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SEIZED BY MAGIC
DREXEL ACADEMY BOOK 3
BRITTNEY MULLINER
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and
incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2022 Lexie Scott

All rights reserved.

ISBN-13: 979-8406742327

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Cover Art by Giusy D'Anna www.premadebookcoversmarket.com

 CONTENTS

Also By Lexie Scott

Exclusive Content

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26

Also By Brittney Mulliner

Find More
About the Author
ALSO BY LEXIE SCOTT

Arlington Park
Secrets in Her Eyes
Read Between the Lies
Anything but the Truth
Shadow of a Doubt
Loyal to a Fault
Nothing Left to Hide
Leap with No Regrets
Fear is the Key
Betrayed by Your Love

Drexel Academy
Summoned by Magic
Bound by Magic
Seized by Magic
Eclipsed by Magic
For exclusive content and the most up to date news, sign up for
Lexie’s Readers club
 CHAPTER 1

I eyed the line of guys following behind me and shot them a

final warning look.
“No fighting. No talking over each other. Sit and listen. If you
have questions, wait until she’s done.” I stared down each of them
until they nodded. First Sai, then Theo, Kaden, and finally––after
glaring back at me––Niall agreed.
“This is my time. My tutoring. I’m inviting you to be involved as a
courtesy. At the first hint of bickering, I’ll kick you out.”
With that, I knocked on the door and waited for Mrs. Hedgings to
respond.
“Come in,” she called in a cheery voice.
I opened the door and led the procession into her office. Five
sets of teacups were arranged around the table with a small platter
of treats.
I eyed the teapot and wondered if it, too, was spelled to be
bottomless, never emptying and thus never ending the conversation.
“Hello.” She greeted each of the guys by name until Kaden
approached. “Oh, I don’t know you.”
He held out his hand with a warm smile. “Kaden Pratt, professor.
It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
 I narrowed my eyes as she seemed to swoon under his attention.
Sure, Kaden was handsome, and he could use his honey gold
eyes as weapons to lure you into a sense of calm and comfort, but I
no longer fell into their trap.
Instead, I remembered the hawk I learned to love and trust over
the past decade of dreams was nothing but a deceitful, tricky shifter.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Pratt. It’s quite unusual for a student
to join us so late in the term, but given the circumstances, I’m
pleased the exception was made,” my advisor said.
“Exception?” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
“Why don’t we all take a seat, and we can chat.” She gestured to
the couches and chairs around the table.
I moved to the furthest single seat, forcing the guys to spread
out on the two couches while Mrs. Hedgings took the other free
chair across from me. Watching them squirm and sit so stiffly to
keep from touching one another was almost worth the awkwardness
of this entire meeting.
I leaned forward and picked up my cup, taking a tentative sip to
show our host I was at least trying to down her dreadful concoction.
“You were doing quite well at Dunsmore Academy, Mr. Pratt. It’s
unusual for a student to transfer so late in their studies. Headmaster
Goldstein rarely makes exceptions. So tell me, what did you have to
tell him to get here?”
Kaden’s eyes flickered to mine before he answered her. “It was
simply a matter of my parents reaching out to Headmaster Connolly
and explaining that it would be in my best interest, as well as that of
Drexel, for me to be here. I also committed to staying here for at
least one more full year.”
He hadn’t mentioned that.
Did that mean we all had to stay?
 I wasn’t sure that’s what I wanted, but the other guys were split.
Could Theo and Niall go to traditional universities if they wanted,
even though we were bonded?
Could we wait to do the ceremony until after we were done with
school entirely?
No.
The guys wouldn’t go for that. I already lost that argument.
Plus, they drilled into me the importance of formally establishing
the bond. It would offer additional protection, and that was
something we all needed, especially with what Masie told me about
someone targeting interspecies couples and families again.
Sai got straight to the point. “We aren’t really here to discuss the
how of Kaden being here. The why is much more important.”
Mrs. Hedgings smiled across the table to me while lifting her
dainty teacup. “You heard the rumors of the council’s latest
injustices?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “We all agreed it’s best that we go through
with the bonding ceremony as soon as possible before that option is
taken away too.” She started to dip her head, but I continued. “We
aren’t sure we’re ready to move in together though.”
She pursed her lips. “That’s highly unusual. In fact, I don’t think
it’s ever been done. I can certainly ask on your behalf, but it might
draw in more attention than simply moving to the larger units.”
More attention is exactly what I didn’t want.
“We have three-bedroom apartments available. It would be a
tight fit for a group of your size, but it will take time to make
arrangements for appropriate accommodations.” She turned to Theo
and Sai. “Do you think you boys would be able to share a room?”
She looked at Niall and Kaden, continuing. “And you two in the
other so Sage can have her own space while you all adjust?”
 “Of course,” Kaden jumped in to agree.
I wasn’t surprised. Out of all of us, he was the most prepared. He
had all the puzzle pieces before any of us knew there was anything
to be solved.
“That’s fine,” Sai added.
Niall nodded once while Theo sighed, and Mrs. Hedgings took his
lack of response as a yes.
“Great, then we will plan for that.”
“What will I tell Natasha?” What about their roommates? What
about our friends? Did we have to keep this a secret? I wanted to
keep it from the majority of the school for as long as possible.
“I’ll need a few days to make arrangements so you all can decide
what you would like to tell others. Given the circumstances outside
the school, I will make sure the administration supports your
decision,” my mentor promised.
“The more open we are, the less exciting the news will be. If we
just say what’s happening, then there’s no drama. No whispers or
conspiracies. If we give them the truth from the beginning, then
there’s no story.” Niall watched me with raised brows.
“It’s not just up to me. We have to decide this together.” I didn’t
want the weight of this choice only on me.
“I don’t care either way,” Sai said. “Whatever you’re comfortable
with, Saige.”
I appreciated his support, but what we all needed right now was
for each of them to be honest.
“I agree with Niall. The school loves secrets. Being open about
the five of us might get them talking for a day or two, but then
they’ll be over it. If we try to hide or sneak around, then we’re just
begging for attention.” Theo shot me an apologetic look.
The school was about to find out about my four mates.
 Roommates.
Four male roommate mates.
Well, shit.
Niall’s lips twitched, and I stared him down. That wasn’t the first
time I caught him reacting in perfect time to my thoughts, and I was
ready to call him out.
“You can read my mind.”
His eyes shot to mine, and instead of denying, he grinned in a
way that lit up his whole face. A smile that held nothing back. A
once in a lifetime kind of thing.
“Only when you’re screaming it out at me.”
Theo nodded next to him. “Sometimes people’s thoughts are
hard to ignore, and I’ve been learning how to block my entire life.”
I narrowed my eyes. “How much do you hear?”
Niall’s grin dimmed, but the corners of his eyes were still
wrinkled. He was enjoying this far too much. “Not as much as you’re
probably thinking. There are just times you sound like you’re
screaming at us that I can’t ignore.”
Great, not only did I have to worry about Kaden, Theo, and Sai
smelling me, but now I had to censor my thoughts around Niall and
Theo.
“I like roommate mates,” Theo teased.
“Shut up,” I groaned.
Niall burst out laughing. Sai jerked away and stared at him as if
he’d grown another head. Kaden watched us with an amused grin.
“She’s worried about the school finding out about us, and what
they’re going to think. Then she was trying to figure out what to call
us. Mates. Roommates. Male roommate mates,” Theo explained to
Sai and Kaden.
 “Don’t do that!” Their listening to my thoughts was bad enough. I
didn’t need them spilling my personal feelings to the others.
“Then learn to control your thoughts and build a mental shield,”
Niall challenged.
I dropped my head with a sigh before looking at Mrs. Hedgings.
“Can you help me with that?”
She nodded, but Sai and Niall cut her off before she could
speak.
“We can,” Sai said.
Niall added, “That’s what we’re here for, Saige.”
“That’s a brilliant idea, Sai. The five of you should be looking for
ways to work together as much as possible. It will strengthen the
bond, and you should all learn to rely on each other. After all, this is
your family.” She waved her hand around the circle.
Family?
No, my family was Brielle, Aiden, Masie, and my parents. Those
were the people who meant more to me than anything else in the
world.
They came first.
I refused to replace them.
“We’re not replacing them,” Theo said, scooting to the edge of
the couch so he could reach for me. “Your family and circle of people
you care about is just growing.”
I didn’t pull away, but I couldn’t meet his gaze. In theory, I knew
he was right. I met Hannah, Daniel, and Malik, and they became the
closest friends I’ve ever had. That didn’t mean I needed to forget
about any members of my family. My heart would grow to include
them. I could do that again with these four. Sai and Theo were
already mostly there.
It was Niall and Kaden who would take more time.
 “Do any of you have anything specific you would like included in
the ceremony?” Mrs. Hedgings asked, changing the topic and taking
the attention off me.
“I know our families can’t come to the school, but is there any
way we can do a video call?” Kaden asked.
“Of course.” Mrs. Hedgings made a notebook appear next to her,
and a pen held up by invisible hands quickly wrote down his
request.
“Why can’t they come to the school?” My grandparents and
Masie dropped me off. It wasn’t a super convenient location, but
Niall mentioned his dad used to be able to transport. Maybe they
could do that.
“No family visits,” Niall replied. “They can drop us off and pick us
up at the end of the term, but nothing in between.”
“Can there be an exception? A bonding ceremony seems like a
valid reason.” I wasn’t sure, but if it was really the equivalent of a
non-supe’s weddings, then that should be more than enough to let
them come.
“Unfortunately, not,” Mrs. Hedgings said without explaining.
I caught Niall’s eyes, and he tilted his head toward the window as
if he would tell me outside later.
“I don’t need anything fancy,” Theo said. “It’s too complicated
with five of us to incorporate all of our family colors.”
“Family colors?” Was I going to be repeating everything they said
in this meeting?
“Yes, every family has colors that represent their species or
affinities,” Sai explained.
“Do I?” I asked, mostly looking at Mrs. Hedgings. She knew my
parents when they were students here, so she might know.
 “Your father’s was silver for the wolf line, and your mother’s was
emerald green for the dominance of Earth witches in your line,” she
answered.
“And you guys?” I asked the circle.
“Gold and white,” Kaden replied.
“Charcoal,” Sai added.
“Turquoise and crimson.” Niall’s answer surprised me. Since he
was a water witch, I expected it to be blue.
“Red,” Theo finished.
“Shouldn’t you have two?” I asked.
“The fire witches in my line use red and the vampires use
crimson, so my parents decided to use red.” He rubbed the back of
his neck. “They thought it would help us blend in more.”
Of course, they would do anything they could to diminish what
separated Theo from his peers. As the first––known––hybrid
student, he already had a target on his back, but he was able to
make our classmates mostly forget about that.
“Those are quite a few colors to incorporate, but with it being a
private ceremony, we can find a way,” Mrs. Hedgings offered.
“What are the colors used for?” I asked.
“Similar to what bride and grooms use them for in weddings. Like
decorations and flowers,” Theo answered.
“What do we wear?”
“Typically, there’s a dress passed down in the family for the
women, and men wear formal wear from their culture,” Niall
answered.
My mouth nearly watered at the thought of him in a formal wool
suit.
Shit.
 I met his eyes and begged to be melted into my seat at the
cocky grin on his stupid face. He heard that stupid admission.
Wait, there was a family dress? Would my grandparents let me
wear ours? Did they even have it? Did Masie? Did my mom wear it?
Probably not—to all the above.
“But this ceremony can be anything we want it to be. We can be
as traditional or different as we want. A bond of five is highly
unusual, but not unheard of. It’s been a few decades at least, so we
have the freedom to make up our own rules,” Theo added.
I blinked away the tears threatening to pool in my eyes. He was
throwing me a lifeline, and I clung to it.
“Let’s start our own traditions.” I glanced around, and they all
agreed.
“Why don’t we keep everything simple. White? For new
beginnings?” Sai offered.
“We can wear suits if we want, but we don’t even have to do
that,” Niall added. “Saige, do you want to wear a dress?”
All eyes turned to me, and I had a faint idea I might regret this
later, five or ten years from now, but right now, I wanted to make
this as painless as possible. “I don’t want anything big or fancy.”
Theo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “How
about you let us handle the details? We’ll make sure Hannah
approves.”
I nodded. They likely cared about this more than I did. Being
surprised sounded like the best idea.
“When is this ceremony going to happen?” Kaden asked Mrs.
Hedgings.
She looked from me to the others. “Tomorrow.”
I gaped, but none of the guys reacted.
Tomorrow? Tomorrow I will be married? Bonded? Whatever.
 Part of me wanted to run, but my slightly more practical side
knew I couldn’t avoid this. The longer I pushed it off, the longer I’d
dread it.
So, in less than a day, my world was going to flip upside down.
Again.
 CHAPTER 2

I wanted my aunt. My parents. Hannah.

Anyone to tell me that getting bonded tomorrow to
three guys I’d only known two months, and one I’d just barely met,
would be okay. Not that any of them could know for sure.
The guys did their best to reassure me as we walked out of the
building and back to the dorms, but they had the advantage of
understanding the bond. It was normal for them. Marriage at
seventeen was not.
And bonding wasn’t just marriage. Our magic already bound us
together. The ceremony made it official and could unlock my
abilities, strengthening the guys’. Going through with it was bigger
than me and my fears.
The council was starting to come after hybrids and interspecies
relationships. This was the best way to protect us.
No one in the supernatural world would ignore a bond. At least
that’s what everyone promised.
I wanted more time, but we didn’t have it.
All I could do was jump and trust the guys to catch me.
“Are you listening?” Sai’s hand caught my forearm.
 I looked down, then back up at him. No, I wasn’t. I was too lost
in my thoughts to listen to whatever they were bickering about. That
seemed to be the only thing the four of them could do.
And I was about to move into an apartment with them. Alone.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
“We were wondering what you want to tell Natasha,” Sai replied.
I stopped walking and closed my eyes. My roommate had been
nicer lately and even helped teach me a few basic concepts I was
struggling with, but I didn’t know if I could trust her. Not only did
she perform forbidden spells, but her grandfather was on the
council. She could tell him about us without a second thought. I
doubted she would take an oath of silence either.
“I’m not sure.” I looked up at him, hoping he would decide for
me.
“We could say you’re sick and staying in the health center, then
gradually move your stuff out. She’ll probably be happy to have her
own room,” Theo offered.
That didn’t sit right with me. Natasha was blunt and to the point.
Dodging her would make this into a bigger deal than necessary.
Maybe she wouldn't care as much as I thought. Maybe she didn’t
even talk to her grandfather.
“She’s not dumb,” Niall grunted. “Just tell her you’re moving, and
it’s got nothing to do with her.”
It was the simplest solution. Direct and nothing left for
interpretation. It was the kind of thing I’d expect from her.
“Okay,” I agreed, and his brows rose a fraction. “You were right
this time, don't get used to it.”
He turned away, and we continued to the dorms.
“Niall, wait.”
 I reached out at the same time he spun back to face me, so my
hand ended up grazing the well-defined abs he kept hidden.
He eyed my hand as it lingered, and I pulled away, clasping them
behind my back.
“Yes?” The corner of his lips twitched like he was fighting back a
smile.
I almost said never mind just to escape, but I was too curious.
“Earlier, when we were talking about our families coming, it seemed
like there was something you wanted to tell me.”
“It’s nothing as juicy as you’re probably thinking. One of the big
things about this school is distancing ourselves from the outside
world to eliminate distractions. They don’t go as far as taking away
phones or computers. They know that’s unrealistic, but they try to
minimize it by not allowing visitation. It helps the first and second
years the most, and by now, we’re all used to it.”
“There are really no exceptions? This seems like a perfectly valid
time to bend the rules.”
He shrugged. “They probably want to keep things as fair as
possible by saying no exceptions ever. If they give in once, parents
would knock on the gates anytime their kid called them crying or
saying they want to come home.”
That made sense, but I didn’t like it. It felt wrong going through
something so monumental without any of our families around.
“How are we going to get things together in a day?” I asked, and
the rest of the guys moved in closer.
“Don’t worry about that.” Theo flashed me his perfect smile.
“Here’s the thing: I worry about everything.”
“We know,” Sai teased.
Kaden pushed Niall away and replaced him at my side, slinging
his arm over my shoulders. “Why don’t you go back to your room
and relax for a few minutes? Let us work on some of the details,
then we can meet up for lunch.”
I glanced around. “All of us?”
Making plans for lunch didn’t seem necessary. Sai, Theo, and I
usually met. Niall was around but rarely sat with us. Then again,
Kaden just appeared last night. He didn’t know our routines.
“Oh, I meant the two of us. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
His golden eyes shone as they met mine, and I was instantly
reminded of who he was. My hawk. My confidant. My only friend in
my darkest of times.
But that wasn’t the whole truth. He kept his real identity from me
for years. I couldn’t hold that against him forever, but I still had a
solid week at least.
Hannah. She didn’t even know about Kaden or the ceremony or
the fact that it was happening in less than a day.
“I need to talk to Hannah.”
His brows pulled together. “Hannah?”
“Her best friend,” Sai explained. “Go ahead. We’ll meet up later.”
I shot him a grateful smile and headed toward the girls’ dorm.
“Wait,” Kaden called out. “We need to spend time together too.”
He was right. We were about to be bonded, and we barely knew
each other. That only made me more anxious to talk it out with
Hannah.
“Let her go,” Niall cut in. “It’s how she processes. She’ll come
find you when she’s ready.”
I stared at him, taken aback by how well he knew me. He wasn’t
around as much as Theo and Sai, yet he knew how I worked.
“I’ll see you guys later today, I promise.” I offered a small wave
before turning and running up the stairs.
 Please be in your room. I repeated my chant as I waited for the
elevator and took the short ride up to our floor. I walked as fast as I
could without running to her door and pounded.
“What?” Her roommate swung open the door. We only met once
or twice, but when she saw me, she sighed and stepped back. “It’s
for you.”
Hannah stood from her desk and grinned. “Hey, I thought you
had tutoring.”
I waved her out of her room. We needed privacy for this
conversation, and I wasn’t going to ask her roommate to leave. I
hoped Natasha was already gone.
“It was cut short,” I explained as I unlocked the door, peered
inside, and flicked on the lights in the empty room.
“Nice. What did you guys work on today?” She hopped onto my
bed, and I leaned against Natasha’s, facing her.
“The bonding ceremony.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Last night, everything changed.”
“Apparently!” She covered her mouth, then brushed her hand
over her hair, crossing her arms. Once she stopped fidgeting, she
asked, “What happened?”
“First off, there’s one more.”
She blinked. “One more what?”
“Mate, bond, pair. Guy.”
“There’s another? There’s four of them?” Her shock made me feel
much better about my own reaction.
“Yeah.” I lifted my hair to show her the mark. “The guys think the
five points represent the five of us.”
“Huh.” She stared at my neck before falling back. “I don’t know
what to say.”
 I crawled on the bed next to her with our feet dangling over the
edge, then told her about my dreams. I described the hawk I grew
to love and think of as a friend and how he showed up at the school.
I skimmed over the details she knew and caught her up on the rest.
Then I dropped the other bomb. “The ceremony is tomorrow.”
Her head snapped toward me, and I nodded. “I wasn’t exactly
happy about that at first, but they made me realize that delaying the
ceremony doesn’t change the fact that the five of us are bonded.
Plus, with what Masie told me, it’s best we don’t put this off.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Then you move into the university dorms?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Hedgings said there is a three-bedroom available.
The guys will share, and I’ll get my own room.”
She stared up at the ceiling. “I just got you.”
I wanted to tell her nothing was going to change. She was my
best friend no matter what, but I didn’t know that was true.
Everything was about to be completely different, and I had no idea
how that would affect us.
Would I have time to hang out with her or would the guys want
us to be together as a family or bond or group or whatever we were
calling ourselves?
No. There had to be a way to balance everyone. Avalon told me
the best way to manage a relationship with so many people was to
be open and communicate our needs.
Time with Hannah was something I needed.
“I refuse to let this come between us. I’ll make sure they
understand that you are still a priority. I can’t be around the four of
them every minute of every day without going insane.”
 Her phone beeped, and she checked the screen before giggling.
“Oh, sweet Theo.”
“What?”
She tilted it into view, and I burst out laughing, “No! No way!”
He sent her a photo of a very fitted wedding dress that was more
on the side of lingerie than formal attire.
“How about this one?” She scrolled and showed me a sleeveless
dress with an open back angled down to a row of buttons. The
bodice was fitted, and the skirt skimmed over the model’s hips and
down her legs. It was simple, beautiful, and nothing overly sexy.
“I like that one, but how would we get it in a day?” Overnight
deliveries to our middle of nowhere school didn’t exist.
“Let them worry about that.” She winked, then dropped the
phone. “Are we doing a bachelorette party tonight?”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “No, that’s not what this
ceremony is about.”
“You’re committing to the four of them,” she protested.
I twisted to lean up on one elbow. “Does that include
relationships? Like romantically?”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded confident, but she pursed her lips and
flopped back. “I mean, I think so. I’ve never known any bonds who
date outside of their group.”
“But you’ve never known one this big,” I finished.
“Right. I don’t think it will be any different just because there’s
two more than what I’ve known.”
“Four guys and me.” I nearly shivered. “Hannah, I’ve never even
had a boyfriend.”
Her head snapped back toward me. We stared at each other in
silence for several seconds before we both burst out laughing.
 We were too far gone to compose ourselves when the door
opened, and Natasha came in.
She stared at us like we obviously lost our minds and dropped
her bag on her desk. “Did you two try what Justin was passing
around?”
I shook my head, and Hannah wiped her eyes. “What? No.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, still trying to control my
giggles.
Natasha shook her head. “Never mind. What’s wrong with you
two?”
This was where I was supposed to be direct and tell her what
Niall said, but what if she had more advice than Hannah could give
me? I didn’t know a single detail about her dating life, but she
seemed more experienced than I was, which wasn’t saying very
much.
“I’m moving into the upperclassmen dorms.”
She lifted a brow. “Oh?”
“It has nothing to do with you. You’ve been a really great
roommate.” I sobered. It was true. All things considered, she was
better than I expected. We gave each other space, and she helped
me out, even lending me clothes.
“Who’s in your bond?”
I glanced at Hannah, who just shrugged.
Natasha pressed. “There’s only one reason for anyone not in the
college courses to move there.”
Well, shit. I should have thought about that. Why didn’t Niall?
Natasha tilted her head. “Let me guess.”
Oh sure. Like she could ever get them all right. Well, maybe that
was a good idea.
“Okay.”
 She smirked. “Niall Kelly, Sai Saleem, and Theo Bridges.”
Damn. She was good.
“How did you know?”
“I’ve seen your bond mark. I recognized it as the same one Theo
and Sai have. Niall was a guess because you spend more time with
him than anyone else at the school has in the past three years, and
that could only be because you’re bonded.”
Okay, so it was going to take roughly a day for the entire school
to piece this together.
“Not too shabby.” Hannah sat up and crossed her legs.
I nodded, but froze. She recognized Theo and Sai’s? How?
Sai’s was on his ankle, so maybe she saw it if he was wearing
shorts, but Theo? His was on his inner thigh, higher than any shorts
or board shorts would ever show.
He had to take off his pants to show me.
I immediately felt sick.
I shouldn’t have been surprised. Just because I was
inexperienced didn’t mean the guys were. They’d been at this school
for years. They were bound to have dated or hooked up with some
of the girls. They had histories, and that was fine. It had to be.
But Natasha?
My roommate?
I wasn’t sure that was something I could get over.
 CHAPTER 3

D espite Hannah wanting to spend my last single night

together, the guys won—only because they decided to
include her along with Daniel, Malik, and Travis. We were meeting
them in one of the common rooms in the boys’ dorm, but I couldn’t
bring myself to enter the building.
“What do I say?” I asked Hannah for the third time. Each answer
she gave wasn’t something I could live with.
I couldn’t ask Natasha. I didn’t want her knowing her words
affected me. I didn’t want to show her that weakness. Something in
my intuition told me not to. I didn’t have a full-blown premonition
but enough of a feeling that I trusted.
Outright asking Theo was the most logical, but would be
humiliating.
I could ask Sai, but that made it seem like I either didn’t trust
Theo to tell me the truth or I was a big ol’ chicken.
Only the latter half was true. I trusted him to tell me. I wasn’t
sure I wanted to know. From him. I didn’t want him to see my initial
reaction.
“You can text him,” she offered.
That was even more of a chicken move.
 We were supposed to be bonded tomorrow. If I couldn’t handle a
conversation about his past, how were we going to survive?
It wasn’t even that he had a past. It was just Natasha. The only
other girl I knew at this school. We were even heading in the
direction of being friends. She didn’t seem to care about me bonding
with Theo or the rest of the guys, so I shouldn’t. She was obviously
a bigger, more confident person.
“This is something you need to talk to all of them about. It’s not
going to change anything. You’re still going through with the
bonding, so maybe you can put it off. Wait until things settle.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “No, I can’t do that. I can’t
start something this important with a question this big hanging over
us.”
“Then, it’s probably a good idea to discuss what the expectations
are as well.”
“With me?”
She nodded. “Technically, this is your marriage, so even if you
were waiting for that . . .”
My heart nearly stopped, then raced. That? Like sex?
I’ve just been waiting to meet a guy I was interested enough in.
None of the boys at my last school met my minimum requirements,
which were comically low. Be nice, smell good, take me on a real
date, and don’t be a jerk.
I kissed a few guys, but nothing spectacular or worth
remembering.
Going from a few high school kisses to moving in together was
enough of a mental hurdle. Adding in a physical relationship with all
four of them was mind-blowing. Not in a good way.
“Hey, breathe.” Hannah waved her hands, and I sucked in a
breath and held it until she waved them down. “Good. No freaking
out. Remember, you’re in control. None of them will force anything
before you’re ready.”
“How do you know?”
She cocked her head and gave me a look that told me she was
questioning my intelligence. “Okay, I don’t know Kaden, but the
other three would never let that happen.”
She was right. I knew they wouldn’t let anyone hurt me,
especially one of them.
“Let’s go in there and feel things out.”
She looped her arm around mine. We found the room and
slipped off our coats as the guys quieted. Daniel kissed her cheek
and pulled her away, leaving me to make the decision of where to
go. Unfortunately, my four mates were scattered around the room. I
didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, so I found a central location
next to Malik and Travis.
“Hey, congratulations.” Travis offered me a small smile.
I tried to return the gesture, but it was more of a cringe.
“Thanks.”
“Are you ready for this?” Malik asked.
“Not really, but there isn’t time for me to adjust. We need to
make this official.”
He hugged me to his side and kissed the top of my head. “We’re
all here for you.”
“Thanks.” I savored the safe, simple feeling of my friend needing
this moment to prepare myself.
Why was it so easy to be around some people, but so unnatural
with others? Maybe it was because there was no pressure. I knew
what the expectations were with Malik and Travis. They were my
friends. People I could rely on and trust without the complication of
my heart. Or a bond.
 It should be this easy with the guys. I shouldn’t have to second-
guess or hesitate when I want to say something. Maybe that was a
point we would work towards and eventually reach.
“Saige?” Malik asked, and I blinked, turning back to him.
“Huh?”
“We’ve been saying your name for a full minute,” Travis chuckled,
“Where’d you go?”
I shook my head, I couldn’t bring up what I’d been thinking
about lately.
“Come on, you can tell us,” Malik leaned in so the three of us
were packed together.
“No judgment here,” Travis whispered.
I wanted to talk to Hannah about this, but she was too wrapped
up in Daniel right now, and I had to bring it up with the guys before
the ceremony. I looked between them and sighed.
“I need to have a really awkward conversation with the guys, but
I’m not sure how.”
“Oh, my favorite,” Travis winked. “How can we help?”
I ducked my head to keep my blush from being too obvious.
“She’s embarrassed,” Malik teased. “This must be good.”
I shot him a half-hearted glare.
“Come on. You can tell us.”
Maybe they could help me with this. “I’m not very experienced.
Like at all.” I widened my eyes, hoping they got the point.
They both nodded, so I continued.
“But I don’t know about the guys. I feel like talking about that
and setting expectations is important before tomorrow.”
Travis bobbed his head from side to side. “It’s only a big deal if
you make it one, and you obviously feel it is. Your guys should
respect that and be open to conversation, but it’s possible not all of
them will want to tell the others. If that’s the case, you should ask to
speak to them privately.”
“Normally, I would agree, but they are bonded. There shouldn’t
be secrets,” Malik countered.
Travis shrugged. “You can’t force five people to be on the same
page, especially this soon. It’s going to take time for them to get
used to each other before they’re able to trust and be completely
transparent.”
“Offering to go first would help,” Malik suggested.
“Well, that’s easy since she has nothing to share.” Travis
squeezed my shoulder. “Go talk to them. We’ll entertain ourselves
until you all are done.”
Right. Just walk up to them and ask them to talk privately.
Perfect.
I’m going.
I’m doing it.
In a minute.
“Go on.” Malik waved me forward.
I bit my lip and looked between them and the rest of the room.
It was so nice over here. No pressure.
“Hey, Niall!” Travis called out. “Saige wants to talk to you.”
Niall turned around in full brooding mode and scanned my entire
body like he was looking for injuries.
“You too, Kaden.” Malik joined in. “Sai and Theo, can you find
another room for all of you?”
Before I could add anything, the four of them walked toward me.
Kaden took my hand as they headed out. I glanced over my
shoulder and mouthed thank you to Malik and Travis. I owed them
one.
“The study room is usually open.” Sai pointed down the hall.
 Unlike the rooms in the library, this one had a sectional couch
and two huge beanbag chairs. I paused in the doorway, but Kaden
tugged me in. I released his hand and claimed one end of the
couch.
Niall and Sai each took a beanbag, and Theo sprawled on the
chaise end with Kaden between us.
“What did you want to talk to us about?” Niall asked.
Ugh. I should have Malik and Travis come in to start the
conversation. I wasn’t even sure what word to say first.
“Tomorrow . . .” That was all I got out before they started
guessing.
“You’re having second thoughts?” Sai said.
“We’ve finalized some key details,” Theo supplied.
“We can’t put it off,” Kaden slipped in.
Niall was the only one to wait, and I realized I might not have to
say anything at all. I thought about it as hard as I could and hoped
he or Theo was able to hear me.
I want to talk about our expectations for this relationship.
It took my entire concentration not to think of kissing or sex or
Natasha.
Theo sat up and glanced at Niall, who smirked like never before.
“She wanted to talk about our expectations,” Niall repeated for
me.
Sai and Kaden looked at him before turning back to me.
“Is that right?” Sai asked.
“Yeah.” I bit my lip and waited.
“What do you mean?” Kaden asked. “Like talking about who will
do what in the apartment? I’ve never been one for a chore list, but if
that’s what you want.”
 “Is this about studying and homework? You and Niall can still
have your Monday and Wednesday sessions,” Sai offered.
I shook my head and looked at Niall again. Our romantic
relationship.
Theo coughed, and Niall leaned back, clearly enjoying this.
“She’s talking about sex, you idiots,” he told them.
Silence.
Not one word.
Well, that didn’t go as planned. Then again, that wasn’t exactly
what I meant, but it was close enough. I had to clarify. “I meant I
want to know what you guys expect about our romantic
relationship.”
“The physical side of it,” Niall added, oh so helpfully.
Sai rubbed his jaw. “I was assuming that would happen naturally
over time.”
“There’s no rush at all,” Kaden added.
Well, at least I knew where I stood with them.
“I already told you I wasn’t ready to move in together or to have
a physical relationship,” Niall said in his bored tone.
“Yeah, but that’s already changed. We’re moving in together as
soon as the apartment is ready,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “That’s out of our control, but how quickly we take
things is up to us.”
Theo agreed with him.
Okay, so their expectations aligned with mine. We could take
things as slowly as I wanted.
“Where did this come from?” Sai asked.
I didn’t want to mention Natasha and my suspicion. I wanted this
to be about us right now. “It's been something I’ve been worried
about since we figured out we were bonded,” I answered.
 He shook his head. “But something made it urgent.”
“The ceremony is tomorrow,” Theo pointed out.
“Right, but that doesn't mean anything else has to happen that
quickly,” Niall pointed out.
I sucked in a breath. “It doesn’t?”
“Of course not,” Kaden answered. “We’re still getting to know
each other. Everything else can come later.”
It wasn’t exactly the answer I wanted, but maybe it was the one
I needed right now. I had enough to worry about without digging
into the past.
“Can we get back to our party now?” Sai struggled to get up
from the beanbag. Niall rolled to the side to stand, then held out a
hand to help him.
“Yes, please.” I jumped up and was the first person out.
“You’re back!” Malik cheered when I opened the door.
Hannah handed me a drink and leaned in. “You survive?”
I let out a sigh. “Barely.”
She laughed and took Daniel’s hand.
“So, what are we doing now?” I asked.
“Well, we wanted to do a newlyweds game but realized you guys
probably can’t answer any of those for each other, so we decided to
take it back to the basics,” Malik explained.
I glanced around, but none of the guys seemed to know what
was going on.
“We’re going to play ‘Never Have I Ever,’” he finished.
I shot him the darkest glare I could muster. Why didn’t he tell me
that before? I could have gotten the same information without
having one of the most embarrassing conversations of my life.
“And miss out on that fun?” Niall whispered in my ear.
I spun and was practically flush against him. “Stop that.”
 “Learn to stop it,” he challenged.
Don’t think. Blank mind. Don’t think about his eyes. Or his lips.
They twitched, and a second later, he was smiling at me with far
too much confidence.
“Ugh.” I spun around and marched to the other side of the room.
Damn him.
Travis and Daniel handed out drinks while we settled into seats in
a circle.
“I’ll go first,” Malik offered. “Never have I ever gotten a tattoo.”
Niall, Theo, and Kaden all drank.
Huh. Hannah and I shared a look. I couldn’t wait to ask about
those.
“Your turn.” Malik squeezed Travis’ hand.
“Okay, never have I ever been hungover.”
Niall and Kaden shared a look and took another drink. Then
Daniel did. Hannah shook her head. “And you’ve regretted that night
ever since.”
“Never again,” he mumbled.
“My turn. Never have I ever,” she paused and looked around
before stopping at me with an evil grin, “had naughty thoughts
about Saige.”
I glared at her, then nearly dropped my cup when every single
guy took a sip. I gaped and pointed to Malik and Travis. “What?”
They shrugged together. “If there was ever going to be a woman
with us, we thought it would be you,” Malik said with a wave of his
hand. “But don’t worry, neither of us is actually interested in trying
that.”
Daniel shrugged. “I can’t help what I dream about. Plus, it was
before Hannah.”
She rolled her eyes.
 I didn’t want to know about the other four.
“Never have I ever used a fake ID,” Daniel hurried the game
along.
No one drank. Not that I was surprised about them. Being at this
school didn’t offer many opportunities.
“Not even you?” I asked Kaden.
“Nah, no reason. You can drink pretty young when you’re eating
at a pub if you’re with your parents.”
“Your turn,” Malik reminded me.
I pretended to consider before blurting out my revenge. “Never
have I ever had dirty thoughts about Hannah.”
She gasped, and I wagged my brows.
This time, all the guys but Kaden drank.
Travis explained with a chuckle. “We considered you too.”
She eyed the guys and scooted closer to Daniel, who kissed her
temple and put his arm around her.
Next was Niall. “Never have I ever cheated on someone.”
I watched the circle, but no one drank.
Theo shrugged. “You have to be in a relationship to cheat, right?”
Niall nodded, and I let out a small sigh.
The rest of the game continued without many surprises. It was
nice to laugh with everyone and take my mind off what was coming.
I felt normal. Just another teenager hanging out with her friends on
a Saturday night—until I crawled into bed and realized it would be
my last time. Tomorrow would change everything.
 CHAPTER 4

“Y ou just have to step through,” Ms. Chronis repeated.

I understood her words, but they didn’t make
sense. She created a portal, and I needed to go into it.
Sai, Theo, and Mrs. Hedgings had already gone. I watched them
disappear. Now it was my turn, but I couldn’t do it.
I trusted her and her magic, but it was early. The boys dragged
me out of bed without any warning. I was still in my pajamas and
too confused to follow instructions.
“Can we go together?” Niall asked.
Ms. Chronis pursed her lips before nodding once. “Please hurry.”
Niall took my hand and, without hesitating, stepped forward into
the swirling blue archway and tugged me with him.
A heavy, icy wave washed over me, and I clung to Niall’s hand.
Less than a second later, we walked out to a massive room I didn’t
recognize. The white and gold wallpaper, massive crystal chandelier,
and crown molding alluded to wealth, but the rest of the room was
empty. Where were we?
“This is the only venue we could get on such short notice, and
they only gave us an hour this morning, so we must be quick.” Mrs.
Hedgings waved me forward. “Come along, my dear.”
 I squeezed Niall's hand once before following her to a side door.
It opened to a beautiful and much smaller version of the room we
were just in, but there was a partition, a huge gold mirror, and a
white velvet chaise that took up most of the space.
“You can change right back here.” She pointed at the partition, so
I walked around it and nearly fell back with a scream.
“Masie!”
“Oh, Saige!” My aunt wrapped me in her arms and held me
tight.
“I thought our families couldn’t come.” I fought to keep back my
tears, but lost.
“Mrs. Hedgings made arrangements so we could meet in a safe
location.”
I stepped back and hugged my mentor. “Thank you so much.”
She grinned. “I’m glad it came together. I didn’t want to get your
hopes up.”
“Are the guys’ families here?”
“Just their parents,” she confirmed.
“Are Mom and Dad?” I asked Masie.
She shook her head. “No, it was too last minute for them to
make arrangements for Brielle and Aiden. I offered to watch them,
but they insisted I come and make sure you know how much they
love you. They’re proud of you.”
That broke the dam. “They are?” I choked out. “I thought they
would be disappointed. I’m so young.”
She wiped my cheeks with her thumb. “They understand this
isn’t a bunch of underage kids being irresponsible or impulsive. They
know enough about the bond to accept this needs to happen.”
I sniffed and nodded. “Thank you.”
 She hugged me again before looking me over. “We can’t let you
go through the ceremony looking like a snotty mess. Let’s get you
cleaned up.”
She had supplies in an attached bathroom, including a waiting
curling iron. I washed my face and sat while she applied a quick
layer of makeup. Then she turned me around to add soft curls to my
hair.
“It’s so much smoother than the last time I saw you,” she noted.
I pointed to the other room. “Thanks to Mrs. Hedgings. She came
up with a potion to detangle my hair.”
“And not a single braid.” Masie smiled at me through the mirror.
“I’ve been better about not doing them so often, and now I
always brush them out before bed.”
“Wow, at least you’ve learned one important thing at school.”
I rolled my eyes and watched her work for a moment before
realizing I was wasting precious time. “Masie, I don’t know what I’m
doing. I talked to the guys about their expectations for the
relationship, and we agreed to move in together, even though some
of us wanted to wait. I thought we would have more time. Weeks, at
least.”
“I know. I wish I had more time to prepare you. I never, ever
would have believed this would happen. Not so soon.”
“Did you know about my bond mark?”
She lifted my hair and shook her head. “I’ve seen it a thousand
times, but never thought about it. You never showed signs of being
a witch or shifter, so it never crossed my mind. Looking back, it was
so obvious.”
“What do you think my parents would say?”
She tilted her head while wrapping another section around the
iron. “Amber and Peter would be so proud of you. Your dad would
interview the guys and make sure they were worthy of his little girl,
but ultimately, they would both trust in the mark and the bond. Your
mom would have loved this moment, Saige. She had a small
wedding with just me and some of their closest friends. She would
be happy to know that you have more support than they did.”
“I do?”
She grinned. “All guys’ parents are here. That’s a big deal. It
means they all approve as well.”
Relief washed through me. “Really?”
“Yes. I didn’t want to spring this on you, but we each wanted
alone time with our kids before the ceremony. You can meet them
after.”
I swallowed any emotion that could mess up my makeup and
willed her to go faster.
“Ten minutes.” Mrs. Hedgings poked her head into the bathroom
and sighed, “Oh, Saige, you look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” I grinned at her. Even though I was still in my
pajamas with half my head curled. It was nice to hear.
“We’ll be ready,” Masie promised.
She disappeared again, and Masie worked faster on my curls
before pulling them over one shoulder and pinning them back with a
pearl clip, exposing my bond mark. I touched the spot before
carefully pulling off my shirt so I didn’t mess up my hair.
Masie appeared with a white garment bag and unzipped it to
reveal the dress Hannah showed me last night.
“How?” I breathed as I reached out and touched the silky fabric.
“The guys sent me what you wanted, and I found it this morning
before I came.”
“Thank you so much.” I tried to hug her, but she put up her
hand. “No messing up the look. You’ve got to change.”
 She helped me into the dress and strappy white heels, and when
I stepped back into the other room and stood in front of the gold
mirror, I covered my mouth. “Oh, wow.”
I looked older. I looked beautiful. I looked like a bride.
“You are absolutely stunning, my love.” Masie gently kissed my
cheek. “I’ll be outside, waiting.”
She turned and hurried out, leaving me with Mrs. Hedgings.
“Ms. Chronis will perform the ceremony. All you need to do is
walk out and meet the other four in front of her. You will stand in a
circle and take hands and repeat the oath after her. It’s very similar
to what you did with Hannah.”
“That’s it?” I pictured drinking a potion or at maybe some blood
ritual being involved.
“Yes, dear.”
“I’ll go now. Wait a minute so you can make a grand entrance,
then join us.” She patted my arm before spinning and leaving me
alone.
I closed my eyes and took several deep breaths. I could do this. I
wanted to do this. This was my future. It was meant to be.
I would be happy. I could make the guys happy. This didn’t have
to be a bad or scary thing. I would never feel alone again. I had my
own family unit now. I would grow stronger and so would my
abilities. I might even be able to shift.
These were good things.
The bonding ceremony was just a formality. We were already
bondmates. This was just the next step.
I spun to face the door. All I needed to do was go out there.
If only I had a bouquet. I didn’t like not having anything to do
with my hands as I walked toward everyone. I glanced in the mirror.
Down at my sides?
 No.
Behind my back?
No, much worse.
Crossed?
Oh no!
Ugh. What was I supposed to do?
Pop!
I glanced over at the chaise, and a beautiful bouquet of white
roses was waiting for me.
Niall?
I picked them up and smelled them. They were real, fresh.
Thank you.
I hoped he heard me and pushed open the door. Every single
person turned to watch me cross the long room toward Mrs. Chronis.
I held onto my flowers like a lifeline and focused on not tripping.
As I got closer, I took in the other faces and smiled at the adults.
Their parents.
Masie was beaming and wiped her eye before extending her
hand and dipping her eyes to the flowers. Right. I handed them off
before taking the final steps to complete the circle with the guys.
They were each dressed in suits that fit them perfectly, making
them appear older and far sexier than ever before. Hopefully, one of
the parents was taking pictures. I wanted to remember this moment
forever.
I stood between Theo and Kaden, and they reached out and took
my hands in theirs. I looked at each of them and paused at Niall. He
winked and mouthed, “you’re welcome.”
I smiled and relaxed a bit. This was normal. This was me and my
friends. Theo, my energetic charmer. Sai, my sweet listener. Niall, my
sensitive observer. And Kaden, my mysterious confidant.
 Mrs. Chronis began. “Thank you all for being here on such short
notice. Given this unique situation, I’m glad you all understood the
time sensitivity as well as the discretion necessary for this event.
Bonding is revered and sacred, but a bond with this many members
and species is something I’ve never seen in all my days.”
In all her days? As in time? Ever?
I squeezed Theo’s hand, and he squeezed back. We would be
okay.
“Everyone in this room has already taken an oath of silence to
protect the members of this bond,” she added, glancing at me. I
returned a small smile. That was good to know.
“So we will begin. Please hold hands.”
Niall, Sai, Theo, and Kaden completed the circle.
“Saige Stewart Williams.”
I sucked in a breath at the use of my birth parents’ name but
was glad they were included.
“Theo Bridges, Sai Saleem, Niall Kelly, and Kaden Pratt, by this
oath you and your abilities shall be bonded together from now until
the end of time.”
“I agree,” Theo spoke first, then Sai, Niall, Kaden, and finally
me.
Unlike the oaths of silence, I felt the power of this promise
spread through me. The zap of electricity I felt the first time I
touched them multiplied in the best way.
A scene flashed in my mind of the five of us leaning against a
balcony, watching the waves crash on the beach in front of us. We’re
laughing, and I’m holding Theo’s hand while resting my head on
Kaden’s shoulder. We’re happy. We’re in love.
I gasped and met Niall’s gaze. Did he know? Could he see or
hear my premonitions?
Another random document with
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Blackwood's
Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 79, No. 484,
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Title: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Vol. 79, No. 484,

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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE, VOL. 79, NO. 484,
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 BLACKWOOD’S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCCCLXXXIV. FEBRUARY 1856.

Vol. LXXIX.
 CONTENTS.

Modern Light Literature—Poetry, 125

A Military Adventure in the Pyrenees—concluded, 138
The Wondrous Age, 154
Public Lectures—Mr Warren on Labour, 170
Touching Oxford, 179
The Ancient Coins of Greece, 193
Tickler among the Thieves! 200
The Drama, 209
Lessons from the War, 232
Religion in Common Life, 243

EDINBURGH:
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 BLACKWOOD’S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCCCLXXXIV. FEBRUARY, 1856.

Vol. LXXIX.

MODERN LIGHT LITERATURE—POETRY.

“Poets,” said the ancient wisdom, “are not made, but born.” We
have made miraculous progress in all the arts of manufacture since
the time of this saying, but we have not been able to controvert the
judgment of our forefathers. Education, refinement, taste, and talent,
are great things in their way, and men do wonders with them; but we
have not fallen yet upon a successful method of bringing down the
divine spark into the marble, let us work it ever so curiously. The
celestial gift in these new times, as in the old, comes down with
divine impartiality, yet seldom into the tenement most specially built
and garnished for its reception. We can make critics, connoisseurs,
“an enlightened audience,” but, let us labour at it as we will, we
cannot make a poet.
 And indeed, to tell the truth, it is but small help we can give, with
all our arts and ingenuities, even to the perfecting of the poet born.
Science discusses the subject gravely—at one time troubled with
apprehensions lest her severe shadow should kill the singer outright,
as Reason killed Love—at another, elate with the happier thought of
increasing all his conquests, and sending forth as her own esquire,
bearing her ponderous lance and helmet, the glorious boy in his
perennial youth. It is a vain speculation. The poet glances past this
important figure with a calm eye and a far-shining smile. His
vocation is beyond and beyond the range of all the sciences. The
heart and soul that were in the first home, ere ever even spade and
distaff were invented, when two forlorn hopeful creatures, wistfully
looking back to the sunset of Eden, wistfully looking forward to the
solemn nightfall of the drear world without, with all its starry
promises of another morning and a higher heaven, were all the
human race—are world and scope enough for the humanest and
most divine of arts. That God has made of one blood all the nations
and all the generations of this many-peopled earth, is the argument
on which he speaks; that heart answers unto heart all the world over,
is the secret of his power. The petulant passion of a child, the
heroisms and exultations and agonies of that fantastical sweet youth,
over whose unconscious mockery of our real conflict we graver
people smile and weep, are of more import to the poet than all the
secrets of the earth, and all the wonders of the sky; and he turns—it
is his vocation—from the discovery of a planet, forgetting all about it,
to make the whole world ring with joy over a cottage cradle, or weigh
down the very wings of the winds with wailing over some
uncommemorated grave.
Yes, it is a humiliating confession—but in reality we are quite as
like to injure as to elevate our poet by all our educations. Perhaps the
heavenly glamour in his eyne had best be left entirely unobscured by
any laws save those of nature; but at all events it seems tolerably
sure, that the more we labour at his training, the less satisfactory is
the result of it. A school of poets is the most hopeless affair in
existence; and whether it dwindle into those smallest of small
rhymsters, leaden echoes of the silver chimes of Pope, in whom the
eighteenth century delighted, or to the present makers of dislocated
verses, whose glory it is to break stones upon the road where the
Laureate’s gilded coach flashes by, we wait with equal weariness and
equal impatience for the Coming Man, who knows neither school nor
education—whose business it is to rout the superannuated spinsters,
and make the world ring once more with the involuntary outburst of
song and youth.
But we who are but the unhappy victims of the mania, why do we
blame ourselves? Alas! it is not we, but our poets, foolish fraternity,
who have set about this fatal task of making a school and perfecting
themselves in their art. How do you suppose they are to do it, kindest
reader? In other arts and professions the self-love of the student in
most instances suffers a woeful downfall at his very outset. Tutors
and books, dire conspirators against his innocence, startle the
hapless neophyte out of all his young complacency; professors set
him down calmly as a know-nothing; chums, with storms of laughter,
drive him out of his last stronghold. He has to shut himself out from
his college doors; seal himself up, poor boy, in his home letters, and
so sit down and study other people’s wisdom, till he comes by that far
away and roundabout process to some true estimate of his own.
But the poet, say the poets, needs other training. For him it is
safest that we shut him up with himself. Himself, a separated
creature, garlanded and crowned for the sacrifice, is, in one noble
concentration, all the ethics, the humanity, and the religion with
which he has to do; significances, occult and mysterious, are in every
breath of wind that whispers about his dedicated head; his smallest
actions are note-worthy, his sport is a mystery, his very bread and
cheese symbolical. He is a poet—everywhere, and in all places, it is
the destiny of this unfortunate to reverence himself, to contemplate
himself, to expound and study the growth of a poet’s mind, the
impulses of a poet’s affections; he is not to be permitted to be
unconscious of the sweet stirrings within him of the unspoken song;
he is not to be allowed to believe with that sweetest simplicity of
genius that every other youthful eye beholds “the light that never was
on sea or land,” as well as his own. Unhappy genius! ill-fated poet!
for him alone of all men must the heavens and the earth be blurred
over with a miserable I,—and so he wanders, a woeful Narcissus,
seeing his own image only, and nothing better, in all the lakes and
fountains; and, bound by all the canons of his art, falls at last
desperately either in love or in hate with the persistent double,
which, go where he will, still looks him in the face.
 But we bethink us of the greater poets, sons of the elder time.
There was David, prince of lyric-singers; there was Shakespeare,
greatest maker among men. The lyricist was a king, a statesman, a
warrior, and a prophet; the leisure of his very youth was the leisure
of occupation, when the flocks were feeding safe in the green
pastures, and by the quiet waters; and even then the dreaming poet-
eye had need to be wary, and sometimes flashed into sudden
lightning at sight of the lion which the stripling slew. He sung out of
the tumult and fulness of his heart—out of the labours, wars, and
tempests of his most human and most troubled life: his business in
this world was to live, and not to make poems. Yet what songs he
made! They are Holy Writ, inspired and sacred; yet they are human
songs, the lyrics of a struggling and kingly existence—the overflow of
the grand primal human emotions to which every living heart
resounds. His “heart moved him,” his “soul was stirred within him”—
true poet-heart—true soul of inspiration! and not what other men
might endure, glassed in the mirror of his own profound poetic
spirit, a study of mankind; but of what himself was bearing there and
at that moment, the royal singer made his outcry, suddenly, and “in
his haste,” to God. What cries of distress and agony are these! what
bursts of hope amid the heartbreak! what shouts and triumphs of
great joy! For David did not live to sing, but sang because he strove
and fought, rejoiced and suffered, in the very heart and heat of life.
Let us say a word of King David ere we go further. Never crowned
head had so many critics as this man has had in these two thousand
years; and many a scorner takes occasion by his failings, and
religious lips have often faltered to call him “the man after God’s own
heart;” yet if we would but think of it, how touching is this name! Not
the lofty and philosophic Paul, though his tranced eyes beheld the
very heaven of heavens; not John, although the human love of the
Lord yearned towards that vehement angel-enthusiast, whose very
passion was for God’s honour; but on this sinning, struggling,
repenting David, who fights and falls, and rises only to fall and fight
again—who only never will be content to lie still in his overthrow,
and acknowledge himself vanquished—who bears about with him
every day the traces of some downfall, yet every day is up again,
struggling on as he can, now discouraged, now desperate, now
exultant; who has a sore fighting life of it all his days, with enemies
within and without, his hands full of wars, his soul of ardours, his life
of temptations. Upon this man fell the election of Heaven. And small
must his knowledge be, of himself or of his race, who is not moved to
the very soul to think upon God’s choice of this David, as the man
after His own heart. Heaven send us all as little content with our sins
as had the King of Israel! Amen.
And then there is Shakespeare: never man among men, before or
after him, has made so many memorable people; yet amid all the
crowding faces on his canvass, we cannot point to one as “the
portrait of the painter.” He had leisure to make lives and histories for
all these men and women, but not to leave a single personal token to
us of himself. The chances seem to be, that this multitudinous man,
having so many other things to think of, thought marvellously little
of William Shakespeare; and that all that grave, noble face would
have brightened into mirthfullest laughter had he ever heard, in his
own manful days, of the Swan of Avon. His very magnitude, so to
speak, lessens him in our eyes; we are all inclined to be apologetic
when we find him going home in comfort and good estate, and
ending his days neither tragically nor romantically, but in ease and
honour. He is the greatest of poets, but he is not what you call a
poetical personage. He writes his plays for the Globe, but, once
begun upon them, thinks only of his Hamlet or his Lear, and not a
whit of his audience; nor, in the flush and fulness of his genius, does
a single shadow of himself cross the brilliant stage, where, truth to
speak, there is no need of him. The common conception of a poet, the
lofty, narrow, dreamy soul, made higher and more abstract still by
the glittering crown of light upon his crested forehead, is entirely
extinguished in the broad flood of sunshine wherein stands this
Shakespeare, a common man, sublimed and radiant in a very deluge
and overflow of genial power. Whether it be true or not that these
same marvellous gifts of his would have made as great a statesman
or as great a philosopher as they made a poet, it does not lie in our
way to discover; but to know that the prince of English poets did his
work, which no man has equalled, with as much simplicity and as
little egotism as any labouring peasant of his time—to see him setting
out upon it day by day, rejoicing like a strong man to run a race, but
never once revealing to us those laborious tokens of difficulties
overcome, which of themselves, as Mr Ruskin says, are among the
admirable excellences of Art—to perceive his ease and speed of
progress, and how his occupation constantly is with his story and
never with himself,—what a lesson it is! But alas, and alas! we are
none of us Shakespeares. Far above his motives, we would scorn to
spend our genius on a Globe Theatre, or on any other vulgar manner
of earning daily bread. The poet is a greater thing than his poem; let
us take it solely as an evidence of his progress; and in the mean time,
however he may tantalise the world with his gamut and his exercises,
let all the world look on with patience, with awe, and with
admiration. True, he is not making an Othello or a Hamlet; but never
mind, he is making Himself.
Yet the thought will glide in upon us woefully unawares,—What
the better are we? We are ever so many millions of people, and only a
hundred or two of us at the utmost can be made happy in the
personal acquaintanceship of Mr Tennyson or (we humbly crave the
Laureate’s pardon for the conjunction) Mr Dobell. In this view of the
question, it is not near so important to us that these gentlemen
should perfect the poet, as that they should make the poem. We ask
the Laureate for a battle-song, and he gives us a skilful fantasia upon
the harp; we hush our breath and open our ears, and, listening
devoutly to the “Eureka!” of here and there a sanguine critic, who has
found a poet, wait, longing for the lay that is to follow. Woe is upon
us!—all that we can hear in the universal twitter is, that every man is
trying his notes. We are patient, but we are not a stoic; and in the
wrath of our disappointment are we not tempted a hundred times to
plunge these melodious pipes into the abyss of our waste-paper
basket, and call aloud for Punch, and the Times?
Yes, that great poetic rebel, Wordsworth, has heavier sins upon his
head than Betty Foy and Alice Fell; it is to him we owe it, that the
poet in these days is to be regarded as a delicate monster, a creature
who lives not life but poetry, a being withdrawn out of the common
existence, and seeing its events only in the magic mirror of his own
consciousness, as the Lady of Shallott saw the boats upon the river,
and the city towers burning in the sun. The Poet of the Lakes had no
imaginary crimes to tell the world of, nor does it seem that he
regarded insanity as one of the highest and most poetic states of
man; but we venture to believe there never would have been a
Balder, and Maud should have had no crazy lover, had there been no
Recluse, solemnly living a long life for Self and Poetry in the retired
and sacred seclusion of Rydal Mount.
 It is in this way that the manner which is natural and a necessity to
some one great spirit, becomes an intolerable bondage and
oppression to a crowd of smaller ones. The solemn egotism, self-
reserved and abstract, which belonged to Wordsworth, is more easily
copied than the broad, bright, manful nature of our greatest English
poet, who was too mighty to be peculiar; and the delusion has still a
deeper root. It is in our nature, as it seems, to scorn what is familiar
and common to all the world; priesthoods, find them where you will,
are bound to profess a more ethereal organisation, and seek a
separated atmosphere. Wordsworth is a very good leader; but for a
thorough out-and-out practical man, admitting no compromise with
his theory, commend us to Anthony the Eremite, the first of all
monkish deserters from this poor sinking vessel, the world. The poet
is the priest of Nature; out with him from this Noah’s ark of clean
and unclean,—this field of wheat and tares, growing together till the
harvest,—this ignoble region of common life. Let the interpreter
betake him to his monastery, his cloister, his anchorite’s cell—and
when he is there? Yes, when he is there—he will sing to us poor
thralls whom he has left behind, but not of our ignoble passions and
rejoicings, or the sorrows that rend our hearts. Very different from
our heavy-handed troubles, rough troopers in God’s army of
afflictions, are the spectre shapes of this poetic world. True, their
happiness is rapture, their misery of the wildest, their remorse the
most refined; but the daylight shines through and through these
ghostly people, and leaves nothing of them but bits of cloud. Alas, the
preaching is vain and without profit! What can the poet do—when he
is tired of his Mystic, sick of his Balder, weary of Assyrian bulls and
lords with rabbit-mouths? Indeed, there seems little better left for
him than what his predecessors did before. The monk spent his soul
upon some bright-leaved missal, and left the record of his life in the
illumination of an initial letter, or the border of foliage on a vellum
page; the poet throws away his in some elaborate chime of words,
some new inverted measure, or trick of jingling syllables. Which is
the quaintest? for it is easy to say which is the saddest waste of the
good gifts of God.
Also it is but an indifferent sign of us, being, as we undoubtedly
are, so far as poetry is concerned, a secondary age, that there can be
no dispute about the first poet of our day. There is no elder
brotherhood to compete for the laurel; no trio like Wordsworth,
Coleridge, and Southey; no guerilla like Byron to seize upon the
contested honour, nor Irish minstrel to strike a sugared note of
emulation. Should a chance arrow at this moment strike down our
poetic champion, so far from comforting ourselves, like King Henry,
that we have “five hundred as good as he,” we could not find for our
consolation one substitute for Tennyson. Echoes of him we could
indeed find by the score; but no one his entire equal in all the field.
Let no one say we do not appreciate poetry; in these mechanical days
there are still a goodly number of singers who could echo that
unfortunate admission which cost Haverillo his life, and was the last
stroke of exasperation to the redoubtable Firmilian, “I have a third
edition in the press.” But in spite of Smith and Dobell, the Brownings
and the Mystics, our Laureate holds his place; holding his laurel with
justice and right less disputable than most of his predecessors. Yet
our admiration of Tennyson is perplexed and unsatisfactory. He is
the first in his generation, but out of his generation he does not bear
comparison with any person of note and fame equal to his own. He is
small in the presence of Wordsworth, a very inferior magician indeed
by the side of Coleridge; his very music—pardon us, all poets and all
critics!—does not flow. It may be melodious, but it is not winged; one
stanza will not float into another. It is a rosary of golden beads, some
of them gemmed and radiant, fit to be set in a king’s crown; but you
must tell them one by one, and take leisure for your comment while
they drop from your fingers. They are beautiful, but they leave you
perfectly cool and self-possessed in the midst of your admiration. To
linger over them is a necessity; it becomes them to be read with
criticism; you go over the costly beadroll and choose your single
favourites here and there, as you might do in a gallery of sculpture.
And thus the poet chooses to make you master of his song,—it does
not seize upon you.
This is a kind and manner of influence which poets have not often
aimed at. Hitherto it has been the object of this fraternity to arrest
and overpower their audience as the Ancient Mariner fascinated the
wedding guest; and we all know how helplessly, and with what
complete submission, we have followed in the train of these
enchanters, wheresoever it pleased them to turn their wayward
footsteps. But Mr Tennyson aims at a more refined and subtle
influence than this downright enslaving. A poet who writes, or seems
to write, because he cannot help it,—and a poet who writes, or seems
to write, of set purpose and malice prepense, are two very different
persons. A man of the first class could not have written In
Memoriam. Had he been mourning, he must have mourned a closer
grief, and broken his heart over it, ere he had wept the half of those
melodious tears; but for the poet quietly selecting a subject for his
poem, the wisest philosopher could not have suggested a better
choice. A great deal has been said and written on this subject, and we
are fully aware that grief does not make books, or even poems, except
in very rare and brief instances, and that the voice of a great sorrow
is a sharp and bitter outcry, and not a long and eloquent monologue.
But Mr Tennyson does not present himself to us under the strong
and violent compulsion of a great sorrow. It is not grief at his heart
which makes him speak, using his gifts to give ease and utterance to
its burden of weeping; but it is himself who uses his grief, fully
perceiving its capabilities, and the entrance it will give him into the
sacred and universal sympathy of his fellows. For, like all great works
of art, this poem appeals to one of the primitive and universal
emotions of human nature. The dead—the early dead, the beloved,
the gifted, the young: we may discuss the appropriateness of the
tribute, but we cannot refuse to be moved by its occasion. No man
can look on these pages without finding here and there a verse which
strikes home; for few of us are happy enough to live so much as
twenty years in this weary world of ours without some In Memoriam
of our own.
Yet we cannot complain of Mr Tennyson that he makes
merchandise of any of the nearest and closest bereavements, the
afflictions which shake the very balance of the world to those who
suffer them. His sorrow is as much of the mind as of the heart; he
weeps a companion beloved, yet almost more honoured and
esteemed than beloved—a friend, not even a brother, still less a child
or a wife;—enough of the primitive passion to claim sympathy from
all of us, but not so much that our sympathy loses itself in a woe
beyond consolation. Pure friendship is seldom so impassioned; but
had it been a commoner tie—a relationship more usual—these
gradual revelations of grief in all its successive phases must have
been too much at once for the poet and his audience. This nice
discrimination secures for us that we are able to read and follow him
into all those solemn regions of thought and fancy which open at the
touch of death; he does not fall down upon the grave, the threshold,
as we are but too like to do, and we wander after him wistfully,
beguiled with the echo of this thoughtful weeping, which must have
overpowered us had it been as close or as personal as our own. We
feel that over our own minds these same thoughts have flashed now
and then—a momentary gleam—while we were wading in the bitter
waters, and woefully making up our minds, a hundred times in an
hour, to the will of God; but who could follow them out? The poet,
more composed, does what we could not do; he makes those flashes
of hope or of agony into pictures visible and true. Those glimpses of
the face of the dead, of the moonlight marking out upon the marble
the letters of his name, those visions of his progress now from height
to height in the pure heavens, all the inconsistent lights and shadows
—mingled thoughts of the silence in the grave, and of the sound and
sunshine of heaven—not one of them is passed over. People say it is
not one poem, but a succession of poems. It must have been so, or it
would not have been true. One after another they come gleaming
through the long reverie of grief—one after another, noting well their
inconsistencies, their leaps from day to night, from earth to heaven,
the poet has set them down. He knows that we think of the lost, in
the same instant, as slumbering under the sod and as awaking above
the sky; he knows that we realise them here and there, as living and
yet as dead; he knows that our
“fancy fuses old and new,
And flashes into false and true,
And mingles all without a plan.”

It is the excellence of In Memoriam that it is a succession of poems

—that the thread of connection runs loosely—now and then drops,
and as unexpectedly comes to light again—that the sequence of these
fancies knows no logic, and that they come in the strain as they come
to the heart.
At the same time it is equally true that all this is done of set
purpose and intention—that the act with which, glimpse by glimpse,
the whole tearful chronicle is made visible, is a calm deliberate act,
and not a voice out of the present passion of a heartbreaking grief.
The poet has chosen the theme—it is not the theme which urges with
an overpowering impulse the utterance of the poet.
 And so it is with all Mr Tennyson’s verses, for—no disparagement
to his poetic power—verses we must call them. It is true he is now
and then moved by some sudden exclamation, and shouts it out with
an unexpected force which startles his readers, for the moment, into
a more eager sympathy—but for the most part this poet holds his
verse in perfect subordination, and is never overcome or led away by
it. His poetry is made, it is not born. When he can round a sentence
into a stanza, the effect, of its kind, is perfect; but the very form of his
favourite measure, the rhythm of In Memoriam, is against any real
outburst of involuntary song; for the verse which falls so sweetly
when it contains all that belongs to it within its perfect crystal round,
like a dewdrop, makes only a most blurred and unshapely strain
when it has to eke out its sense with another and another stanza.
When the necessities of his subject force him to this, the poet labours
like a man threading together a succession of fish-ponds in hopes of
making a river. Of themselves these silvery globes are perfect, but
there is no current in them, and, work as you will, they can never
flow and glow into a living stream. Yes, our Laureate unhappily is
always far too much “master of his subject;” would that his subject
now and then could but master him!
If it should happen, by any chance, that Mr Tennyson shared in
Wordsworth’s solemn conceit, and designed to make a Gothic
cathedral out of his works and life, we marvel much what place in it
could be given to The Princess, that prettiest of poetic extravagances.
Not a Lady-chapel, though it is of a college of ladies that the story
treats—not a delicate shrine, all wrought in lilies and graces of
foliage, like the shrine of some sweet maiden-saint. No; the Marys,
the Catherines, and the Margarets, symbolised an entirely different
fashion of womankind; yet have we the greatest kindness for Ida in
her girlish heroics, sincerest of all fictions—in her grand words, and
her pride, her inconstant subjects, and her own self-betraying heart.
For our own part, we are so entirely weary of symbols, that we do not
pause to inquire whether The Princess means anything more than it
professes to mean. To us it is only a pleasant picture of the
phantasies of youth.
The sweet and daring folly of girlish heroics and extravagance has
not done half so much service to the poet and story-teller as has the
corresponding stage in the development of man. Yet there is more
innocence in it, and perhaps in its full bloom its pretensions are even
more sublime. The delicate temerity which dares everything, yet at
its very climax starts away in a little sudden access of fear—the
glorious young stoic, who could endure a martyrdom, yet has very
hard ado to keep from crying when you lose her favourite book or
break her favourite flower—the wild enthusiast dreamer, scorning all
authorities, who yet could not sleep o’ nights if she had transgressed
by ever so little the sweet obedience of home,—there is a charm
about this folly almost more delightful than the magic of the bolder
youth, with all its bright vagaries; and it is this which makes our
tenderness for the Princess Ida and all her “girl graduates in their
golden hair.”
Strange enough, however, this phase of youthfulness does not
seem to have struck any woman-poet. We have heroines pensive and
heroines sublime, heroines serious and heroines merry, but very few
specimens of that high fantastical which embraces all these, and into
which most men, and doubtless most women, on their way to soberer
life, have the luck to fall. Mrs Browning is too sad, too serious, too
conscious of the special pangs and calamities which press heaviest on
her sisterhood, to take note of any happier peculiarity. Nor is this
special eye to feminine troubles confined to Mrs Browning: a
weeping and a melancholy band are the poetesses of all generations.
“Woman is the lesser man,” says the Laureate; but only woman is the
sadder man—the victim set apart on a platform of injury—the
wronged and slighted being whose lot it is to waste her sweetness on
hearts unkind and ungrateful, say all the ladies. “Her lot is on you.”
The mature woman has no better thought, when she looks over the
bright girl-heads, bent in their morning prayer; and wherever we
have a female singer, there stands woman, deject and pensive,
betrayed, forsaken, unbeloved, weeping immeasurable tears. Is a
woman, then, the only creature in God’s universe whom He leaves
without compensation? Out upon the thought! but there ought to be
some Ida bold enough to proclaim the woman’s special happinesses
—the exuberant girl-delights—the maiden meditation, fancy free—
the glory of motherhood—the blessings as entirely her own as are the
griefs. Bertha in the Lane is a most moving story, sweetly told; but ye
are not always weeping, O gentlest sisterhood! and where are your
songs of joy?
 If Mr Tennyson intends the hysterical folly of Maud for a
companion picture to this one, he is indeed elevating the woman to a
higher pedestal than even Ida dreamed of; for the youth is a
miserable conception in comparison with this sunbright girl. In the
beginning of the last reign of poets—when men, disturbed by the
great rustle of the coming wings, endeavoured to find out wherein
the magic consisted, to which they could not choose but yield—we
remember to have seen many clever speculations on the nature of
poetry “One said it was the moon—another said nay”; and it was very
hard to understand the unreasonable potency of this enchantment—
which, indeed, clever people, unwilling to yield to an influence which
they cannot measure, are perpetually accounting for by rules and
principles of art. “It has always been our opinion,” says Lord Jeffrey,
“that the very essence of poetry, apart from the pathos, the wit, or the
brilliant description which may be embodied in it, but may exist
equally in prose, consists in the fine perception and vivid expression
of that subtle and mysterious analogy which exists between the
physical and the moral world—which makes outward things and
qualities the natural types and emblems of inward gifts and
emotions, and leads us to ascribe life and sentiment to everything
that interests us in the aspects of external nature.” Lord Jeffrey is a
good authority, though sometimes this troublesome poetry put even
the accomplished critic out of his reckoning; but we are sadly afraid
that this deliverance of his, or at least the idea it contains, has had
some share in the present insanity of all our poets in regard to
Nature. Mr Tennyson may have a private reason of his own for
making such a miserable grumbler as his last hero. Mr Dobell may
hold himself justified, in the heights of self-complacence, and for the
benefit of art, for his atrocious Balder, a criminal, by all poetic laws,
for prosiness interminable, worse than murder; but we would crave
to know what right these gentlemen may have to seize upon our
genial nature, and craze her healthful looks and voices to their
hysterical and ghastly fancy? We are content, if he uses his own
materials, that the Laureate should dabble his hollow with blood to
his heart’s content; but we will not consent, for a hundred laureates,
to make the free heather of our hills, the kindly blossom sacred to
home and to liberty, an image of disgust and horror. After all, this is
a very poor trick and a contemptible—at its best much like that which
Mr Ruskin denounces as the most ignoble thing in painting, the