hands;
  And often, starting from some covert place,
  Saluted the chance comer on the road, 475
  Crying, “An obolus, a penny give
  To a poor scholar!” [I]—­when illustrious men,
  Lovers of truth, by penury constrained,
  Bucer, Erasmus, or Melancthon, read
  Before the doors or windows of their cells 480
  By moonshine through mere lack of taper light.

    But peace to vain regrets!  We see but darkly
  Even when we look behind us, and best things
  Are not so pure by nature that they needs
  Must keep to all, as fondly all believe, 485
  Their highest promise.  If the mariner,
  When at reluctant distance he hath passed
  Some tempting island, could but know the ills
  That must have fallen upon him had he brought
  His bark to land upon the wished-for shore, 490
  Good cause would oft be his to thank the surf
  Whose white belt scared him thence, or wind that blew
  Inexorably adverse:  for myself
  I grieve not; happy is the gowned youth,
  Who only misses what I missed, who falls 495
  No lower than I fell.

                           I did not love,
  Judging not ill perhaps, the timid course
  Of our scholastic studies; could have wished
  To see the river flow with ampler range
  And freer pace; but more, far more, I grieved 500
  To see displayed among an eager few,
  Who in the field of contest persevered,
  Passions unworthy of youth’s generous heart
  And mounting spirit, pitiably repaid,
  When so disturbed, whatever palms are won. 505
  From these I turned to travel with the shoal
  Of more unthinking natures, easy minds
  And pillowy; yet not wanting love that makes
  The day pass lightly on, when foresight sleeps,
  And wisdom and the pledges interchanged 510
  With our own inner being are forgot.

    Yet was this deep vacation not given up
  To utter waste.  Hitherto I had stood
  In my own mind remote from social life,
  (At least from what we commonly so name,) 515
  Like a lone shepherd on a promontory
  Who lacking occupation looks far forth
  Into the boundless sea, and rather makes
  Than finds what he beholds.  And sure it is,
  That this first transit from the smooth delights 520
  And wild outlandish walks of simple youth
  To something that resembles an approach
  Towards human business, to a privileged world
  Within a world, a midway residence
  With all its intervenient imagery, 525
  Did better suit my visionary mind,
  Far better, than to have been bolted forth;
  Thrust out abruptly into Fortune’s way