A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, Shy to illumine; and I seek it too. This does not come with houses or with gold, With place, with honor, and a flattering crew; 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold. But the smooth-slipping weeks Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired. Out of the heed of mortals is he gone, He wends unfollowed, he must house alone; Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired. Thou too, O Thyrsis, on this quest wert bound, Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour. Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, If men esteemed thee feeble, gave thee power, If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. And this rude Cumner ground, Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful time, Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime, And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.. What though the music of thy rustic flute Kept not for long its happy country tone; Lost it too soon, and learnt a |