He could have done anything he liked.
He was a man born with thy face and throat,
Lyric Apollo!
He might have been an athlete, a social leader, a man of pleasure.
He chose Greek Grammar. In the pursuit of this prize, he squandered
his time and youth and health as recklessly as men squander these
treasures on wine and women. When a young man throws away his youth
and health in gambling, drink, and debauchery, the world expresses
no surprise; he is known as a "splendid fellow," and is often much
admired. But when a man spends all his gifts in scholarship,
scientific discovery, or altruistic aims, he is regarded as an
eccentric, lacking both blood and judgment.
I say that Browning has given his Grammarian not only courage and
heroism, but the reckless, dashing, magnificent bravery of a cavalry
leader. In the march for learning, this man lost his youth and health,
and acquired painful diseases. Finally he comes to the end. When an
officer in battle falls, and his friends bend over him to catch his
last breath, he does not say, "I commend my soul to God," or
"Give my love to my wife,"--he says, "_Did we win_?" and we applaud
this passion in the last agony.
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