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Alone! I am left alone once more-- (Save for the garment's extreme fold Abandoned still to bless my hold) Alone, beside the entrance-door Of a sort of temple--perhaps a college, --Like nothing I ever saw before At home in England, to my knowledge. The tall old quaint irregular town! It may be ... though which, I can't affirm ... any Of the famous middle-age towns of Germany; And this flight of stairs where I sit down, Is it Halle, Weimar, Cassel, Frankfort, Or Göttingen, I have to thank for 't? It may be Göttingen,--most likely. Through the open door I catch obliquely Glimpses of a lecture-hall; And not a bad assembly neither, Ranged decent and symmetrical On benches, waiting what 's to see there; Which, holding still by the vesture's hem, I also resolve to see with them, Cautious this time how I suffer to slip The chance of joining in fellowship With any that call themselves his friends; As these folks do, I have a notion. But hist--a buzzing and emotion! All settle themselves, the while ascends By the creaking rail to the lecture-desk, Step by step, deliberate Because of his cranium's over-freight, Three parts sublime to one grotesque, If I have proved an accurate guesser, The hawk-nosed, high-cheekboned Professor. I felt at once as if there ran A shoot of love from my heart to the man-- That sallow virgin-minded studious Martyr to mild enthusiasm, As he uttered a kind of cough-preludious That woke my sympathetic spasm, (Beside some spitting that made me sorry) And stood, surveying his auditory With a wan pure look, wellnigh celestial,-- Those blue eyes had survived so much! While, under the foot they could not smutch, Lay all the fleshly and the bestial. Over he bowed, and arranged his notes, Till the auditory's clearing of throats Was done with, died into a silence; And, when each glance was upward sent, Each bearded mouth composed intent, And a pin might be heard drop half a mile hence,-- He pushed back higher his spectacles, Let the eyes stream out like lamps from cells. And giving his head of hair--a hake Of undressed tow, for color and quantity-- One rapid and impatient shake, (As our own young England adjusts a jaunty tie When about to impart, on mature digestion, Some thrilling view of the surplice-question) --The Professor's grave voice, sweet though hoarse, Broke into his Christmas-Eve discourse.