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By shrinking over-eagerness of heart, 260 Cloud charged with searching fire, whose shadow'.
November nature with a name of May, 265 Whom high o'er Concord plains we laid to sleep, While the orchards mocked us in their white ar
All gone to speechless dust;
And he our passing guest,
Whom we too briefly had but could not hold, 275 Who brought ripe Oxford's culture to our board,
The Past's incalculable hoard, Mellowed by scutcheoned panes in cloisters old, Seclusions ivy-hushed, and pavements sweet
With immemorial lisp of musing feet; 280 Young head time-tonsured smoother than a friar's,
Boy face, but grave with answerless desires,
Who now hath found sure rest, 272. Arthur Iugh Clough, an English poet, author of the Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich, and editor of Dryden's Transla. tion of Plutarch's Lives, who came to this country in 1852 with some purpose of making it his home, but returned to England in less than a year. He lived while here in Cambridge, and strong attachments grew up between him and the men of lettera in Cambridge and Concord.
285 Not by still Isis or historic Thames,
Nor by the Charles he tried to love with me,
Haply not mindless, wheresoe’er he be, 290 Of violets that to-day I scattered over him ;
He, too, is there,
Shaking with burly mirth his hyacinthine hair, 295 Our hearty Grecian of Homeric ways, Still found the surer friend where least he hoped the
Pushed by the misty touch of shortening days, 300
And that unwakened winter nears,
We count our rosary by the beads we miss :
While my starved fire burns low,
287. Clough died in his forty-third year, November 13, 1861, and was buried in the little Protestant cemetery outside the walls of Florence.
288. Santa Croce is the church in Florence where many illustrious dead are buried, among them Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Galileo, Alfieri.
291. Cornelius Conway Felton Professor of Greek Language end Literature in Harvard College, and afterward President until his death in 1862.
And homeless winds at the loose casement whino
310 Now forth into the darkness all are gone,
But memory, still unsated, follows on,
Across the bridge where, on the dimpling tide, 315 The long red streamers from the windows glide,
Or the dim western moon
In that Arcadian light when roof and tree, 320 Hard prose by daylight, dream in Italy;
Or haply in the sky's cold chambers wide
The world was wrapt in innocence of snow 325 And the cast-iron bay was blind and still;
These were our poetry; in him perhaps
Than with the current's idle fancy lapse; 330 And yet he had the poet's open eye
That takes a frank delight in all it sees,
To him the life-long friend of fields and trees: 315. In walking over West Boston bridge at night one sees the lights from the houses on Beacon Street reflected in the water below and seeming to make one long light where famo und reflectio: join.
Then came the prose of the suburban street, 335 Its silence deepened by our echoing feet,
And converse such as rambling hazard finds;
forms Of misty memory, bade them live anew 340 As when they shared earth's manifold delight,
In shape, in gait, in voice, in gesture true,
Drop my confining arm, and pour profuse 345 Much wordly wisdom kept for others' use,
Not for his own, for he was rash and free,
(With pauses broken, while the fitful spark 350 He blew more hotly rounded on the dark
To hint his features with a Rembrandt light)
Whom he had seen, or knew from others' sight, 355 And make them men to me as ne'er before:
337. See note to p. 373, 1. 230.
338. Ossian was a fabulous Celtic warrior poet known chiefly through the pretended poems of Ossian of James MacPhersou who lived in Scotland the latter half of the eighteenth century: There has been much controversy over the exact relation of Macpherson to the poems, which are Scotch crags looming out of Scotch mists.
352. Naturalists of renown. Oken was a remarkable and eccentric Swiss naturalist, 1779-1851; Humboldt a great naturalist and traveller, known by his Kosmos, 1769-1859; Lamarck, 1744-1829 ; Cuvier, in some respects the father of modern clas. sification, and Agassiz's teacher, 1769-1832; all these were per: sonally known to Agassiz.
Not seldom, as the undeadened fibre stirred
For a good leash of mother-tongues had he. 360 At last, arrived at where our paths divide, " Good night!” and, ere the distance grew too
wide, “Good night!" again; and now with cheated ear I half hear his who mine shall never hear.
As if those empty rooms of dogma drear
Counting the horns o'er of the Beast,
Had been to him like death,
In a more stable element; 375 Nay, even our landscape, half the year morose,
Our practical horizon grimly pent,
Our social monotone of level days,
But it was nothing so;
The marvel sensitive and fine 385 Of sanguinaria overrash to blow
And warm its shyness in an air benign;