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 cropp'd 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-blanch'd green,

Come, shepherd, and again begin the quest!

 

Explanation

Arnold begins the poem in a pastoral mode by invoking an unnamed shepherd to go to the hills and release his sheep from their folds built of wattles (interwoven twigs). He exhorts him to feed his flocks to stop their hungry bleating. Later when the fields are covered in silence and men and dogs are resting from their labour, the shepherd can renew his search for the scholar gypsy who is believed to be still haunting the vicinity. The freeing of the sheep from their fold here is symbolic of liberation from any sort of binding. The quest of the shepherd for the scholar gypsy, at the behest of the poet, is unusual as it is not part of his rustic duties.  

 

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.

 

Explanation

   The poet then tells us how he will spend his time waiting all day long for the scholar gypsy to appear. He will sit in a shady corner of a field watching the reaper at his work. From there he can also hear the distant cries of other reapers and the bleating of the sheep from the uplands.

 

Screen'd is this nook o'er the high, half-reap'd field,

And here till sun-down, 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.

  

Explanation

The third stanza presents a beautiful rural scene with Oxford in the distance. The spot chosen by the poet, where he will wait till sunset, is situated in a shady bower where beautiful flowers screen him from the sun. The perfume of the flowers is scattered everywhere and their petals shower down on the grass where the poet is lying watching the towers of Oxford.

 

  

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 gipsy-lore,

And roam'd the world with that wild brotherhood,

And came, as most men deem'd, to little good,

But came to Oxford and his friends no more.

 

Explanation

Lying next to him on the grass is Glanvil’s book The Vanity of Dogmatizing which mentions the story of a poor Oxford scholar who had abandoned his academic life and friends to join a band of gypsies. He had roamed the world with this wild tribe and had never returned. The poet says he had very often read this story. In fact, Arnold has based his poem ‘The Scholar Gypsy’ on this story from Glanvil’s book.

 

 

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 answer'd, that the gipsy-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 learn'd, will to the world impart;

But it needs heaven-sent moments for this skill."

 

 

Explanation

Only once, during a chance meeting with two fellow-scholars in a street in Oxford, the Scholar had disclosed to them his plan to acquire the supernatural skill of the gypsies to control the minds of men. This he would then impart to the world, he said, but as yet he was waiting for a divine inspiration

 

 

This said, he left them, and return'd no more.—

But rumours hung about the country-side,

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 gipsies 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-frock'd boors

Had found him seated at their entering,

 

Explanation

After this chance encounter, the Scholar gypsy was never again seen in Oxford. Arnold imagines him as a shadowy figure who can even now be glimpsed in the Berkshire and Oxfordshire countryside. It is rumoured that once in a while, shepherds have caught a glimpse of him in his gypsy attire roaming on the Hurst during Spring, or, sometimes, rustics have seen him sitting at the entrance to the alehouse

 

 

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 pass'd their quiet place;

Or in my boat I lie

Moor'd 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.

 

Explanation

The scholar, however, had soon escaped from the clatter and noise of the alehouse and disappeared. The poet, who is now in quest of the scholar gypsy, asks the shepherds to find him and even enquires from boys, working in fields, if they have seen the scholar passing that way. Sometimes, lying in a boat moored near the river bank, he speculates if the scholar ever haunts the quiet spots amidst the lush green Cumner hills which are visible from the boat. ‘The Scholar-Gypsy’ is about a double quest−one of Arnold’s for the lost scholar and the other of the scholar for a divine message from God. Arnold is in search of the scholar gypsy because if the scholar is successful in his quest of achieving the divine inspiration –“the spark from Heaven- Arnold through this knowledge will get answers to the theological questions troubling the nineteenth century mind.

 

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 Bab-lock-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

Pluck'd in shy fields and distant Wychwood bowers,

And thine eyes resting on the moonlit stream.

 

 

Explanation

The poet is aware of the scholar’s liking for lonely places. Often during summer, ferry-riders at Oxford have seen him crossing the Thames in his boat, lost in thoughts, his fingers trailing the moonlit waters and his lap full of flowers picked from some far off lonely fields.

 

 

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-leaf'd, white anemony,

Dark bluebells drench'd with dews of summer eves,

And purple orchises with spotted leaves—

But none hath words she can report of thee.

 

Explanation

The ferry-riders lose sight of him when they land. It is rumoured that groups of young girls, coming into Fyfield from distant villages during summer to enjoy themselves, have also come across the scholar either roaming the fields at dusk or entering the gate to a public place. The girls declare they have often received gifts of beautiful flowers from him but cannot be sure of his whereabouts.

 

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-wing'd swallows haunt the glittering Thames,

To bathe in the abandon'd lasher pass,

Have often pass'd thee near

Sitting upon the river bank o'ergrown;

Mark'd thine outlandish garb, thy figure spare,

Thy dark vague eyes, and soft abstracted air—

But, when they came from bathing, thou wast gone!

 

 

Explanation

During the month of June, men going down to bathe in the river near Godstow Bridge after cutting the hay, have often seen the scholar sitting on the river bank in his strange gypsy, attire. But when they return after bathing, he is no longer seen there.

 

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 pasture and the feeding kine;

And mark'd thee, when the stars come out and shine,

Through the long dewy grass move slow away.

 

 

Explanation

Sometimes he is seen near some isolated farmhouse on the Cumner Hills, and, at others, near barn gates watching the threshers at work. Children, frequenting the hill slopes from early mornings till late evenings have also seen him near pastures watching the grazing cows and then disappearing slowly amongst the tall grasses under the stars.

 

 

In autumn, on the skirts of Bagley Wood—

Where most the gipsies by the turf-edged way

Pitch their smoked tents, and every bush you see

With scarlet patches tagg'd 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 wither'd spray,

And waiting for the spark from heaven to fall.

 

Explanation

   During Autumn, on the outskirts of Bagley wood where the gypsies have pitched their tents, he often walks past a black bird that sits fearlessly eating its food and watching him twirling a dry bunch of flowers in his hand as if waiting for some divine fire to descend from the heavens to ignite it.

 

And once, in winter, on the causeway chill

Where home through flooded fields foot-travellers go,

Have I not pass'd thee on the wooden bridge,

Wrapt in thy cloak and battling with the snow,

Thy face tow'rd Hinksey and its wintry ridge?

And thou has climb'd the hill,

And gain'd the white brow of the Cumner range;

Turn'd once to watch, while thick the snowflakes fall,

The line of festal light in Christ-Church hall—

Then sought thy straw in some sequester'd grange.

 

 

Explanation

   Arnold claims to have once seen the scholar himself on a wooden bridge during winter. Cloaked against the thick falling snow, he saw him moving towards Hinksey ridge, climb the Cumner ranges, looking back once at the lit-up Christ Church and then disappear from sight perhaps to rest in some lonely barn.

 

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 wander'd from the studious walls

To learn strange arts, and join a gipsy-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.

 

Explanation

   However, the poet brushes off the thought of his having glimpsed the Scholar as a mere dream because the scholar-gypsy has been dead for the past two hundred years now since the time he had left Oxford and joined the gypsies, as mentioned in Glanvil’s book. He is perhaps lying buried somewhere in a grave overgrow with tall grasses under a yew tree.

 

 

—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.

 

 

Explanation

   Immediately, the poet rules out the thought of the scholar gypsy having died because to his mind all the changes, hardships and repeated shocks of life that wear out the powers and energies of mortal men, have not been suffered by the scholar. He is a genius who is not dead but taking a justly deserved pause in his quest.

 

 

Thou hast not lived, why should'st thou perish, so?

Thou hadst one aim, one business, one desire;

Else wert thou long since number'd 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.

  

Explanation

Arnold is firmly of the opinion that if the scholar gypsy did not lead the life of the ordinary mortals, he cannot have died like them. What has kept him going is his one aim, one desire, one mission in life− that is his quest for “the spark from Heaven to fall” or some theological piece of knowledge to be revealed to him by God. This hope to achieve his goal is what has made him immortal and kept him alive and ageless in Glanvil’s book forever, while generations of men have come and gone without leaving a mark behind.

 

 

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.

 

 Explanation

The poet juxtaposes the peaceful time in which the scholar gypsy lived and the problems of his own times (the 19th century). Life then was simple but now the minds of the people are distracted by too many worldly things. They strive but are unclear about what they want from life. They are assailed by doubts and confusions that force them to lead a fractured existence. They too are waiting to find some solution, some meaning to their lives but without hope of finding any, unlike the scholar gypsy.

 

 

Thou waitest for the spark from heaven! and we,

Light half-believers of our casual creeds,

Who never deeply felt, nor clearly will'd,

Whose insight never has borne fruit in deeds,

Whose vague resolves never have been fulfill'd;

For whom each year we see

Breeds new beginnings, disappointments new;

Who hesitate and falter life away,

And lose to-morrow the ground won to-day—

Ah! do not we, wanderer! await it too?

 

 Explanation

While the scholar is waiting hopefully for a divine revelation, the people of the poet’s time appear like half-believers who have only casual faith in their own creeds. They neither have the insight nor the resolve to achieve their religious aspirations and falter very often in their beliefs. Nevertheless, Arnold feels even these half-believers are waiting for a “spark from Heaven”.

 

 

Yes, we await it!—but it still delays,

And then we suffer! and amongst us one,

Who most has suffer'd, 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.

 

  Explanation

The wait for divine inspiration is endless for most people and they suffer due to the delay. One amongst them (the scholar-gypsy) had suffered the most, initially when as a poor student he had joined the seat of learning at Oxford where he was miserable and had lost all hope. But, finally, when he had the wisdom to quit his intellectual pursuits and move out into open countryside in quest of his real goal, his hope revived and he was able to regain his peace of mind.

 

 

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-lipp'd 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 country-side, a truant boy,

Nursing thy project in unclouded joy,

And every doubt long blown by time away.

 

Explanation

This could happen to only the wisest of men, like the scholar. People caught in the complexities of modern life can only wait in vain for their dream to materialise till their patience turns to despair and they give up hope of ever achieving the “spark from Heaven”. Contrary to this, the scholar wanders freely through the countryside like a truant boy, nursing his goal with pure joy in his heart and the sense in his mind of achieving it.

 

 

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'ertax'd, 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!

  

Explanation

In Arnold’s opinion, the scholar-gypsy has been able to sustain his hope till now, because he has lived during simpler and innocent times, before the modern life came “with its sick hurry, its divided aims……”. Therefore, to sustain it further, he should escape the diseased modern In Arnold’s opinion, the scholar-gypsy has been able to sustain his hope till now, because he has lived during simpler and innocent times, before the modern life came “with its sick hurry, its divided aims……”. Therefore, to sustain it further, he should escape the diseased modern.

  

Still nursing the unconquerable hope,

Still clutching the inviolable shade,

With a free, onward impulse brushing through,

By night, the silver'd 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 tingles, to the nightingales!

 

Explanation

The poets advises the scholar to always nurse his hope in solitude. He should spend the day in the shade of untresspassed forests and the night walking through glades and forest fringes, where no one follows him, till he emerges on a suitable spot on the hill slope. There he should rest among flowers and listen to the sound of the nightingale. 

  

But fly our paths, our feverish contact fly!

For strong the infection of our 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 unfix'd thy powers,

And 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.

 

 Explanation

He further implores him to stay away from all such people who suffer from the mental anguish and strife of modern life otherwise his life too would be infected by it and lose its charm for him. He would then be easily distracted, become fickle in his aim, lose his evergreen youth to old age and die the death of ordinary men.

  

Then fly our greetings, fly our speech and smiles!

—As some grave Tyrian trader, from the sea,

Descried at sunrise an emerging prow

Lifting the cool-hair'd creepers stealthily,

The fringes of a southward-facing brow

Among the Ægæan Isles;

And saw the merry Grecian coaster come,

Freighted with amber grapes, and Chian wine,

Green, bursting figs, and tunnies steep'd in brine—

And knew the intruders on his ancient home,

 

 Explanation

Arnold, therefore, begs the scholar to escape from the “sick hurry” and “divided aims” of the modern times to the peace and quiet of the countryside, away from any sort of human contact. He uses a simile to augment his request to the Scholar gypsy. A Tyrian merchant once saw from his ship at sea, a Greek ship laden with exotic merchandise heading towards Tyre. He knew he would have competition from these intruders in his own native country.

  

The young light-hearted masters of the waves—

And snatch'd 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.

Explanation

Arnold, therefore, begs the scholar to escape from the “sick hurry” and “divided aims” of the modern times to the peace and quiet of the countryside, away from any sort of human contact. He uses a simile to augment his request to the Scholar gypsy. A Tyrian merchant once saw from his ship at sea, a Greek ship laden with exotic merchandise heading towards Tyre. He knew he would have competition from these intruders in his own native country.