A Grammarian's Funeral Shortly After The Revival Of Learning Let us begin and carry up this corpse,
Singing
together.
Leave
we
the
common
crofts,
the
vulgar
thorpes
Each
in
its
tether
Sleeping
safe
on
the
bosom
of
the
plain,
Cared-for
till
cock-crow:
Look
out
if
yonder
be
not
day
again
Rimming
the
rock-row!
That's
the
appropriate
country;
there,
man's
thought,
Rarer,
intenser,
Self-gathered
for
an
outbreak,
as
it
ought,
Chafes
in
the
censer.
Leave
we
the
unlettered
plain
its
herd
and
crop;
Seek
we
sepulture
On
a
tall
mountain,
citied
to
the
top,
Crowded
with
culture!
All
the
peaks
soar,
but
one
the
rest
excels;
Clouds
overcome
it;
No!
yonder
sparkle
is
the
citadel's
Circling
its
summit.
Thither
our
path
lies;
wind
we
up
the
heights:
Wait
ye
the
warning?
Our
low
life
was
the
level's
and
the
night's;
He's
for
the
morning.
Step
to
a
tune,
square
chests,
erect
each
head,
'Ware
the
beholders!
This
is
our
master,
famous,
calm
and
dead,
Borne
on
our
shoulders.
Sleep,
crop
and
herd!
sleep,
darkling
thorpe
and
croft,
Safe
from
the
weather!
He,
whom
we
convoy
to
his
grave
aloft,
Singing
together,
He
was
a
man
born
with
thy
face
and
throat,
Lyric
Apollo!
Long
he
lived
nameless:
how
should
spring
take
note
Winter
would
follow?
Till
lo,
the
little
touch,
and
youth
was
gone!
Cramped
and
diminished,
Moaned
he,
"New
measures,
other
feet
anon!
My
dance
is
finished"?
No,
that's
the
world's
way:
(keep
the
mountain-side,
Make
for
the
city!)
He
knew
the
signal,
and
stepped
on
with
pride
Over
men's
pity;
Left
play
for
work,
and
grappled
with
the
world
Bent
on
escaping:
"What's
in
the
scroll,"
quoth
he,
"thou
keepest
furled
Show
me
their
shaping,
Theirs
who
most
studied
man,
the
bard
and
sage,—
Give!"—So,
he
gowned
him,
Straight
got
by
heart
that
book
to
its
last
page:
Learned,
we
found
him.
Yea,
but
we
found
him
bald
too,
eyes
like
lead,
Accents
uncertain:
"Time
to
taste
life,"
another
would
have
said,
"Up
with
the
curtain!"
This
man
said
rather,
"Actual
life
comes
next?
Patience
a
moment!
Grant
I
have
mastered
learning's
crabbed
text,
Still
there's
the
comment.
Let
me
know
all!
Prate
not
of
most
or
least,
Painful
or
easy!
Even
to
the
crumbs
I'd
fain
eat
up
the
feast,
Ay,
nor
feel
queasy."
Oh,
such
a
life
as
he
resolved
to
live,
When
he
had
learned
it,
When
he
had
gathered
all
books
had
to
give!
Sooner,
he
spurned
it.
Image
the
whole,
then
execute
the
parts—
Fancy
the
fabric
Quite,
ere
you
build,
ere
steel
strike
fire
from
quartz,
Ere
mortar
dab
brick!
(Here's
the
town-gate
reached:
there's
the
market-place
Gaping
before
us.)
Yea,
this
in
him
was
the
peculiar
grace
(Hearten
our
chorus!)
That
before
living
he'd
learn
how
to
live—
No
end
to
learning:
Earn
the
means
first—God
surely
will
contrive
Use
for
our
earning.
Others
mistrust
and
say,
"But
time
escapes:
Live
now
or
never!"
He
said,
"What's
time?
Leave
Now
for
dogs
and
apes!
Man
has
Forever."
Back
to
his
book
then:
deeper
drooped
his
head:
Calculus
racked
him:
Leaden
before,
his
eyes
grew
dross
of
lead:
Tussis
attacked
him.
"Now,
master,
take
a
little
rest!"—not
he!
(Caution
redoubled
Step
two
abreast,
the
way
winds
narrowly!)
Not
a
whit
troubled,
Back
to
his
studies,
fresher
than
at
first,
Fierce
as
a
dragon
He
(soul-hydroptic
with
a
sacred
thirst)
Sucked
at
the
flagon.
Oh,
if
we
draw
a
circle
premature,
Heedless
of
far
gain,
Greedy
for
quick
returns
of
profit,
sure
Bad
is
our
bargain!
Was
it
not
great?
did
not
he
throw
on
God,
(He
loves
the
burthen)—
God's
task
to
make
the
heavenly
period
Perfect
the
earthen?
Did
not
he
magnify
the
mind,
show
clear
Just
what
it
all
meant?
He
would
not
discount
life,
as
fools
do
here,
Paid
by
instalment.
He
ventured
neck
or
nothing—heaven's
success
Found,
or
earth's
failure:
"Wilt
thou
trust
death
or
not?"
He
answered
"Yes:
Hence
with
life's
pale
lure!"
That
low
man
seeks
a
little
thing
to
do,
Sees
it
and
does
it:
This
high
man,
with
a
great
thing
to
pursue,
Dies
ere
he
knows
it.
That
low
man
goes
on
adding
one
to
one,
His
hundred's
soon
hit:
This
high
man,
aiming
at
a
million,
Misses
an
unit.
That,
has
the
world
here—should
he
need
the
next,
Let
the
world
mind
him!
This,
throws
himself
on
God,
and
unperplexed
Seeking
shall
find
him.
So,
with
the
throttling
hands
of
death
at
strife,
Ground
he
at
grammar;
Still,
thro'
the
rattle,
parts
of
speech
were
rife:
While
he
could
stammer
He
settled
Hoti's
business—let
it
be!—
Properly
based
Oun—
Gave
us
the
doctrine
of
the
enclitic
De,
Dead
from
the
waist
down.
Well,
here's
the
platform,
here's
the
proper
place:
Hail
to
your
purlieus,
All
ye
highfliers
of
the
feathered
race,
Swallows
and
curlews!
Here's
the
top-peak;
the
multitude
below
Live,
for
they
can,
there:
This
man
decided
not
to
Live
but
Know—
Bury
this
man
there?
Here—here's
his
place,
where
meteors
shoot,
clouds
form,
Lightnings
are
loosened,
Stars
come
and
go!
Let
joy
break
with
the
storm,
Peace
let
the
dew
send!
Lofty
designs
must
close
in
like
effects:
Loftily
lying,
Leave
him—still
loftier
than
the
world
suspects,
Living
and
dying.
Robert Browning
Robert Browning (born May 7, 1812, London—died Dec. 12, 1889, Venice) major English poet of the Victorian age, noted for his mastery of dramatic monologue and psychological portraiture. His most noted work was The Ring and the Book (1868–69), the story of a Roman murder trial in 12 books. Through all the vicissitudes of critical reputation, however, Browning’s major contribution to the canon of children’s literature, “The Pied Piper of Hamelin,” has retained its popular audience. At the time of his death in 1889, he was one of the most popular poets in England.