'Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' They hunt old trails' said Cyril 'very well But when did woman ever yet invent?' 6 ; learnt • Ungracious!' answer'd Florian, 'have you Than if my brainpan were an empty hull, And every Muse tumbled a science in. A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, Shall those three castles patch my tatter'd coat? For dear are those three castles to my wants, And two dear things are one of double worth, The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants To break my chain, to shake my mane: but come, Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, Where they like swallows coming out of time Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell For dinner, let us go!' And in we stream'd Among the columns, pacing staid and still How might a man not wander from his wits Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own Among her grave Professors, scattering gems One walk'd reciting by herself, and one In this hand held a volume as to read, And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, Or under arches of the marble bridge Hung, shadow'd from the heat some hid and sought In the orange thickets: others tost a ball Above the fountain-jets, and back again Of gentle satire, kin to charity, That harm'd not so we sat; and now when day Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven A blessing on her labours for the world. III. MORN in the white wake of the morning star We rose, and each by other drest with care In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touch'd And while we stood beside the fount, and watch'd 6 Or sorrow, and glowing round her dewy eyes The circled Iris of a night of tears; And fly' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may ! 'My mother knows :' and we demanding 'how' 'My fault' she wept my fault! and yet not mine; Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. |