And seeks his cottage by the village green; There, having ate in peace his frugal meal, He turns his mind, insatiate, to his books: And, by the aid of Learning’s golden key, Holds sweet communion with the ages past. Behold! the scholar now in honest pride! Around him sleep the mystic tomes of years, Books that the western world ne’er saw before— The manuscripts of monks, ere printing gave The world a channel to a sea of thought, Where all might sail, and drink in raptures in The spirit-waters, sparkling from their founts. His tongue can speak more languages than fell From human lips at Babel’s overthrow; Nor secret thing, to mortal spirit known, Is hidden from his penetrating eye. Versed in the deepest mysteries of the schools, With memory stored with all the mind e’er grasped, With talents rarely willed by Heaven to one, And sympathetic heart that beats for all, Nor knows an outcast at its feast of love, Burritt now lives, the wonder of mankind. Rabbis and sage professors call him learned, And to his humble gateway come in crowds, To hear the page of ancient lore rehearsed, And catch the jewel-thoughts that fall from him Who sits amid the learned a self-taught man. — In the dun forest, far away from noise Of traveled road, beneath the giant trees, Whose branches form a lofty canopy O’er a great circle cleared by willing hands, Where the gray ash obstructs the serpent’s path, The happy Christians pitch their tents of prayer. There naught is heard but soothing woodland sounds, The tempered roar of distant waterfall, The fox’s sharp bark, the heathcock’s cheerful crow. The wildcat’s growl amid the deepest shade, And the shrill scream of hunger-driven hawk, As through the openings he pursues his prey.