III
Strangely his life began,
Rough-cradled in the savage wood.
Haply our foolish softness grieves
O’er much that he found good,
The hut of logs, the bed of leaves.
By the faint candle, or the winter’s fire,
He groped to his desire,
The long, lean, sallow, knowledge-hungry lad,
Deerskin or homespun clad.
Slow-stumbling upward, in good time he grew
To that just man his little city knew,
His plain, persuasive speech
Shaped by an instinct none could ever teach,
Savouring of honest earth, and sharp with wilding jest.
Then came his country’s call.
Humble and hesitant, in doubt and dread,
And stooping that tall head
Black-ruffled like the eagle’s crest,
He passed up to the highest place of all.