IT

Cambridge.

CAMBRIDGE.

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, Extended high above a dusky grove.

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;

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,
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; 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,
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
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.

*

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,
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
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,
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
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,
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.

William Wordsworth.

INSIDE OF KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL, CAMBRIDGE.

ПAX not the royal saint with vain expense,

TAX

With ill-matched aims the architect who planned

Albeit laboring for a scanty band

Of white-robed scholars only-this immense

And glorious work of fine intelligence!

Give all thou canst: high Heaven rejects the lore
Of nicely-calculated less or more;

So deemed the man who fashioned for the sense
These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof
Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells,
Where light and shade repose, where music dwells
Lingering, and wandering on as loth to die;
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof
That they were born for immortality.

William Wordsworth.

HAT awful pérspective! while from our sight

WHAT

With gradual stealth the lateral windows hide Their portraitures, their stone-work glimmers, dyed In the soft checkerings of a sleepy light. Martyr, or king, or sainted Eremite,

Whoe'er ye be, that thus, yourselves unseen,

Imbue your prison-bars with solemn sheen, fade with coming, night!

Shine on, until

ye

But, from the arms of silence, list! O, list!
The music bursteth into second life;

The notes luxuriate, every stone is kissed
By sound, or ghost of sound, in mazy strife;
Heart-thrilling strains, that cast, before the eye
Of the devout, a veil of ecstasy!

William Wordsworth.

HEY dreamt not of a perishable home

THEY

Who thus could build. Be mine, in hours of fear

Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here;

Or through the aisles of Westminster to roam;
Where bubbles burst, and folly's dancing foam
Melts, if it cross the threshold; where the wreath
Of awe-struck wisdom droops: or let my path
Lead to that younger pile, whose sky-like dome
Hath typified by reach of daring art
Infinity's embrace; whose guardian crest,
The silent cross, among the stars shall spread
As now, when she hath also seen her breast
Filled with mementos, satiate with its part
Of grateful England's overflowing dead.

William Wordsworth.

I

TRINITY COLLEGE.

PAST beside the reverend walls In which of old I wore the gown; I roved at random through the town, And saw the tumult of the halls;

And heard once more in college fanes

The storm their high-built organs make, And thunder-music, rolling, shake The prophets blazoned on the panes ;

And caught once more the distant shout, The measured pulse of racing oars Among the willows; paced the shores And many a bridge, and all about

The same gray flats again, and felt

The same, but not the same; and last Up that long walk of limes I past To see the rooms in which he dwelt.

Another name was on the door:

I lingered; all within was noise

Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys That crashed the glass and beat the floor;

Where once we held debate, a band

Of youthful friends, on mind and art And labor, and the changing mart, And all the framework of the land;