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Through the narrow paved streets, where
all was still, To the little gray church on the windy
Come away, away, children; Come, children, come down! The hoarse wind blows colder; Lights shine in the town. She will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear the winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl. Singing: “Here came a mortal, But faithless was she! And alone dwell for ever The kings of the sea.”
From the church came a murmur of folk
at their prayers, But we stood without in the cold blowing
airs. We climbed on the graves, on the stones
worn with rains, And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded panes.
75 She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear: “Margaret, hist! come quick, we are
here! Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone; The sea grows stormy, the little ones
moan.” But, ah, she gave me never a look, For her eyes were sealed to the holy
book! Loud prays the priest; shut stands the
door. Come away, children, call no more! Come away, come down, call no more!
But, children, at midnight,
Down, down, down! Down to the depths of the sea! She sits at her wheel in the humming
town, Singing most joyfully. Hark what she sings: “O joy, O joy, For the humming street, and the child with its toy!
90 For the priest, and the bell, and the holy
sand, And over the sand at the sea; And her eyes are set in a stare; 100 And anon there breaks a sigh, And anon there drops a tear, From a sorrow-clouded eye, And a heart sorrow-laden; A long, long sigh
105 For the cold strange eyes of a little Mer
maiden And the gleam of her golden hair.
And can this fragrant lawn
THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY With its cool trees, and night, And the sweet, tranquil Thames, Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the And moonshine, and the dew,
hill; To thy racked heart and brain
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled? Afford no balm?
No longer leave thy wistful flock unDost thou to-night behold
fed, Here, through the moonlight on this Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their English grass,
throats, The unfriendly palace in the Thracian Nor the cropped herbage shoot wild?
another head. Dost thou again peruse
But when the fields are still, With hot cheeks and seared eyes 20 And the tired men and dogs all gone to The too clear web, and thy dumb sister's
And only the white sheep are someDost thou once more assay
times seen Thy flight, and feel come over thee,
Cross and recross the strips of Poor fugitive, the feathery change
moonblanched green, Once more, and once more seem to make Come, shepherd, and again begin the resound
10 With love and hate, triumph and agony, Lone Daulis, and the high Cephissian Here, where the reaper was at work of vale?
In this high field's dark corner, where he How thick the bursts come crowding
leaves through the leaves!
His coat, his basket, and his Again-thou hearest?
earthen cruse, Eternal passion!
And in the sun all morning binds the Eternal pain!
sheaves, Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use
Here will I sit and wait,
While to my ear from uplands far
away Strew on her roses, roses,
The bleating of the folded flocks is And never a spray of yew!
borne, In quiet she reposes;
With distant cries of reapers in the Ah, would that I did too!
All the live murmur of a summer's Her mirth the world required;
day. She bathed it in smiles of glee. But her heart was tired, tired,
Screened is this nook o'er the high, halfAnd now they let her be.
And here till sun-down, shepherd, will Her life was turning, turning,
I be. In mazes of heat and sound; 10 Through the thick corn the scarlet But for peace her soul was yearning,
poppies peep, And now peace laps her round. And round green roots and yellowing
stalks I see Her cabined, ample spirit,
Pale blue convolvulus in tendrils It fluttered and failed for breath;
creep; To-night it doth inherit
And air-swept lindens yield
1 made of interwoven twigs or branches.
Their scent, and rustle down their per Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and fumed showers
tongue-tied, Of bloom on the bent grass where I In hat of antique shape, and cloak of am laid,
55 And bower me from the August sun
The same the gipsies wore. with shade;
Shepherds had met him on the Hurst And the eye travels down to Oxford's
in spring; towers.
At some lone alehouse in the Berk
shire moors, And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's On the warm ingle-bench,' the smockbook
frocked boors Come, let me read the oft-read tale Had found him seated at their enter
again! The story of that Oxford scholar poor, Of pregnant parts and quick inventive | But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he brain,
would fly. Who, tired of knocking at prefer And I myself seem half to know thy ment's door,
looks, One summer-morn forsook
And put the shepherds, wanderer, on His friends, and went to learn the gipsy
thy trace; lore,
· And boys who in lone wheat fields scare And roamed the world with that wild
the rooks brotherhood,
I ask if thou hast passed their quiet And came, as most men deemed, to
- 65 little good,
Or in my boat I lie But came to Oxford and his friends no Moored to the cool bank in the summer more.
’Mid wide grass meadows which the But once, years after, in the country
sunshine fills, lanes,
And watch the warm, green-muffled Two scholars, whom at college erst he
Cumner hills, knew,
And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy Met him, and of his way of life in
70 quired; Whereat he answered, that the gipsy
For most, I know, thou lov'st retired
F crew, His mates, had arts to rule as they de
Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe, sired
Returning home on summer-nights, The workings of men's brains,
have met And they can bind them to what
Crossing the stripling Thames at Babthoughts they will.
lock-hithe, “And I,” he said, "the secret of their
Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers art,
75 When fully learned, will to the world
As the punt's2 rope chops round: impart;
And leaning backward in a pensive But it needs heaven-sent moments for
dream, this skill.”
And fostering in thy lap a heap of
flowers This said, he left them, and returned no
Plucked in shy fields and distant more.
Wychwood bowers, But rumors hung about the country
And thine eyes resting on the moonlit side,
stream. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray,
2 small, flat-bottomed boat.
i fireside bench.
And then they land, and thou art seen no And marked thee, when the stars more.
come out and shine, Maidens, who from the distant hamlets Through the long dewy grass move slow come
away. To dance around the Fyfield elm in
In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley WoodOft through the darkening fields have Where most the gipsies by the turfseen thee roam,
edged way Or cross a stile into the public Pitch their smoked tents, and every way.
bush you see Oft thou hast given them store With scarlet patches tagged and shreds Of flowers—the frail-leafed, white anem
of gray, one,
Above the forest-ground called ThesDark bluebells drenched with dews of
115 summer eves,
The blackbird, picking food, And purple orchises with spotted Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears leaves
at all; But none hath words she can report of So often has he known thee past him thee.
Rapt, twirling in thy hand a withAnd, above Godstow Bridge, when hay
ered spray, time's here
And waiting for the spark from heaven In June, and many a scythe in sunshine
to fall. :
120 flames, Men who through those wide fields of And once, in winter, on the causeway chill breezy grass
Where home through flooded fields Where black-winged swallows haunt
foot-travelers go, the glittering Thames,
Have I not passed thee on the wooden To bathe in the abandoned lasher
95 Wrapped in thy cloak and battling with Have often passed thee near,
the snow, Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown; Thy face toward Hinksey and its Marked thine outlandish garb, thy
125 figure spare,
And thou hast climbed the hill, Thy dark vague eyes, and soft ab And gained the white brow of the Cumstracted air
ner range; But, when they came from bathing, thou Turned once to watch, while thick wast gone.
the snowflakes fall,
The line of festal light in ChristAt some lone homestead in the Cumner
Then sought thy straw in some seWhere at her open door the housewife
130 darns, Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a | But what–I dream! Two hundred years gate
are flown To watch the threshers in the mossy Since first thy story ran through Oxford barns.
halls, Children, who early range these And the grave Glanvil did the tale slopes and late
inscribe For cresses from the rills,
That thou wert wandered from the Have known thee eying, all an April
To learn strange arts, and join a The springing pastures and the feed
135 ing kine;
And thou from earth art gone
Long since, and in some quiet church Which much to have tried, in much yard laid
been baffled, brings. 165 Some country-nook, where o'er thy O life unlike to ours! unknown grave
Who fluctuate idly without term or Tall grasses and white flowering
scope, nettles wave,
Of whom each strives, nor knows for Under a dark, red-fruited yew-tree's
what he strives, shade.
140 And each half lives a hundred differ
ent lives; -No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, hours!
170 For what wears out the life of mortal men?
Thou waitest for the spark from heaven: 'Tis that from change to change
and we, their being rolls;
Light half-believers of our casual creeds, 'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again, Who never deeply felt, nor clearly Exhaust the energy of strongest
145 Whose insight never has borne fruit in And numb the elastic powers
deeds, Till having used our nerves with bliss Whose vague resolves never have and teen,
175 And tired upon a thousand schemes
For whom each year we see our wit,
Breeds new beginnings, disappointTo the just-pausing Genius we remit
ments new; Our worn-out life, and are what we Who hesitate and falter life away, have been. .
And lose to-morrow the ground won
to-dayThou hast not lived, why should'st thou Ah, do not we, wanderer, await it too?
perish, so? Thou had'st one aim, one business, one Yes, we await it, but it still delays, 181 desire;
And then we suffer; and amongst us one, Else wert thou long since numbered Who most has suffered, takes dejectwith the dead,
edly Else hadst thou spent, like other men, His seat upon the intellectual throne; thy fire,
And all his store of sad experience he The generations of thy peers are Lays bare of wretched days; 186 fled,
155 Tells us his misery's birth and growth And we ourselves shall go;
and signs, But thou possessest an immortal lot, And how the dying spark of hope was And we imagine thee exempt from
And how the breast was soothed, and And living as thou liv'st on Glan
how the head, vil's page,
And all his hourly varied anodynes. 190 Because thou hadst-what we, alas! have not.
This for our wisest! and we others pine,
And wish the long unhappy dream would For early didst thou leave the world, with
And waive all claim to bliss, and try Fresh, undiverted to the world without,
to bear; Firm to their mark, not spent on With close-lipped patience for our only other things;
friend, Free from the sick fatigue, the languid Sad patience, too near neighbor to doubt,
despairBut none has hope like thine.