My book to mind: and opening this I read With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her 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 our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, However deep you might embower the nest, 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: 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, And caught the blossom of the flying terms, But miss'd the mignonette of Vivian-place, Part banter, part affection. '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 And bites it for true heart and not for harm, 'Doubt my word again!' he said. 'Come, listen! here is proof that you were miss'd: 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, In wassail; often, like as many girls- As many little trifling Lilias-play'd 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, A half-disdain Perch'd on the pouted blossom of her lips: The rest would follow, each in turn; and so We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what kind? Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms, Seven-headed monsters only made to kill Time by the fire in winter.' 'Kill him now, The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,' Said Lilia; 'Why not now?' the maiden Aunt. 'Why not a summer's as a winter's tale? A tale for summer as befits the time, And something it should be to suit the place, Heroic, for a hero lies beneath, Grave, solemn!' Walter warp'd his mouth at this To something so mock-solemn, that I laugh'd Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt (A little sense of wrong had touch'd her face 'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamour'd he, 'And make her some great Princess, six feet high, Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you The Prince to win her!' "Then follow me, the Prince,' I answer'd, 'each be hero in his turn! Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.- But something made to suit with Time and place, A talk of college and of ladies' rights, A feudal knight in silken masquerade, And, yonder, shrieks and strange experiments For which the good Sir Ralph had burnt them all— This were a medley! we should have him back Who told the "Winter's tale" to do it for us. No matter we will say whatever comes. And let the ladies sing us, if they will, From time to time, some ballad or a song So I began, And the rest follow'd: and the women sang |