Chapter VII

Then was it Elbert’s friendship further’d me.
For finding me, and staring at my face,
And books, and cassock—when the puzzle pass’d,—
He, humbling to my humor, praised the priest
And all the powers of priesthood, till delight
Relax’d the rigor of my rôle; and then
He wedged the wisdom of his own desire
Within my dreams, and broke apart their spell,
And drew aside the curtains of their couch,
And spoke of dawn, and light for all the world.

“First learn about this world,” he urged, “and then
Learn how to help it. Minds like mine,” he said,
“Should teach, revise, reform, and start the thought
To counteract ill aim’d philosophy.
Here loom’d an end worth reaching! which to reach
’Twere well to cross the sea.—His purse was mine.
And go you as a student,” Elbert said,
“Nor clad so like a priest, for whom all earth
Will don some Sabbath-day demean; go free
To find the man, hard by his work, at home.”

Thus pleading many days, at last he won;
And, yielding to his wish, the sea I cross’d.