In the Epilogue to her 1918 memoir A Writer’s Recollections, Mrs. Humphry Ward writes, “I saw the Tennyson funeral in the Abbey, and remember it vividly. The burying of Mr. Gladstone was more stately; this of Tennyson, as befitted a poet, had a more intimate beauty. A great multitude filled the Abbey, and the rendering, in Sir Frederick Bridge’s setting, of ‘Crossing the Bar’ by the Abbey Choir sent the ‘wild echoes’ of the dead man’s verse flying up and on through the great arches overhead with a dramatic effect not to be forgotten” (234). Sir John Frederick Bridge, organist and musical director at Westminster Abbey, had composed a musical setting for Tennyson’s poem on the occasion of his funeral in 1892, just three years after Tennyson had composed the sixteen line lyric. One can only imagine how the anthem, composed not only for the occasion, but with the acoustics of the Abbey in mind, must have sounded, with a few well-placed rests and lingering dotted half notes to allow the words to resound among the rafters of the Abbey like ghosts. The quarter and eighth notes must have chased the slower half notes like waves chasing one another to shore, with the cacophony of voices sounding much like the moaning of the sandbar to which Tennyson alludes in the poem.

Sir Frederick Bridge’s rendering of the poem was far from the only, or even the first, musical arrangement of “Crossing the Bar.” Approximately one dozen musical settings for the poem were composed between its initial publication in 1889 and 1900. Well over one hundred additional musical adaptations of the poem have been composed since then. Many of those compositions, including hymns by Dudley Buck (1893) and Charles H. H. Parry (1903), are still found in contemporary Christian hymnals. Three early musical settings for the poem, by Charles Ives (1891), Joseph Barnby (1892), and Sir Frederick Bridge (1892) reflect the variety of Victorian interpretations of the mood and theme of the poem. Of these three musical settings for “Crossing the Bar,” Charles Ives’s choral anthem most thoroughly captures the poem’s rhythmic, modal, and thematic complexity.

An analysis of the musical settings requires first an understanding of the various interpretations of the poem itself. “Crossing the Bar” appears deceptively simple: sixteen lines, divided into four four-line stanzas, the poem is in form a traditional ballad. However, the rhythmical undulations, image reverberations, meticulously crafted metrical variations, and the carefully chosen diction result in a powerfully complex and dynamic poem. Both Paull F. Baum (1963) and Milton Milhauser (1966) argue that the poem consists of two sections rather than four stanzas. Baum writes unequivocally, “the poem falls into two parts” (115), and argues that the second half is deficient, while the first half is “a complete poem expressing in dignified and moving language, in unified imagery, the desire for an easy quiet passage from this life home to the other . . .” (115). He further argues, “in spite of the correspondences between the first and third stanzas the third is only a weak repetition of the first” (115). Milhauser concurs with Baum’s assessment of the poem’s two-part structure as well as the artistic and rhetorical deficiency of the second half: “the poem is a fusion of theme and form [. . . ] It consists of two (unmarked) sections, each of two verses. Each line of the first stanza is almost exactly paralleled by a line of the third; the general import of the second is paralleled by the general import of the fourth; [. . .] But the pattern requires that the theme be stated twice; and the effectiveness of this device will depend upon the restatement’s adding some quality—poignancy or color or angle of vision—not already present in the original [i.e. the first two stanzas]. . . . [But] the restatement adds nothing; rather, it weakens the poem by making explicit what has already been conveyed more effectively in being implied” (35-6).

James Kincaid (1965) also assumes a structural and rhetorical parallelism between the first two and the last two stanzas. Specifically, he analyzes the trochaic exceptions to the iambic rhythm and argues that the first foot of the last line of the poem (“When I”) should be trochaic, or at least is anticipated as such by the last line of stanza two and the “pattern” of trochees he sees as established, but not fulfilled: (lines 1 and 9, 8 and 16?). Kincaid assumes the intention of an absolute parallel that does not exist, structurally, rhetorically, or thematically; and he finds the poem deficient because it fails to meet his expectations. Interestingly, none of these three literary scholar references any musical adaptations; however, most of the musical compositions, including Bridge’s and to a lesser degree Barnby’s, interpret the poem structurally in exactly this manner, a pattern which would have lent further credence to the two-verse thesis.

However, I argue that the poem is not best interpreted or analyzed as a two-part argument, with the latter serving as a weak echo of the former. Instead, the mood of the poem shifts significantly throughout and so the third and fourth stanzas fulfill a separate function from the first two stanzas in completing the poem. Much like Christina Rossetti’s 1840 sonnet “Remember,” which shifts the focus of its pathos from the “I” speaker in the octave to the “you” auditor in the sestet, “Crossing the Bar” shifts the pathos from the speaker in the first stanza to the auditors in the third stanza. In the first stanza, the “moaning” alluded to is a literal, and only a literal, reference to the sand bar’s echoing of sounds at low tide. It may parallel the “moaning” and crying of mourners at a funeral, but it does not refer to it. The second stanza supports this interpretation, for it directly qualifies, even contradicts, the poet’s initial thought: literally the bar will not be moaning when the soul “sets out to sea” because the tide will be full, not at its ebb. Even the grammar sustains this argument: the coordinating conjunction but, which begins the second stanza, indicates a contrast or even contradiction. And the second stanza’s slow cadence, with its predominately iambic pentameter rhythm, bi-labial nasal consonants, sibilants, fricatives, and its long drawn-out vowels brings a note of calm resignation, rather than “the eternal note of sadness” of  Arnold’s “Dover Beach.”

The poem does not easily allow itself, either as a poem or a song, to be forced into a two-part structure. Rhetorically, the poem does begin to turn back on itself in stanza three: “Twilight and evening bell” closely parallels “Sunset and evening star”; however, while “twilight” and “sunset” are nearly synonymous and feature visual imagery, “evening bell” and “evening star” are hardly synonymous and feature aural and visual imagery, respectively. And while the moaning of the bar and the sadness of farewell are grammatically prefaced by the poet’s imploring “may there be no . . .” (3; 11), the former refers to the ease and peacefulness of his journey out to sea, while the latter refers to the emotions of those he leaves behind. One is looking forward, the other backward; one is definitely aural in its imagery, the other ambiguously aural, for there may be other signs of sadness than “moaning.” Instead, like the tide, the poem itself ebbs and flows in mood through the first three stanzas; however, the final stanza, with its emphatic adverbial conjunction for, serves as the climax and resolution of the competing moods of sadness, triumph, and peaceful resignation. Each stanza, then, while fulfilling a larger purpose within the context of the poem as a whole, is—structurally, rhetorically, and thematically—a unit unto itself. Interpreting the poem as a two-part argument divests the poem of its rhetorical power, and forcing it into a two-verse hymn, in which the second verse becomes a weak echo of the first, further robs it of its lyrical power.

Instead of imposing its mood on us, the poem invites us to deliberate upon its mood: is “Crossing the Bar” a poem of quiet resignation to death, of qualified hope for the immortality of the human soul, of uncertain comfort for the survivors, or of absolute triumph over the grave? Tennyson’s request that the poem be placed at the end of all subsequent publications of his poetry carries a lot of weight: he must have intended it to be a statement of his confidence and faith in life after death. However, this poem is one whose mood is determined less by internal evidence, or even the author’s intention, than by the individual reader’s response to its subject of death and immortality. More specifically, one’s final interpretation of mood of the poem is intimately bound to one’s interpretation of the use of the word hope in the final stanza. James Kincaid (1965) unequivocally argues, “the overwhelming impression given by the poem is one of depression and gloom, of moaning, farewell, sadness, and dark” (61). Laurence Perrine (1966) responds directly to Kincaid’s assertion that the poem “unconsciously . . . betrays a dark doubt, fright, and a frustration, which the poet consciously rejected and denied” (127). The tone of the poem, Perrine argues, is not frustration, but one “of calm, untroubled faith” (129). He then develops a convincing argument about the variability of readers’ responses to the poem: hope, he states, is “desire accompanied by expectation” (129), but the degree of expectation is variable, and this is where readers will respond differently, depending on how much expectation they infer from the poem. This is also where the musical renditions will differ in their own interpretations. More emphasis on the word hope reveals ambiguity, uncertainty, and the tenuous nature of the diction, while less emphasis on the word reveals faith. In Perrine’s words, “To emphasize the word is to emphasize doubt; to speak it quietly is to indicate assurance” (129).

Samuel Kostomolatsky (1981) comes closer than any other scholar to analyzing the musical qualities of “Crossing the Bar,” calling it a “rhythmical enchantress” (134). He analyzes the rhythmic quality of the poem, as an English language poem, but not as a song. He argues that “the monosyllabic” predominance of English vocabulary “often makes a pause of silence an inevitable intonation sequel of a stressed syllable” (134). Further, he notes that “the exceptionally numerous fading words and syllables and the inevitable pauses give [. . .] the impression of a music with a charming and soothing touch of melancholy about it” (136). And finally, he observes that “the rhythm and atmosphere of ‘Crossing the Bar’ are so intermingled and fused in one that you can hardly tell one from the other” (136). And so it is no accident that the mood of this poem/song should be interpreted in such a variety of ways through the musical settings composed for it.

Among the three musical settings discussed in this essay, the only common feature, and a rather superficial one, is the key signature. Each is written in the key of C, with Bridge’s and Barnby’s pieces maintaining this key throughout. Ives’s composition changes from C to a quick minor key and then to A major before returning to C major at the beginning of the final verse. Bridge’s and Barnby’s arrangements maintain a constant time signature (4/4) and tempo as well—Barnby’s is a fast Moderato at 120 beats per minute, while Bridge’s is Allegro at 136 beats per minute. But here the musical similarities end. Ives’s setting changes tempo, time and key signatures. The dominant tempo is a slow Andante at 63 beats per minute; however, during the time signature change to 3/8 and key signature change to A during lines 11-12 of the poem, the tempo also increases Allegretto before returning to the original tempo, key signature and time signature when the final stanza begins.

Composed and arranged for Tennyson’s funeral in West Minster Abbey in October 1892, Bridge’s musical arrangement was performed as a four-part choral anthem, but it is musically more akin to a simple hymn. Bridge’s composition anticipates the later critical assessment of the poem as having a two-part structure. The first and second stanzas establish the musical theme in one verse that is repeated, almost note for note, in the third and fourth stanzas, allowing rhythmical exceptions only to accommodate the three additional syllables in lines 15-16, compared to lines 7-8. Very few rhythmic variations occur among the soprano, alto, tenor, and bass parts, although their reverberation in the Abbey would have had a powerful effect The alto and bass parts occasionally hold a half note while the soprano and tenor parts sing a run of eighth and dotted eighth notes on the words moaning (3) and sadness (11) (see figure 1); conversely, the bass line drones four quarter notes on the same note as the three other vocal parts hold a dotted half note and then vocalize a quarter note on the words [a] sleep / Too (5-6) and Place / The (13-14) (see figure 2).

And while these rhythmical tensions would have created a haunting, if short-lived echo effect, they are rare (only four measures) and only two of them are appropriately placed. The echoes are effective in complementing the moaning and sleeping of the bar in lines 3 and 5, but do not reflect an accurate mood or emphasize the sadness and sense of place in lines 11 and 13.

In effect, what Bridge achieves is a weak echo of first part of the poem, resulting in an anti-climactic ending. While the arrangement contains moments of flourish and emotional intensity, they come early, with the soprano line ascending to a high E on the word call in line 1 and again on the word that in line 9, these climactic moments in the score do not correspond to climactic moments in the poem. The Allegro tempo and the deliberative rhythm create a musical rendition of the poem that marches toward an optimistic resolution with a certainty that does not exist so definitively in the actual poem. In the final analysis, Bridge’s setting for the poem, while not especially complimentary to the poem itself, seems appropriately reserved and conservative for the funeral of a beloved English poet in the waning years of the Victorian age.

Barnby’s musical setting contains a few striking stylistic similarities to Bridge’s. Barnby’s tempo is at the faster end of Moderato, and so is only about sixteen beats per minute slower than the Bridge’s Allegro tempo. The rhythm is rather simple and straightforward, and like Bridge’s, reflects a mood of certainty as it pushes toward the resolution. A series of eighth note runs accentuate the movement of the tide at the beginning of the second verse; however, they speed up the rhythm, rather than slow it down, which would have complemented the tide at its full, when it is slow and “asleep” (see figure 3). And in this version, the soprano sings a high E on the word that in line 7, forcing an emphasis where it is not desired.

Unlike Bridge and many other composers, Barnby does not force the poem into a two-verse song; instead, each stanza stands alone as a separate, distinct verse. Verse one establishes the dominant melody, but stanzas two and four develop distinct melodies and rhythms of their own. The second stanza, with its runs of eighth notes, creates some tension and uncertainty. The rhythm of the fourth stanza is comprised almost exclusively of quarter notes, which at one point descend the scale for three measures (see figure 4). This melodic descent, which begins with the soprano singing the word hope on the high F note, creates an anti-climatic mood. And Barnby thus emphasizes the word hope, which Perrine has pointed out emphasizes the poet’s doubt. This rhythm reinforces the deliberate nature of the musical setting, resolving what little tension is created by the counter melody of the second verse. The third verse provides an initial rhythmic echo of the first verse, but the melody notes are different. However, the overall effect of the arrangement is a teleological one: with a few minor rhythmic and melodic diversions, the melody marches with little doubt toward same finale of calm, but optimistic resignation with two half notes and a final whole note on the tonic C.

Charles Ives’s setting is by far the most complex. It is the longest of the three, running eighty-one measures in just over four minutes, compared to less than a minute and a half in forty and thirty-six measures, respectively, for Bridge’s and Barnby’s. While the multiple vocal parts in Bridge and Barnby rarely stray from the melody or rhythm, Ives takes advantage of the four-part vocal ensemble to mimic the echoing and undulating of the tide in the poem. He achieves this effect most successfully during the second stanza, when the alto, tenor, and bass lines provide a droning echo underneath the melody of the soprano (see figure 5). The drone parts evoke the moaning of the bar as they slowly underscore the melody, while the counter rhythm of the alto’s slurred quarter notes pushes against the sustained half notes of the tenor and bass.

Ives constructs a verse pattern that is far different from any other composition. The first verse establishes the slow melody. The second verse establishes a counter-melody whose main function is to evoke the lethargic serenity of the sleeping ocean at high tide, taking the audience’s mind away from the theme of death for a few lines, until an eighth note ascending run, “which drew from out the boundless deep” (7), pulls the audience back to thoughts of death and turning again home. The third verse includes a softening of the dynamic to pianissimo and purging the bass part, as the three remaining treble clef parts hauntingly sing, almost at a whisper, “Twilight and evening bell / And after than the dark” (9-10). The mood quickly changes as the music crescendos just before it reaches a pivotal key change (A) and time signature change (3/8), resulting in a mood of triumph: “May there be no sadness of farewell / When I embark” (11-12). The second syllable of embark is repeated four times as the melody descends chromatically into the original tempo and key of C. The fourth verse returns us to the melody established by the first, a welcome and comforting melody after the dynamic shifts that have take place in the intervening measures. The anthem contains one additional moment of intensity as the line “I hope to see my Pilot” (15) is both repeated and echoed by the cacophony of voices. The word Pilot, not hope, provides the melodic and dynamic climax with the soprano reaching a forte high A. The anthem ends with a quiet, calm, subdued echoing and repeating of the final line, “When I have crossed the bar.” The soprano sings the word bar on a soft G, the fifth note of the scale, rather than the tonic C, which while maintaining a sense of harmony and resolution, does not provide the absolute closure and certainty that the C would have. There lies a nearly perfect iconicity in Ives’s setting, which seems to channel the poet as it evokes the powerful imagery and cadences of the poem through its musical interpretation.

In the one hundred and twenty-three years since Alfred Tennyson first published “Crossing the Bar,” approximately one hundred and fifty professional and amateur composers have set the lyric to music. The arrangements vary from simple church hymns to complex choral arrangements to folk ballads. The sheer number of unique and distinct musical settings reflects the variety of interpretations of the poem’s theme and mood. One of the very first musical settings written for “Crossing the Bar,” the choral anthem composed by the American teenage prodigy Charles Ives, remains the most dynamic and accurate musical interpretation of Tennyson’s valedictory poem.

Works Cited