the woods,

And curl’d the long white hedgerows. Then we came

To a broad river winding slow among

The meadows, with a width of tranquil mere,

And small white dots of sailing waterfowl.

There, on the bridge, we paused, and gazed awhile,

And then went forward, till we reach’d a town

That, in the distance, seemed a little heap,

And then a long dark street, and afterward

A market-place with folk that moved about,

And then another street, and this was all,

Until we gain’d the inn, and there alighted.

 

A slow procession enter’d after us,

Of farming men and maidens: soon the hall

Was full of humming voices; here and there

A loud laugh broke upon them; some went out,

And back again; and others fetch’d a chair,

And sat them down; while many a lusty shout

From tavern, tap, and stable shook the street,

And rang among the rafters overhead,

And made the house rock round us.

 

At the door

We met a man of fifty, brisk and keen,

With clear gray eyes, and face well tanned with sun:

His frock-coat, brown in colour, was not new,

And yet it looked not old: his well-shaped boots

Were polish’d black, and trim; his hair was white;

His mouth was large and firm, his voice was loud,

And when he spoke his words came quick and sharp.

“Come in, come in! the room is nearly full;

A hearty welcome! sit you down, my friends;

We’ll have a glass of something ere we dine.”

 

Then, while we took our seats, he, bustling, ran

And called for wine and meat, and took his post

At table, set his guests, and cheer’d them all,

And pass’d the bottle briskly. Here and there

He nodded kindly to the company,

And with his hands now smote the board, and now

Lean’d back and laugh’d, and talk’d, and still he fill’d

Our glasses up, and fill’d his own, and drank.

 

The feast was ended, and the chairs pushed back,

And then, as when a tempest dies away,

And leaves the air yet trembling after it,

So stillness held us for a little while.

At last the host, that had been talking loud,

And laughing loudest, sobered suddenly,

And turning round, said, with a serious face,

“Fair ladies, you have seen this day no doubt

The gentleman that hopes to represent

The borough in the Commons. He’s a man

Of birth, and brains, and breeding; so they say;

He’s not a friend of mine, but I’m a man

That loves his country, and for country’s sake

I’ll vote for him to-morrow.”

 

Loud applause

Burst from the farmers; some declared the choice

Was excellent; and others shook their heads,

And others laugh’d, and others held their peace.

 

Then one, that look’d the keenest of them all,

Said, “Friend, what is he? is he one of those

That, writing in the papers day by day,

Tell us that men are equal, born alike,

And free to work and vote as pleases them?”

 

Then answer’d he, “Not so; he knows the world;

He’s of the old good stock, and loves the Queen,

And reverences the Church; and if he be

A Tory, well, God bless him!”

 

Then we rose,

And mounted once again, and took the road

That led us homeward; and the setting sun

Was red upon the heather, and the air

Blew fresh again from off the distant hills;

And while we rode, my friend, with half a smile,

Said, “You are better pleased than when you came.”

 

And I replied, “I would that I could please

As easily as you, or find as much

To please me in this world.”

 

Then he, “My boy,

You’re young, and that’s your failing. Do you think

Men’s lives are made for everlasting joy?

For me, I have had my share, and may have more;

I’ll take what fortune sends me, and make light

Of any trouble.”

 

Then we came again

To the broad meadow-lands, and saw the stream

Go winding slow beneath us; and the moon

Was rising large and low upon the hills;

And all the air was solemn still, and sweet

With fragrance of the meadow-grass and flowers.

And so we rode in silence, and the night

Came down upon us, and we saw the lights

Of home, and reached the door, and entered in.

 

Summary

Alfred Tennyson’s “Audley Court” unfolds as a dramatic narrative poem that captures a vivid scene from rural English life, set against the background of an election season. The poem opens with an energetic and bustling atmosphere — the countryside is alive with political excitement. Inns such as “The Bull” and “The Fleece” are crammed with people; barns are filled with the “rough-hew’d bumpkins” of the district; the air is charged with conversation, laughter, and argument, for “the county’s in” and everyone is engaged in the activity of canvassing for the election. It is in this lively, noisy setting that the poem’s conversation begins.

The speaker is invited by a friend to join him in canvassing the boroughs on behalf of a political candidate. His friend’s enthusiasm is evident; he is caught up in the fervour of election day and wants company for the task. However, the speaker’s response is cool, detached, and sceptical. He has little enthusiasm for politics or for politicians. He calls the candidate “the vainest popinjay in all the town,” dismissing him as foolish and self-important. He confesses that he has never loved any “party or cause,” suggesting that he sees little difference between political sides or movements. The speaker’s tone is one of weary disillusionment — he sees the world as a place filled with vain ambitions and shallow pursuits. He admits that while he may not have shown proper love for humanity, he has loved his horse, which, in his view, is “the best of things” he ever had.

Yet despite his scepticism, there is a trace of curiosity in him. He relents, saying he would like to see the candidate — not out of admiration, but because “the world is wide,” and perhaps, by chance, he might find “a better man.” His friend laughs at this ironic remark, calling him “hard to please,” to which the speaker responds that though he may be difficult, he still holds a kind of personal creed: he is neither for nor against anyone but prefers to help without harming. This brief exchange captures the differing temperaments of the two men — the friend is sociable and active, the speaker reflective and withdrawn.

The two then set out on horseback. Their ride through the countryside is described in Tennyson’s typically picturesque style — the wind blows fresh from the hills, the woods are shaken, and long white hedgerows curl beside them. Eventually, they reach a broad, slow-winding river dotted with white waterfowl, and then approach a small town that gradually grows clearer as they near it. The poem’s attention to landscape evokes both the movement of the journey and the tranquil English scenery that forms its backdrop.

Upon reaching the town, they dismount at an inn where a gathering is already in progress. The scene inside is boisterous and crowded. A procession of farmers and country folk enters after them, filling the hall with humming voices and laughter. The noise from taverns and stables rings through the air, making the house “rock round” with liveliness. Amid this rustic excitement appears the host — a man of about fifty, with bright eyes, tanned face, and white hair. He is brisk, hearty, and hospitable, the embodiment of the jovial country gentleman. His brown frock-coat and polished boots mark him as respectable yet unpretentious. He welcomes the newcomers warmly, hurries to fetch food and drink, and presides over the table with cheer and command.

As the meal proceeds, the host keeps the wine and conversation flowing. He talks loudly, laughs heartily, and passes the bottle around. The guests respond with good humour; the atmosphere is one of fellowship and conviviality. When the feast ends, a moment of silence follows — like the calm after a storm. Then the host, growing suddenly serious, rises to speak. Addressing the company, he turns to the topic that has brought everyone together: the parliamentary election. He refers to “the gentleman that hopes to represent the borough in the Commons.” According to him, the candidate is a man of “birth, and brains, and breeding.” Although the host admits the candidate is not personally his friend, he declares that he will vote for him for the sake of his country. His straightforward patriotism and sense of civic duty win the approval of many present, who break into applause.

The farmers react differently — some agree enthusiastically, others express doubt or amusement, and a few remain silent. One man asks whether the candidate is one of those modern reformers who write in the papers and preach about equality and freedom. The host firmly replies that he is not such a man; he is “of the old good stock,” loyal to the Queen, respectful toward the Church, and, if a Tory, then “God bless him!” The scene reflects the simple, traditional conservatism of rural England and the loyalty of its people to the established order.

When the meeting ends, the speaker and his friend mount their horses and set out again. The sun is setting red over the heather, and a fresh wind blows from the hills. As they ride, the friend remarks with a smile that the speaker seems more content than before. The speaker admits that he wishes he could find satisfaction as easily, or discover as much to please him in life. His friend replies that such dissatisfaction is the mark of youth — that life is not made for unending joy, and that wisdom lies in taking what fortune sends, making light of trouble, and moving on.

The poem closes with a serene, reflective image. The riders pass through the meadows once more, the river winding beneath them, the moon rising large and low over the hills. The air is fragrant with grass and flowers, and silence descends as night deepens. The lights of home come into view, and the men enter in. The day ends as it began — in motion, but now softened by quietness and calm.

 

Line-by-line Paraphrase

“The Bull, the Fleece are cramm’d, and overflowing,

With hot humanity; the barns are throng’d

With rough-hew’d bumpkins, for the county's in,

And stirr’d with election: I’ll along!

Canvass the boroughs with the candidate.”

 

→ The inns called The Bull and The Fleece are packed full of people; the barns too are crowded with rough country folk, because the county is holding elections, and everyone is excited.

→ My friend declares that he’s going out to help canvass the towns with the candidate.

 

“Why should I want to canvass for a fool?

The vainest Popinjay in all the town!

I never loved a party or a cause—

The first man that I met would serve as well,

As serve the end: God, what a world is this!

I have not shown, perhaps, a proper love

To my own kind, but I have loved my horse,

And that’s the best of things I ever had.

But, now, I’d like to see your candidate;

I’d like to see him, for the world is wide,

And I might chance upon a better man.”

 

→ The speaker replies bitterly that he has no wish to campaign for a fool — the most conceited man in town.

→ He says he has never cared about political parties or causes; any random man would do as well as the next to serve the same purpose.

→ He laments how shallow and disappointing the world is.

→ He admits that perhaps he hasn’t shown much affection for people, but he truly loved his horse — the best companion he ever had.

→ Yet, out of curiosity, he agrees to come along and see this candidate, hoping that maybe he might meet a better person than he expects.

 

He laugh’d, and answer’d, “You are hard to please.”

 

→ His friend laughs at his cynicism and tells him he’s difficult to satisfy.

 

“Hard! Well, perhaps so. Yet I have my creed,

And if I be not with you, I am not

Against you: that’s my motto. If I can

But help you, I’ll not harm you.”

 

→ The speaker admits he may be hard to please, but he follows his own simple principle: if he isn’t on someone’s side, at least he isn’t against them.

→ His philosophy is to do no harm — to help where he can without taking sides.

 

Thereupon

He turn’d his horse’s head, and smiling said,

“Come, boy, you shall see something of the world.”

 

→ Hearing that, his friend smiles, turns his horse around, and invites him to come along and see more of the world for himself.

 

And so we rode together; and the wind

Blew fresh from off the hills, and shook the woods,

And curl’d the long white hedgerows. Then we came

To a broad river winding slow among

The meadows, with a width of tranquil mere,

And small white dots of sailing waterfowl.

 

→ They ride together through the countryside; a cool wind blows from the hills, rustling the woods and bending the hedgerows.

→ They reach a wide, calm river that winds slowly through the meadows, dotted with little white birds floating on the water.

 

There, on the bridge, we paused, and gazed awhile,

And then went forward, till we reach’d a town

That, in the distance, seemed a little heap,

And then a long dark street, and afterward

A market-place with folk that moved about,

And then another street, and this was all,

Until we gain’d the inn, and there alighted.

 

→ They stop for a moment on the bridge to admire the peaceful view, then continue riding until they reach a distant town.

→ From far away, it looked like a small cluster of buildings, but as they came closer, it stretched into streets and a busy market square with people walking around.

→ Finally, they stop at an inn and get down from their horses.

 

A slow procession enter’d after us,

Of farming men and maidens: soon the hall

Was full of humming voices; here and there

A loud laugh broke upon them; some went out,

And back again; and others fetch’d a chair,

And sat them down; while many a lusty shout

From tavern, tap, and stable shook the street,

And rang among the rafters overhead,

And made the house rock round us.

 

→ Soon after they enter, a group of farmers and young women follows them in.

→ The hall quickly fills with chatter and laughter; some people go out and come back, others bring chairs and settle down.

→ From nearby taverns and stables come loud, merry shouts, echoing through the building and making it feel alive and vibrant.

 

At the door

We met a man of fifty, brisk and keen,

With clear gray eyes, and face well tanned with sun:

His frock-coat, brown in colour, was not new,

And yet it looked not old: his well-shaped boots

Were polish’d black, and trim; his hair was white;

His mouth was large and firm, his voice was loud,

And when he spoke his words came quick and sharp.

 

→ At the entrance they meet the host — a lively man of about fifty, energetic and alert.

→ He has bright gray eyes, a sunburnt face, a brown coat that’s neat though not new, and well-polished boots.

→ His hair is white, his mouth firm, and he speaks in a loud, brisk manner.

 

“Come in, come in! the room is nearly full;

A hearty welcome! sit you down, my friends;

We’ll have a glass of something ere we dine.”

 

→ The host greets them warmly, inviting them inside and offering them a drink before dinner.

 

Then, while we took our seats, he, bustling, ran

And called for wine and meat, and took his post

At table, set his guests, and cheer’d them all,

And pass’d the bottle briskly. Here and there

He nodded kindly to the company,

And with his hands now smote the board, and now

Lean’d back and laugh’d, and talk’d, and still he fill’d

Our glasses up, and fill’d his own, and drank.

 

→ The busy host rushes around calling for food and drink, then takes his seat at the table.

→ He makes sure all the guests are comfortable, keeps everyone cheerful, and passes the wine around freely.

→ He laughs, gestures energetically, chats with everyone, and keeps filling everyone’s glasses — including his own.

 

The feast was ended, and the chairs pushed back,

And then, as when a tempest dies away,

And leaves the air yet trembling after it,

So stillness held us for a little while.

 

→ When the meal ends and chairs are pushed back, a brief silence follows — like the quiet that lingers after a storm.

 

At last the host, that had been talking loud,

And laughing loudest, sobered suddenly,

And turning round, said, with a serious face,

“Fair ladies, you have seen this day no doubt

The gentleman that hopes to represent

The borough in the Commons. He’s a man

Of birth, and brains, and breeding; so they say;

He’s not a friend of mine, but I’m a man

That loves his country, and for country’s sake

I’ll vote for him to-morrow.”

 

→ The host, who had been the liveliest of all, suddenly becomes serious.

→ He tells the company that they’ve probably seen the man who wishes to represent their borough in Parliament.

→ The candidate, he says, is well-born, intelligent, and well-bred.

→ Though the host doesn’t personally know him, he declares he will vote for him out of love for his country.

 

Loud applause

Burst from the farmers; some declared the choice

Was excellent; and others shook their heads,

And others laugh’d, and others held their peace.

 

→ The farmers respond in different ways: some cheer and praise the choice, others disagree silently, some laugh, and a few remain neutral.

 

Then one, that look’d the keenest of them all,

Said, “Friend, what is he? is he one of those

That, writing in the papers day by day,

Tell us that men are equal, born alike,

And free to work and vote as pleases them?”

 

→ One sharp-minded man asks if the candidate is one of those modern reformers who write in newspapers and preach equality and democracy.

 

Then answer’d he, “Not so; he knows the world;

He’s of the old good stock, and loves the Queen,

And reverences the Church; and if he be

A Tory, well, God bless him!”

 

→ The host answers that the man is not that kind of radical reformer — he is from an old, respectable family, loyal to the Queen, respectful to the Church, and if he’s a conservative (a Tory), then that’s a good thing.

 

Then we rose,

And mounted once again, and took the road

That led us homeward; and the setting sun

Was red upon the heather, and the air

Blew fresh again from off the distant hills;

 

→ After the meeting, the speaker and his friend leave, mount their horses, and ride homeward.

→ The sun sets red over the heather, and the cool breeze comes from the far hills.

 

And while we rode, my friend, with half a smile,

Said, “You are better pleased than when you came.”

 

→ As they ride, the friend smiles and observes that the speaker seems in a better mood than earlier.

 

And I replied, “I would that I could please

As easily as you, or find as much

To please me in this world.”

 

→ The speaker answers that he wishes he could be as easily content as his friend or find as much satisfaction in life.

 

Then he, “My boy,

You’re young, and that’s your failing. Do you think

Men’s lives are made for everlasting joy?

For me, I have had my share, and may have more;

I’ll take what fortune sends me, and make light

Of any trouble.”

 

→ His friend replies kindly that the speaker’s restlessness comes from youth.

→ He says life isn’t meant for endless happiness, but he himself is content to take what comes — both good and bad — and not make much fuss about troubles.

 

Then we came again

To the broad meadow-lands, and saw the stream

Go winding slow beneath us; and the moon

Was rising large and low upon the hills;

And all the air was solemn still, and sweet

With fragrance of the meadow-grass and flowers.

And so we rode in silence, and the night

Came down upon us, and we saw the lights

Of home, and reached the door, and entered in.

 

→ They reach the meadows again, where the slow river gleams below them.

→ The moon rises large and golden over the hills, filling the night with quiet beauty and the scent of grass and flowers.

→ They ride silently under the peaceful sky until they see the lights of home, arrive at their door, and go inside.

 

Analysis in Detail

Alfred Lord Tennyson’s “Audley Court” is a quietly reflective poem that combines social observation, psychological depth, and vivid landscape description to create a portrait of English rural life in the mid-nineteenth century. At first glance, the poem appears to be a simple story about two men riding through the countryside to attend a political gathering during an election. Yet beneath this surface lies a subtle exploration of contrasting temperaments — the restless, reflective speaker and his practical, contented friend — and, through them, a meditation on disillusionment, contentment, and the search for meaning in a changing world.

The poem opens with an energetic picture of rural England caught up in the excitement of an election. Inns like The Bull and The Fleece are bursting with “hot humanity,” barns are filled with farmers, and the atmosphere hums with noise and movement. This bustling introduction sets a lively, almost comic tone, but it also emphasizes the world’s busyness — a world of crowds and passions that the speaker instinctively stands apart from. When his friend invites him to canvass for a candidate, the speaker’s immediate reaction is one of disdain. He dismisses the candidate as “the vainest popinjay in all the town” and confesses that he has never cared for political causes. His cynicism extends beyond politics; he seems weary of human pretensions and social performances. Yet there is a peculiar honesty in his confession that, while he may not love mankind, he has loved his horse — a creature that represents faithfulness and simplicity, uncorrupted by vanity or ambition. Through this admission, Tennyson subtly exposes the speaker’s alienation: he feels more kinship with an animal than with his own species.

The friend’s cheerful response — calling the speaker “hard to please” — introduces the poem’s central contrast. The speaker is introspective, ironic, and detached; the friend is genial, worldly, and content. When the friend invites him to “see something of the world,” the phrase has a double meaning: outwardly, it refers to their ride to the election meeting; inwardly, it suggests an opportunity for the speaker to re-engage with life beyond his self-imposed distance. Their journey, then, becomes symbolic — a movement from isolation into the noisy vitality of human society.

As they ride together, Tennyson’s descriptive power comes to the forefront. The landscape is alive with movement — the wind stirs the woods, hedgerows curl, and the river winds slowly among the meadows. These serene images offer a counterpoint to the human noise that will follow. Tennyson often uses nature to create emotional balance; here, the peaceful scenery softens the speaker’s mood and foreshadows his gradual re-immersion into social life. When they arrive at the town, the transition from quiet countryside to crowded inn is vividly drawn. The hall fills with farmers, laughter, and shouting; the house “rocks round” with life. This detailed realism reflects Tennyson’s eye for local colour, capturing the energy and warmth of rustic gatherings without sentimentality.

The central figure within the inn scene is the host — a man of fifty, full of vitality and authority. Tennyson sketches him with affectionate precision: his tanned face, gray eyes, white hair, brown frock-coat, and loud, confident voice mark him as a solid English type — practical, social, and rooted in custom. His role is that of a natural leader, orchestrating the feast, filling glasses, encouraging laughter, and keeping order. Yet after the meal, when the noise subsides, he turns serious and delivers a brief speech about the coming election. His support for the candidate is not based on personal loyalty or ideology, but on a general sense of duty and patriotism — “I love my country, and for country’s sake / I’ll vote for him to-morrow.” His declaration earns applause and mixed reactions from the crowd, revealing a cross-section of opinions within rural England.

Tennyson here captures the uncomplicated conservatism of country life — loyalty to tradition, monarchy, and church. When one man asks whether the candidate is one of those radical reformers who preach equality, the host dismisses the idea with pride. The candidate, he insists, “knows the world,” is “of the old good stock,” loyal to the Queen and Church — and if he is a Tory, “God bless him!” Through this exchange, Tennyson subtly portrays the political attitudes of his time without taking sides. He is less interested in party politics than in human character — in how people think, feel, and express belonging within their social order.

When the speaker and his friend leave the gathering, the scene shifts from the noise of the inn back to the calm of nature. The setting sun glows red on the heather, and the air turns cool again. The friend observes that the speaker seems more cheerful, but the speaker confesses he still finds it hard to be content. This brief dialogue crystallizes their differences: the speaker’s dissatisfaction is existential — a longing for something beyond the ordinary pleasures of life — while the friend’s philosophy is practical and accepting. The friend attributes the speaker’s restlessness to youth and reminds him that life is not meant for “everlasting joy.” His wisdom is one of moderation: to take what fortune gives, endure hardship lightly, and move on.

This closing conversation reveals the poem’s moral center. Tennyson contrasts two temperaments — the idealist who expects too much from life and the realist who accepts life as it comes. Yet he does not judge either harshly. Instead, he allows both voices to coexist, mirroring the broader Victorian tension between romantic yearning and practical contentment. The final passage, where the two riders return through the meadows under a rising moon, gathers these themes into a serene close. The moonlit landscape, fragrant with grass and flowers, restores a sense of peace and balance. The day that began with noise and scepticism ends in quiet understanding and companionship.

Stylistically, “Audley Court” reflects Tennyson’s mastery of narrative and mood. His blank verse flows naturally, combining vivid realism with reflective music. The poem moves through alternating rhythms of noise and silence, crowd and solitude, cynicism and acceptance — mirroring the inner motion of the speaker’s spirit. Beneath its rural simplicity lies a meditation on human temperament: on how differently people bear the weight of life, and how contentment often comes not from changing the world, but from changing one’s heart toward it.

In the end, “Audley Court” stands as a small but telling example of Tennyson’s broader art — his ability to find meaning in ordinary scenes, to set personal feeling against social life, and to turn a simple ride through the countryside into a quiet journey toward self-understanding.