A Hidden Life and Other Poems | Page 4

his labour's meed; Nor how each morning was
a boon to him; Nor how the wind, with nature's kisses fraught, Flowed
inward to his soul; nor how the flowers Asserted each an individual life,
A separate being, for and in his thought; Nor how the stormy days that
intervened Called forth his strength, and songs that quelled their force;
Nor how in winter-time, when thick the snow Armed the sad fields
from gnawing of the frost, And the low sun but skirted his far realms,
And sank in early night, he took his place Beside the fire; and by the
feeble lamp Head book on book; and lived in other lives, And other
needs, and other climes than his; And added other beings thus to his.
But I must tell that love of knowledge grew Within him to a passion
and a power; Till, through the night (all dark, except the moon Shone
frosty o'er the lea, or the white snow Gave back all motes of light that

else had sunk Into the thirsty earth) he bent his way Over the moors to
where the little town Lay gathered in the hollow. There the man Who
taught the children all the shortened day, Taught other scholars in the
long fore-night; And youths who in the shop, or in the barn, Or at the
loom, had done their needful work, Came to his schoolroom in the
murky night, And found the fire aglow, the candles lit, And the good
master waiting for his men. Here mathematics wiled him to their
heights; And strange consent of lines to form and law Made Euclid like
a great romance of truth. The master saw with wonder how the youth
All eagerly devoured the offered food, And straightway longed to lead
him; with that hope Of sympathy which urges him that knows To
multiply great knowledge by its gift; That so two souls ere long may
see one truth, And, turning, see each others' faces shine. So he proposed
the classics; and the youth Caught at the offer; and for many a night,
When others lay and lost themselves in sleep, He groped his way with
lexicon and rule, Through ancient deeds embalmed in Latin old, Or
poet-woods alive with gracious forms; Wherein his knowledge of the
English tongue (Through reading many books) much aided him-- For
the soul's language is the same in all. At length his progress, through
the master's word, Proud of his pupil, reached the father's ears. Great
joy arose within him, and he vowed, If caring, sparing would
accomplish it, He should to college, and should have his fill Of that
same learning.
So to school he went, Instead of to the plough; and ere a year, He wore
the scarlet gown with the close sleeves.
Awkward at first, but with a dignity That soon found fit embodiment in
speech And gesture and address, he made his way, Not seeking it, to
the respect of youths, In whom respect is of the rarer gifts. Likewise by
the consent of accidents, More than his worth, society, so called, In that
great northern city, to its rooms Invited him. He entered. Dazzled first,
Not only by the brilliance of the show, In lights and mirrors, gems, and
crowded eyes; But by the surface lights of many minds Cut like
rose-diamonds into many planes, Which, catching up the wandering
rays of fact, Reflected, coloured, tossed them here and there, In varied
brilliance, as if quite new-born From out the centre, not from off the
face-- Dazzled at first, I say, he soon began To see how little thought
could sparkle well, And turn him, even in the midst of talk, Back to the

silence of his homely toils. Around him still and ever hung an air Born
of the fields, and plough, and cart, and scythe; A kind of clumsy grace,
in which gay girls Saw but the clumsiness; while those with light,
Instead of glitter, in their quiet eyes, Saw the grace too; yea, sometimes,
when he talked, Saw the grace only; and began at last, As he sought
none, to seek him in the crowd (After a maiden fashion), that they
might Hear him dress thoughts, not pay poor compliments. Yet seldom
thus was he seduced from toil; Or if one eve his windows showed no
light, The next, they faintly gleamed in candle-shine, Till far into the
morning. And he won Honours among the first, each session's close.
And if increased familiarity With open forms of ill, not to be shunned
Where youths of all kinds meet, endangered there A mind more willing
to be pure than most-- Oft when the broad rich humour of a jest, Did,
with its breezy force, make radiant way For pestilential vapours
following-- Arose within his