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MATTHEW ARNOLD

1822-1888

ARNOLD was the son of Dr. Thomas Arnold, the famous Head Master of Rugby. His early training was received at Winchester and at Rugby, and afterwards he went to Oxford, where he won a fellowship. Not very long after he left Oxford he was appointed inspector of schools by the government. His best energies were given to the duties of this position during a period of thirty years. These years of toil were a solid contribution to the workaday side of life. During this period his literary faculties, however, were far from idle. Besides his poetry he wrote many essays, which give him an exceedingly high place as a literary critic.

Arnold's literary work does not fill a very wide space. Two or three volumes will contain his chief essays, while his poetry may be put into a still smaller compass. Among his poems, the best known are Sohrab and Rustum, The Scholar-Gipsy, Rugby Chapel, and The Forsaken Merman. These poems do not place Arnold among the greatest poets of the century, but their earnestness, elevation, delicacy of feeling, grace, and pathos appeal strongly to readers of cultivated tastes.

THE FORSAKEN MERMAN

COME, dear children, let us away;
Down and away below!

Now my brothers call from the bay,
Now the great winds shoreward blow,
Now the salt tides seaward flow;
Now the wild white horses play,

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Champ and chafe and toss in the spray.

Children dear, let us away!

This way, this way!

Call her once before you go

Call once yet!

In a voice that she will know:

"Margaret! Margaret!"

Children's voices should be dear

(Call once more) to a mother's ear;
Children's voices, wild with pain
Surely she will come again!
Call her once and come away;

This way, this way!

"Mother dear, we cannot stay!

The wild white horses foam and fret."
Margaret! Margaret!

Come, dear children, come away down;
Call no more!

One last look at the white-wall'd town,

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And the little grey church on the windy shore;
Then come down!

She will not come though you call all day;

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Where the spent lights quiver and gleam,
Where the salt weed sways in the stream,

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Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round,
Feed in the ooze of their pasture-ground;
Where the sea-snakes coil and twine,
Dry their mail and bask in the brine;
Where great whales come sailing by,
Sail and sail, with unshut eye,
Round the world for ever and aye?
When did music come this way?
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, was it yesterday

(Call yet once) that she went away?

Once she sate with you and me,

On a red gold throne in the heart of the sea,

And the youngest sate on her knee.

She comb'd its bright hair, and she tended it well,

When down swung the sound of a far-off bell.

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She sigh'd, she look'd up through the clear green sea; 55 She said: "I must go, for my kinsfolk pray

In the little grey church on the shore to-day.
'T will be Easter-time in the world ah me!
And I lose my poor soul, Merman! here with thee."
I said: "Go up, dear heart, through the waves;
Say thy prayer, and come back to the kind sea-caves!"
She smiled, she went up through the surf in the bay.
Children dear, was it yesterday?

Children dear, were we long alone?

"The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan;
Long prayers," I said, "in the world they say;
Come!" I said; and we rose through the surf in the bay.
We went up the beach, by the sandy down.

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Where the sea-stocks bloom, to the white-wall'd town; Through the narrow paved streets, where all was still, 70

To the little grey church on the windy hill.

From the church came a murmur of folk at their prayers,
But we stood without in the cold blowing airs.

We climb'd on the graves, on the stones worn with rains,
And we gazed up the aisle through the small leaded
panes.

She sate by the pillar; we saw her clear:
"Margaret, hist! come quick, we are here!
Dear heart," I said, "we are long alone;
The sea grows stormy, the little ones moan."
But, ah, she gave me never a look,

For her eyes were seal'd to the holy book!
Loud prays the priest; shut stands the door.
Come away, children, call no more!

Come away, come down, call no more!

Down, down, down!

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Down to the depths of the sea!

She sits at her wheel in the humming town,

Singing most joyfully.

Hark what she sings: "O joy, O joy,

For the humming street, and the child with its toy!

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For the priest, and the bell, and the holy well;

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She steals to the window, and looks at the sand,

And over the sand at the sea;

And her eyes are set in a stare;
And anon there breaks a sigh,
And anon there drops a tear,

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From a sorrow-clouded eye,

And a heart sorrow-laden,

A long, long sigh;

For the cold strange eyes of a little Mermaiden
And the gleam of her golden hair.

Come away, away children;
Come children, come down !
The hoarse wind blows coldly;
Lights shine in the town.

She will start from her slumber
When gusts shake the door;
She will hear the winds howling,
Will hear the waves roar.
We shall see, while above us
The waves roar and whirl,

A ceiling of amber,

A pavement of pearl.

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