In 1880 _Ballads and other Poems_ proved that, like Titian, the great poet was not to be defeated by the years. _The First Quarrel_ was in his most popular English style. _Rizpah_ deserved and received the splendid panegyric of Mr Swinburne. _The Revenge_ is probably the finest of the patriotic pieces, and keeps green the memory of an exploit the most marvellous in the annals of English seamen. _The Village Wife_ is a pendant worthy of _The Northern Farmer_. The poem _In the Children’s Hospital_ caused some irritation at the moment, but there was only one opinion as to the _Defence of Lucknow_ and the beautiful re-telling of the Celtic _Voyage of Maeldune_. The fragment of Homeric translation was equally fortunate in choice of subject and in rendering. In the end of 1880 the poet finished _The Cup_, which had been worked on occasionally since he completed _The Falcon_ in 1880. The piece was read by the author to Sir Henry Irving and his company, and it was found that the manuscript copy needed few alterations to fit it for the stage. The scenery and the acting of the protagonists are not easily to be forgotten. The play ran for a hundred and thirty nights. Sir Henry Irving had thought that _Becket_ (then unpublished) would prove too expensive, and could only be a _succès d’estime_. Tennyson had found out that “the worst of writing for the stage is, you must keep some actor always in your mind.” To this necessity authors like Molière and Shakespeare were, of course, resigned and familiar; they knew exactly how to deal with all their means. But this part of the business of play-writing must always be a cross to the poet who is not at one with the world of the stage. In _The Cup_ Miss Ellen Terry made the strongest impression, her part being noble and sympathetic, while Sir Henry Irving had the ungrateful part of the villain. To be sure, he was a villain of much complexity; and Tennyson thought that his subtle blend of Roman refinement and intellectuality, and barbarian, self-satisfied sensuality, was not “hit off.” Synorix is, in fact, half-Greek, half-Celt, with a Roman education, and the “blend” is rather too remote for successful representation. The traditional villain, from Iago downwards, is not apt to utter such poetry as this:— “O Thou, that dost inspire the germ with life, The child, a thread within the house of birth, And give him limbs, then air, and send him forth The glory of his father—Thou whose breath Is balmy wind to robe our bills with grass, And kindle all our vales with myrtle-blossom, And roll the golden oceans of our grain, And sway the long grape-bunches of our vines, And fill all hearts with fatness and the lust Of plenty—make me happy in my marriage!”