Changed, or but truer seen, one sees in her Something to wake the soul, the interior sense to stir. 340 Alone they met, from alien eyes away, The high shore hid them in a tiny bay. They met, before they knew it, in their eyes. In his a wondering admiration glowed, 345 In hers, a world of tenderness o'erflowed; His latest theory with patience hear: "I sought not, truly would to seek disdain, 350 355 A kind, soft pillow for a wearying pain, Fatigues and cares to lighten, to relieve; 360 Though that alone were happiness, were gain, A heart, the secrets of my heart to keep; To share my hopes, and in my griefs to grieve; 365 Yet love is fellow-service, I believe." "Yet in the eye of life's all-seeing sun 370 MATTHEW ARNOLD. THE SCHOLAR-GIPSY. Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill; No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed, Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats, Nor the cropp'd herbage shoot another head; But when the fields are still, 5 And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest, And only the white sheep are sometimes seen Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanch'd green, Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest ! ΙΟ Here, where the reaper was at work of late — Here will I sit and wait, While to my ear from uplands far away The bleating of the folded flocks is borne, All the live murmur of a summer's day. Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field, Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep, And air-swept lindens yield Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book- 35 His friends, and went to learn the gipsy-lore, 40 But once, years after, in the country-lanes, His mates, had arts to rule as they desired And they can bind them to what thoughts they will. This said, he left them, and return'd no more. That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray, 55 Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring; 60 But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly. 50 45 And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace; Moor'd to the cool bank in the summer-heats, 'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills, And watch the warm, green-muffled Cumner hills, And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats. For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground: Returning home on summer-nights, have met, 65 70 75 And leaning backward in a pensive dream, Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers, And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream. 80 And then they land, and thou art seen no more! Oft thou hast given them store Of flowers the frail-leaf'd, white anemone, Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam, 85 Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves, And purple orchises with spotted leaves But none hath words she can report of thee. 90 And, above Godstow Bridge, when hay-time's here In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames, Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass Where black-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames. 95 Have often pass'd thee near Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown; Mark'd thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare, Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills, 100 Children, who early range these slopes and late 105 Have known thee eying, all an April-day, The springing pastures and the feeding kine; And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine, Through the long dewy grass move slow away. ΙΙΟ In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see With scarlet patches tagg'd and shreds of grey, Above the forest-ground called Thessaly The blackbird, picking food, Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all; And once, in winter, on the causeway chill Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go, 115 120 Thy face tow'rd Hinksey and its wintry ridge? 125 And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range; Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall, 130 But what I dream! Two hundred years are flown |