“I coveted that Abbey’s doom: 
       For if, I thought, the early flowers
     Of our affection may not bloom,
       Like those green hills, through countless hours,
     Grant me at least a tardy waning
     Some pleasure still in age’s paining;
     Though lines and forms must fade away,
     Still may old Beauty share the empire of Decay!

     “But looking toward the grassy mound
       Where calm the Douglas chieftains lie,
     Who, living, quiet never found,
       I straightway learnt a lesson high: 
     And well I knew that thoughtful mien
     Of him whose early lyre had thrown
     Over these mouldering walls the magic of its tone.

     “Then ceased I from my envying state,
       And knew that aweless intellect
     Hath power upon the ways of Fate,
       And works through time and space uncheck’d. 
     That minstrel of old Chivalry
     In the cold grave must come to be;
     But his transmitted thoughts have part
     In the collective mind, and never shall depart.

     “It was a comfort, too, to see
       Those dogs that from him ne’er would rove,
     And always eyed him reverently,
       With glances of depending love. 
     They know not of that eminence
     Which marks him to my reasoning sense;
     They know but that he is a man,
     And still to them is kind, and glads them all he can.

     “And hence their quiet looks confiding,
       Hence grateful instincts seated deep,
     By whose strong bond, were ill betiding,
       They’d risk their own his life to keep. 
     What joy to watch in lower creature
     Such dawning of a moral nature,
     And how (the rule all things obey)
     They look to a higher mind to be their law and stay!”

At the University he lived a sweet and gracious life.  No man had truer or fonder friends, or was more admired for his excellent accomplishments.  Earnest in whatever he attempted, his enthusiasm for all that was high and holy in literature stamped his career at Trinity as one of remarkable superiority.  “I have known many young men, both at Oxford and elsewhere, of whose abilities I think highly, but I never met with one whom I considered worthy of being put into competition with Arthur for a moment,” writes his early and intimate friend.  “I can scarcely hope to describe the feelings with which I regarded him, much less the daily beauty of his existence, out of which they grew,” writes another of his companions.  Politics, literature, philosophy he discussed with a metaphysical subtilty marvellous in one so young.  The highest comprehension seemed native to his mind, so that all who came within the sphere of his influence were alike impressed with his vast and various powers.  The life and grace of a charmed circle, the display of his gifts was not for show, and he never forgot to keep the solemn injunction, "My son, give me thine heart," clearly engraven before him.