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 sudden silent mind, The maiden face that smiled and blushed on him; That lady face, insphered beyond his earth, Yet visible to him as any star That shines unwavering. I cannot tell In words the tenderness that glowed across His bosom--burned it clean in will and thought; "Shall that sweet face be blown by laughter rude Out of the soul where it has deigned to come, But will not stay what maidens may not hear?" He almost wept for shame, that those two thoughts Should ever look each other in the face, Meeting in _his_ house. Thus he made to her, For love, an offering of purity.