And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, Half child half woman as she was, had wound A scarf of orange round the stony helm, And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt And all things great; but we, unworthier, told Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory. But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad; which brought My book to mind: and opening this I read Quick answer'd Lilia "There are thousands now Such women, but convention beats them down: It is but bringing up; no more than that: You men have done it: how I hate you all! Ah, were I something great! I wish I were Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then, That love to keep us children! OI wish That I were some great princess, I would build Far off from men a college like a man's, And I would teach them all that men are taught; We are twice as quick!" And here she shook aside The hand that play'd the patron with her curls. And one said smiling "Pretty were the sight If there were many Lilias in the brood, Some boy would spy it." At this upon the sward She tapt her tiny silken-sandal'd foot: "That's your light way; but I would make it death For any male thing but to peep at us." Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laugh'd; A rosebud set with little wilful thorns, And sweet as English air could make her, she: But Walter hail'd a score of names upon her, And "petty Ogress," and "ungrateful Puss," And swore he long'd at college, only long'd, All else was well, for she-society. They boated and they cricketed; they talk'd At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics; They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans; They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends, "True," she said, "We doubt not that. O yes, you miss'd us much. I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did." She held it out; and as a parrot turns Up thro' gilt wires a crafty loving eye, And takes a lady's finger with all care, We seven stay'd at Christmas up to read; And there we took one tutor as to read: The hard-grain'd Muses of the cube and square Were out of season: never man, I think, So moulder'd in a sinecure as he: For while our cloisters echo'd frosty feet, And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms, We did but talk you over, pledge you all In wassail; often, like as many girls Sick for the hollies and the yews of home- Charades and riddles as at Christmas here, And what's my thought and when and where and how, And often told a tale from mouth to mouth As here at Christmas." She remember'd that : A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it more Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest. But these what kind of tales did men tell men, She wonder'd, by themselves? A half-disdain Perch'd on the pouted blossom of her lips: We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? |