t, twirling in thy hand a wither'd spray,
And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall. 120

And once, in winter, on the causeway chill
Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go,
Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge,
Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow,
Thy face tow'rd Hinksey deg. and its wintry ridge? deg.125
And thou hast climb'd the hill,
And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range;
Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall
The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall deg.-- deg.129
Then sought thy straw in some sequester'd grange. deg.130

But what--I dream! Two hundred years are flown
Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls,
And the grave Glanvil deg. did the tale inscribe deg.133
That thou wert wander'd from the studious walls
To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy-tribe; 135
And thou from earth art gone
Long since, and in some quiet churchyard laid--
Some country-nook, where o'er thy unknown grave
Tall grasses and white-flowering nettles wave,
Under a dark red-fruited yew-tree's deg. shade. deg.140

--No, no, thou hast not felt the lapse of hours!
For what wears out the life of mortal men?
'Tis that from change to change their being rolls
'Tis that repeated shocks, again, again,
Exhaust the energy of strongest souls 145
And numb the elastic powers.
Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen, deg. deg.147
And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit,
To the just-pausing Genius deg. we remit deg.149
Our worn-out life, and are--what we have been. 150

Thou hast not lived, deg. why should'st thou perish, so? deg.151
Thou hadst _one_ aim, _one_ business, _one_ desire deg.; deg.152
Else wert thou long since number'd with the dead!
Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire!
The generations of thy peers are fled, 155
And we ourselves shall go;
But thou possessest an immortal lot,
And we imagine thee exempt from age
And living as thou liv'st on Glanvil's page,
Because thou hadst--what we, alas! have not. deg. deg.160

For early didst tho