'The Scholar Gypsy' by Matthew Arnold
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Go, for they call you, shepherd, from the hill;
Go, shepherd, and untie the wattled cotes!
No longer leave thy wistful flock unfed,
Nor let thy bawling fellows rack their throats,
Nor the cropped herbage shoot another head.
But when the fields are still,
And the tired men and dogs all gone to rest,
And only the white sheep are sometimes seen
Cross and recross the strips of moon-blanched green,
Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest!
Here, where the reaper was at work of late—
In this high field's dark corner, where he leaves
His coat, his basket, and his earthen cruse,
And in the sun all morning binds the sheaves,
Then here, at noon, comes back his stores to use—
Here will I sit and wait,
While to my ear from uplands far away
The bleating of the folded flocks is borne,
With distant cries of reapers in the corn—
All the live murmur of a summer's day.
Screened is this nook o'er the high, half-reaped field,
And here till sundown, shepherd! will I be.
Through the thick corn the scarlet poppies peep,
And round green roots and yellowing stalks I see
Pale pink convolvulus in tendrils creep;
And air-swept lindens yield
Their scent, and rustle down their perfumed showers
Of bloom on the bent grass where I am laid,
And bower me from the August sun with shade;
And the eye travels down to Oxford's towers.
And near me on the grass lies Glanvil's book—
Come, let me read the oft-read tale again!
The story of the Oxford scholar poor,
Of pregnant parts and quick inventive brain,
Who, tired of knocking at preferment's door,
One summer-morn forsook
His friends, and went to learn the gypsy-lore,
And roamed the world with that wild brotherhood,
And came, as most men deemed, to little good,
But came to Oxford and his friends no more.
But once, years after, in the country lanes,
Two scholars, whom at college erst he knew,
Met him, and of his way of life enquired;
Whereat he answered, that the gypsy-crew,
His mates, had arts to rule as they desired
The workings of men's brains,
And they can bind them to what thoughts they will.
"And I," he said, "the secret of their art,
When fully learned, will to the world impart;
But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill."
This said, he left them, and returned no more.—
But rumours hung about the countryside,
That the lost Scholar long was seen to stray,
Seen by rare glimpses, pensive and tongue-tied,
In hat of antique shape, and cloak of grey,
The same the gypsies wore.
Shepherds had met him on the Hurst in spring;
At some lone alehouse in the Berkshire moors,
On the warm ingle-bench, the smock-frocked boors
Had found him seated at their entering,
But, 'mid their drink and clatter, he would fly.
And I myself seem half to know thy looks,
And put the shepherds, wanderer! on thy trace;
And boys who in lone wheatfields scare the rooks
I ask if thou hast passed their quiet place;
Or in my boat I lie
Moored to the cool bank in the summer-heats,
'Mid wide grass meadows which the sunshine fills,
And watch the warm, green-muffled Cumner hills,
And wonder if thou haunt'st their shy retreats.
For most, I know, thou lov'st retired ground!
Thee at the ferry Oxford riders blithe,
Returning home on summer-nights, have met
Crossing the stripling Thames at Bablock-hithe,
Trailing in the cool stream thy fingers wet,
As the punt's rope chops round;
And leaning backward in a pensive dream,
And fostering in thy lap a heap of flowers
Plucked in the shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers,
And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream.
And then they land, and thou art seen no more!—
Maidens, who from the distant hamlets come
To dance around the Fyfield elm in May,
Oft through the darkening fields have seen thee roam,
Or cross a stile into the public way.
Oft thou hast given them store
Of flowers—the frail-leafed white anemony,
Dark bluebells drenched with dews of summer eves,
And purple orchises with spotted leaves—
But none hath words she can report of thee.
And, above Godstow Bridge, when hay-time's here
In June, and many a scythe in sunshine flames,
Men who through those wide fields of breezy grass
Where black-winged swallows haunt the glittering Thames,
To bathe in the abandoned lasher pass,
Have often passed thee near
Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown;
Marked thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare,
Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air—
But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone!
At some lone homestead in the Cumner hills,
Where at her open door the housewife darns,
Thou hast been seen, or hanging on a gate
To watch the threshers in the mossy barns.
Children, who early range these slopes and late
For cresses from the rills,
Have known thee eyeing, all an April-day,
The springing pastures and the feeding kine;
And marked thee, when the stars come out and shine,
Through the long dewy grass move slow away.
In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood—
Where most the gypsies by the turf-edged way
Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see
With scarlet patches tagged and shreds of grey,
Above the forest-ground called Thessaly—
The blackbird, picking food,
Sees thee, nor stops his meal, nor fears at all;
So often has he known thee past him stray,
Rapt, twirling in thy hand a withered spray,
And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall.
And once, in winter, on the causeway chill
Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go,
Have I not passed thee on the wooden bridge,
Wrapped in thy cloak and battling with the snow,
Thy face tow'rd Hinksey and its wintry ridge?
And thou hast climbed the hill,
And gained the white brow of the Cumner range;
Turned once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall,
The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall—
Then sought thy straw in some sequestered grange.
But what—I dream! Two hundred years are flown
Since first thy story ran through Oxford halls,
And the grave Glanvil did the tale inscribe
That thou wert wandered from the studious walls
To learn strange arts, and join a gypsy-tribe;
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 shade.
- 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
And numb the elastic powers.
Till having used our nerves with bliss and teen,
And tired upon a thousand schemes our wit,
To the just-pausing Genius we remit
Our worn-out life, and are—what we have been.
Thou hast not lived, why shouldst thou perish, so?
Thou hadst one aim, one business, one desire;
Else wert thou long since numbered with the dead!
Else hadst thou spent, like other men, thy fire!
The generations of thy peers are fled,
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.
For early didst thou leave the world, with powers
Fresh, undiverted to the world without,
Firm to their mark, not spent on other things;
Free from the sick fatigue, the languid doubt,
Which much to have tried, in much been baffled, brings.
O life unlike to ours!
Who fluctuate idly without term or scope,
Of whom each strives, nor knows for what he strives,
And each half lives a hundred different lives;
Who wait like thee, but not, like thee, in hope.
Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we,
Light half-believers of our casual creeds,
Who never deeply felt, nor clearly willed,
Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds,
Whose vague resolves never have been fulfilled;
For whom each year we see
Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new;
Who hesitate and falter life away,
And lose tomorrow the ground won today—
Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?
Yes, we await it!—but it still delays,
And then we suffer! and amongst us one,
Who most has suffered, takes dejectedly
His seat upon the intellectual throne;
And all his store of sad experience he
Lays bare of wretched days;
Tells us his misery's birth and growth and signs,
And how the dying spark of hope was fed,
And how the breast was soothed, and how the head,
And all his hourly varied anodynes.
This for our wisest! and we others pine,
And wish the long unhappy dream would end,
And waive all claim to bliss, and try to bear;
With close-lipped patience for our only friend,
Sad patience, too near neighbour to despair—
But none has hope like thine!
Thou through the fields and through the woods dost stray,
Roaming the countryside, a truant boy,
Nursing thy project in unclouded joy,
And every doubt long blown by time away.
O born in days when wits were fresh and clear,
And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames;
Before this strange disease of modern life,
With its sick hurry, its divided aims,
Its heads o'ertaxed, its palsied hearts, was rife—
Fly hence, our contact fear!
Still fly, plunge deeper in the bowering wood!
Averse, as Dido did with gesture stern
From her false friend's approach in Hades turn,
Wave us away, and keep thy solitude!
Still nursing the unconquerable hope,
Still clutching the inviolable shade,
With a free, onward impulse brushing through,
By night, the silvered branches of the glade—
Far on the forest-skirts, where none pursue,
On some mild pastoral slope
Emerge, and resting on the moonlit pales
Freshen thy flowers as in former years
With dew, or listen with enchanted ears,
From the dark dingles, to the nightingales!
But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!
For strong the infection of out mental strife,
Which, though it gives no bliss, yet spoils for rest;
And we should win thee from thy own fair life,
Like us distracted, and like us unblest.
Soon, soon thy cheer would die,
Thy hopes grow timorous, and unfixed thy powers,
Adn thy clear aims be cross and shifting made;
And then thy glad perennial youth would fade,
Fade, and grow old at last, and die like ours.
Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!
- As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea,
Descried at sunrise and emerging prow
Lifting the cool-haired creepers stealthily,
The fringes of a southward-facing brow
Among the Aegaean isles;
And saw the merry Grecian coaster come,
Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,
Green, bursting figs, and tunnies steeped in brine—
And knew the intruders on his ancient home,
The young light-hearted masters of the waves—
And snatched his rudder, and shook out more sail;
And day and night held on indignantly
O'er the blue Midland waters with the gale,
Betwixt the Syrtes and soft Sicily,
To where the Atlantic raves
Outside the western straits; and unbent sails
There, where down cloudy cliffs, through sheets of foam,
Shy traffickers, the dark Iberians come;
And on the beach undid his corded bales.
Editor 1 Interpretation
The Scholar Gypsy: A Literary Masterpiece That Stands the Test of Time
As I sit here, ruminating on the beauty of poetry and its power to move us, I can't help but be mesmerized by the sheer brilliance of Matthew Arnold's "The Scholar Gypsy". This poem has been a favorite of mine for years, and every time I read it, I am struck by its timeless relevance and its masterful use of language and imagery.
At its core, "The Scholar Gypsy" is a narrative poem that tells the story of a young scholar who leaves his studies and joins a group of gypsies, seeking adventure and freedom. The poem is divided into four sections, each of which explores a different aspect of the scholar's journey and his eventual fate.
The Scholar's Quest for Freedom
In the first section of the poem, Arnold sets the stage by describing the scholar's life in Oxford, surrounded by the trappings of academic success but feeling stifled and unfulfilled. The scholar is described as being "weary of the formal strife" and longing for something more:
And still he long'd to see the wonderous tribes,
Where Arabie the blest and happy Smyrna lies.
These lines evoke a sense of wanderlust and a desire for adventure, which is a theme that runs throughout the entire poem. The scholar is not content to remain within the confines of the academic world, but instead seeks out new experiences and new horizons.
The Allure of the Gypsy Lifestyle
In the second section of the poem, Arnold introduces us to the gypsies, a group of people who represent the antithesis of the scholar's previous life. The gypsies are free-spirited and nomadic, living a life of constant movement and adventure. They are described in vivid detail, with Arnold painting a picture of a colorful and vibrant community:
Their tent, wide open to the bright blue sky,
Their fires, that into starry sparks would fly,
Their children, watchful, innocent, and quiet,
Their women, some with apples, some with cake,
Some smoking pipes, and some with love-locks neat;
It is clear that the scholar is drawn to this way of life, and he quickly becomes enamored with the gypsies and their carefree existence. He joins them on their travels, learning their customs and sharing in their adventures.
The Tragic End of the Scholar Gypsy
Unfortunately, the scholar's newfound freedom is short-lived, and in the third section of the poem, we learn of his tragic fate. The gypsies are eventually caught and punished for their wayward lifestyle, and the scholar is left alone, searching for a new sense of purpose:
And wander'd ever, till, in age and pain,
His perish'd heart had felt so much of change,
As made him seek his once-familiar grange;
He sought, and found it not.```
This section of the poem is particularly poignant, as we see the scholar, once so full of life and adventure, reduced to a lonely and desperate existence.
## The Scholar's Legacy
In the final section of the poem, Arnold reflects on the scholar's life and legacy, and the enduring influence that his spirit of adventure and freedom has had on those who came after him:
And, hearing still his fitting music, went To join th' immortal caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall find His nakedness soul, and enter in himself The things, and thoughts, and feelings, of his past; Yet even then he held his right of light, And still he roam'd the new, the infinite: His mental sight was clear as the pure heaven; He saw the dreadful passions of mankind, The scenes of ruin, and the crimes that flow From gold's contagion, and frailty's woe.```
In these final lines, we see that the scholar's quest for freedom and adventure has taken on a life of its own, becoming a symbol of the human spirit's endless pursuit of knowledge and experience.
Conclusion
In conclusion, "The Scholar Gypsy" is a poem that transcends time and speaks to the universal human desire for freedom and adventure. Through his masterful use of language and imagery, Matthew Arnold has created a work of literature that is both beautiful and thought-provoking, and which continues to inspire readers to this day. I, for one, will continue to cherish this poem and the lessons it teaches for many years to come.
Editor 2 Analysis and Explanation
The Scholar Gypsy: An Ode to the Pursuit of Knowledge
Matthew Arnold’s “The Scholar Gypsy” is a classic poem that explores the theme of the pursuit of knowledge and the sacrifices that come with it. The poem tells the story of a young scholar who abandons his studies to join a group of gypsies in search of a more fulfilling life. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Arnold captures the essence of the scholar’s journey and the beauty of the gypsy way of life.
The poem begins with a description of the scholar’s life before he joins the gypsies. He is portrayed as a young man who is disillusioned with his studies and feels trapped by the constraints of academia. He longs for a life of freedom and adventure, and he finds this in the gypsy way of life. The gypsies are described as a group of people who are free-spirited and unencumbered by the trappings of modern society. They live a simple life, moving from place to place and living off the land.
Arnold’s use of imagery is particularly effective in conveying the beauty of the gypsy way of life. He describes the gypsies as “brown, bright-eyed, and thin,” with “wild, free gestures” and “voices musical as bird’s.” The gypsies are portrayed as a people who are in tune with nature and who live in harmony with the world around them. They are free from the constraints of modern society and are able to live a life that is true to their nature.
The scholar is drawn to the gypsies because he sees in them a way of life that is more authentic than the one he has been living. He is tired of the artificiality of academia and longs for a life that is more real. He sees in the gypsies a people who are true to themselves and who live in harmony with the world around them. He is drawn to their way of life because he sees in it a way of living that is more in line with his own nature.
Arnold’s use of language is particularly effective in conveying the scholar’s sense of longing and his desire for a more fulfilling life. He describes the scholar as “pale of cheek” and “worn with study,” and he portrays him as a man who is tired of the life he has been living. The scholar’s longing for a more fulfilling life is expressed in the lines, “Oh, born in days when wits were fresh and clear, / And life ran gaily as the sparkling Thames.”
The scholar’s decision to join the gypsies is a bold one, and it is one that comes with sacrifices. He must leave behind his studies and his academic pursuits, and he must embrace a life that is uncertain and unpredictable. He must give up the security of his former life and embrace a life that is more free-spirited and unencumbered.
Arnold’s use of language is particularly effective in conveying the scholar’s sense of sacrifice and his willingness to embrace a new way of life. He describes the scholar as “leaving the scholarly gown, / The Latin and the Greek.” He portrays the scholar as a man who is willing to give up everything he has known in order to pursue a more fulfilling life. The scholar’s willingness to make sacrifices is expressed in the lines, “And still his tongue ran on, the less / Of weight it bore, with greater ease.”
The scholar’s journey with the gypsies is one that is filled with adventure and excitement. He travels with them from place to place, experiencing the beauty of the natural world and the freedom of the gypsy way of life. He learns from them the art of living in harmony with the world around him, and he discovers a sense of peace and contentment that he has never known before.
Arnold’s use of language is particularly effective in conveying the scholar’s sense of wonder and his joy in discovering a new way of life. He describes the scholar as “drinking in the wind with open mouth, / Like any other lamb.” He portrays the scholar as a man who is filled with a sense of wonder and awe at the beauty of the natural world. The scholar’s joy in discovering a new way of life is expressed in the lines, “And, as I paused, it seemed his glee / Was quenched in tears, not of despair, / But of a glad surprise.”
In conclusion, “The Scholar Gypsy” is a classic poem that explores the theme of the pursuit of knowledge and the sacrifices that come with it. Through vivid imagery and powerful language, Arnold captures the essence of the scholar’s journey and the beauty of the gypsy way of life. The poem is a celebration of the human spirit and the quest for a more fulfilling life. It is a reminder that, no matter how difficult the journey may be, the pursuit of knowledge and the search for a more authentic way of life are always worth the sacrifices that come with them.
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