And left his life, as ’twere his harvest-field,
When work was over. Gilbert hugged the farm,
Now made his own, besides a pretty sum
In good State Sixes; partly worked the land,
With separate theories for every field,
And partly led the student-life of old,
Mouthing his Shakespeare’s ballads to himself
Among the meadow-mows; or, when he read
In the evening, found a picture of his bull,
Just brought from Devon, sleek as silk, loom in