Rising or setting, would he stand alone That they might answer him.-And they would shout Of mountain torrents; or the visible scene Its woods, and that uncertain heaven received Another fine description of the owl occurs in a late poem (1834), "The leaves that rustled on this oak-crowned hill". The mountains enclosing Grasmere are very favourable to the reverberation of sound, and this is the point which the poet elaborates. Sound is there none at which the faintest heart Pierces the ethereal vault; and the imaginative bird Seems 'mid inverted mountains, not unheard. Grave creature!—whether, while the moon shines bright On thy wings opened wide for smoothest flight, Thou art uncovered in a roofless tower, Rising from what may once have been a lady's bower; Or spied where thou sitt'st moping in thy mew At the dim centre of a churchyard yew; Or, from a rifted crag or ivy-tod Deep in a forest, thy secure abode, Thou giv'st, for pastime's sake, by shriek or shout, May the night never come, nor day be seen, When I shall scorn thy voice or mock thy mien ! This is less poetical, but it gathers up very successfully the different amenities of owl life, and seems to be a versified account of the bird's natural history, such as might be found in a scientific book. CHAPTER VII MATTHEW ARNOLD AS NATURALIST THOUGH a genuine lover of Nature, and educated during the period of the scientific awakening of the nineteenth century, M. Arnold did not infuse much of the scientific spirit into his verse. Yet there is ample material in his poetry for a short exposition from this standpoint, and we render him such a tribute all the more heartily that as a poet he has not received the meed of popularity and appreciation that were his due. He is a great poet, a greater master of his art than many give him credit for, and his poetry well rewards most careful study, only it does not appeal to a large class of readers, being somewhat too classical in form and in allusion for the man in the street; to the cultured reader, however, it is a source of perpetual and unfailing delight. Arnold had the misfortune to be eclipsed by both Tennyson and Browning, and the lack of support which he suffered, and of which he was too conscious, served to dry up his poetic springs. It is safe to say that if he had come a generation later he would have touched a wider circle of readers, and reached a deeper appreciation. In early life he was much in the country, and although as an inspector of schools he was a strenuous advocate of the Humanities, and insisted on the supreme importance of literature as an educational force, in opposition to the aridities of mere science teaching, yet he was by no means out of touch with scientific truth, and went to Nature for several of his most impressive and characteristic lessons. Even in Kensington Gardens, within hearing of the roar of London traffic, he could say : Here at my feet what wonders pass- In the huge world, which roars hard by, But in my helpless cradle I Was breathed on by the rural Pan. This is sufficiently explicit, but even without such definite avowal, one could guess as much from the poet's frequent references to Nature's activities. One thought is constar ely recurring, namely, that man should copy Nature's steady, silent, serious work, so different from the feverous excitability and fussiness and turmoil of human ways. One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee— We should strive To be like Nature strong, like Nature cool, for Nature is mild and inscrutably calm. Calm soul of all things! make it mine To feel amid the city's jar That there abides a peace of thine Man did not make and cannot mar. Apart from these declarations, we have only to read the following description of vanishing winter (in Balder Dead) to see what a close observer M. Arnold is of external phenomena, and how well he can choose the proper words to express them. And as in winter, when the frost breaks up— And a warm west wind blows, and thaw sets in- In all the forests, and the soft strewn snow And from the boughs the snow loads shuffle down, |