For she was crammed with theories out of books, So I and some went out to these: we climbed The slope to Vivian-place, and turning saw The happy valleys half in light and half Far-shadowing from the west, a land of peace : Gray halls alone among their massive groves; Trim hamlets; here and there a rustic tower Half-lost in belts of hop and breadths of wheat; The shimmering glimpses of a stream; the seas; A red sail, or a white; and far beyond, Imagined more than seen, the skirts of France. "Look there, a garden!" said my college friend, Some reverence for the laws ourselves have made, "Have patience," I replied, "ourselves are full Of social wrong; and maybe wildest dreams Are but the needful preludes of the truth: For me, the genial day, the happy crowd, The sport half-science, fill me with a faith. This fine old world of ours is but a child Yet in the go-cart. Patience! Give it time To learn its limbs: there is a hand that guides.” In such discourse we gained the garden rails, Among six boys, head under head, and looked A great broad-shouldered genial Englishman, The long line of the approaching rookery swerve More joyful than the city-roar that hails Premier or king! Why should not these great Sirs But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on, Perchance upon the future man: the walls whooped, And gradually the powers of the night, Last little Lilia, rising quietly, Disrobed the glimmering statue of Sir Ralph went. END OF VOL. I. |