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IT was a dreary morning when the wheels | |
| Rolled over a wide plain o’erhung with clouds, | |
| And nothing cheered our way till first we saw | |
| The long-roofed chapel of King’s College lift | |
| Turrets and pinnacles in answering files, | 5 |
| Extended high above a dusky grove. | |
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| Advancing, we espied upon the road | |
| A student clothed in gown and tasselled cap, | |
| Striding along as if o’ertasked by Time, | |
| Or covetous of exercise and air; | 10 |
| He passed,—nor was I master of my eyes | |
| Till he was left an arrow’s flight behind. | |
| As near and nearer to the spot we drew, | |
| It seemed to suck us in with an eddy’s force. | |
| Onward we drove beneath the castle; caught, | 15 |
| While crossing Magdalene Bridge, a glimpse of Cam; | |
| And at the Hoop alighted, famous inn. * * * * * | |
| The Evangelist St. John my patron was: | |
| Three Gothic courts are his, and in the first | |
| Was my abiding-place, a nook obscure; | 20 |
| Right underneath, the college kitchens made | |
| A humming sound less tunable than bees, | |
| But hardly less industrious; with shrill notes | |
| Of sharp command and scolding intermixed. | |
| Near me hung Trinity’s loquacious clock, | 25 |
| Who never let the quarters, night or day, | |
| Slip by him unproclaimed, and told the hours | |
| Twice over with a male and female voice. | |
| Her pealing organ was my neighbor too; | |
| And from my pillow, looking forth by light | 30 |
| Of moon or favoring stars, I could behold | |
| The antechapel where the statue stood | |
| Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, | |
| The marble index of a mind forever | |
| Voyaging through strange seas of thought, alone. * * * * * | 35 |
| All winter long, whenever free to choose, | |
| Did I by night frequent the college groves | |
| And tributary walks; the last, and oft | |
| The only one, who had been lingering there | |
| Through hours of silence, till the porter’s bell, | 40 |
| A punctual follower on the stroke of nine, | |
| Rang, with its blunt, unceremonious voice, | |
| Inexorable summons! Lofty elms, | |
| Inviting shades of opportune recess, | |
| Bestowed composure on a neighborhood | 45 |
| Unpeaceful in itself. A single tree, | |
| With sinuous trunk, boughs exquisitely wreathed, | |
| Grew there; an ash which winter for himself | |
| Decked as in pride, and with outlandish grace: | |
| Up from the ground, and almost to the top, | 50 |
| The trunk and every master branch were green | |
| With clustering ivy, and the lightsome twigs | |
| And outer spray profusely tipped with seeds | |
| That hung in yellow tassels, while the air | |
| Stirred them, not voiceless. Often have I stood | 55 |
| Foot-bound, uplooking at this lovely tree | |
| Beneath a frosty moon. The hemisphere | |
| Of magic fiction verse of mine perchance | |
| May never tread; but scarcely Spenser’s self | |
| Could have more tranquil visions in his youth, | 60 |
| Or could more bright appearance create | |
| Of human forms with superhuman powers, | |
| Than I beheld, loitering on calm, clear nights, | |
| Alone, beneath this fairy work of earth. | |
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