My honour, these their lives.' 'Ah, fear me not' No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' 'Be it so' the other that we still may lead (Tho' madam you should answer, we would ask) Less welcome find among us, if you came Among us, debtors for our lives to you, Myself for something more.' He said not what, But 'Thanks,' she answer'd 'go: we have been too long Together: keep your hoods about the face; They do so that affect abstraction here. Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold Your promise: all, I trust, may yet be well.' We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child, And held her round the knees against his waist, While Psyche watch'd them, smiling, and the child And then we stroll'd For half the day thro' stately theatres Bench'd crescent-wise. In each we sat, we heard The grave Professor. On the lecture slate The circle rounded under female hands With flawless demonstration: follow'd then A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long The morals, something of the frame, the rock, The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, And whatsoever can be taught and known; Till like three horses that have broken fence, And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke : '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 ? ' 'Ungracious!' answer'd Florian, have you learnt A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, And round these halls a thousand baby loves E Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I I know the substance when I see it. Well, Shall those three castles patch my tatter'd coat? And two dear things are one of double worth, And much I might have said, but that my zone Unmann'd me: then the Doctors! O to hear The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; Where they like swallows coming out of time And in we stream'd Among the columns, pacing staid and still Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own |