There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here Our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, outliving thee! Woods with anemonies in flower till May, Know him a wanderer still; then why not me? A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, Shy to illumine; and I seek it too. 200 This does not come with houses or with gold, With place, with honour, and a flattering crew; 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold But the smooth-slipping weeks Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired; Thou too, O Thyrsis, on like quest wast bound; Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour! Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, If men esteemed thee feeble, gave thee power, If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. And this rude Cumnor ground, Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, Here cams't thou in thy jocund youthful time, Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime! And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields. 220 What though the music of thy rustic flute Kept not for long its happy, country tone; Lost it too soon, and learnt a stormy note Of men contention-tost, of men who groan, Which task'd thy pipe too sore, and tired thy throat It fail'd, and thou wast mute! Yet hadst thou alway visions of our light, not stay, And soon thy foot resumed its wandering way, Left human haunt, and on alone till night. 230 Too rare, too rare, grow now my visits here! 'Mid city-noise, not, as with thee of yore, Thyrsis! in reach of sheep-bells is my home. ---Then through the great town's harsh, heart-wearying roar, Let in thy voice a whisper often come, Why faintest thou? I wonder'd till I died. still. Dost thou ask proof? Our tree yet crowns the hill, Our Scholar travels yet the loved hill-side. 1866. 240 Matthew Arnold. RUGBY CHAPEL November, 1857 COLDLY, sadly descends The autumn-evening. The field Silent;-hardly a shout From a few boys late at their play! In the school-room windows;-but cold, Solemn, unlighted, austere, Through the gathering darkness, arise There thou dost lie, in the gloom 10 Of thy radiant vigour, again; Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear. Fifteen years have gone round O strong soul, by what shore. In the sounding labor-house vast Yes, in some far-shining sphere, 20 30 Still thou performest the word Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live- Still thou upraisest with zeal The humble good from the ground, Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse Those who with half-open eyes What is the course of the life Here and there-eat and drink, In the moonlit solitudes mild Of the midmost Ocean, have swell'd, And there are some, whom a thirst |