The Princess | Page 4

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 joined
them: then the maiden Aunt
Took this fair day for text, and from it
preached
An universal culture for the crowd,
And all things great;
but we, unworthier, told
Of college: he had climbed across the spikes,

And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars,
And he had
breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one
Discussed his tutor, rough to
common men,
But honeying at the whisper of a lord;
And one the
Master, as a rogue in grain
Veneered with sanctimonious theory.
But while they talked, above their heads I saw
The feudal warrior
lady-clad; which brought
My book to mind: and opening this I read

Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang
With tilt and tourney; then
the tale of her
That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls,

And much I praised her nobleness, and 'Where,'

Asked Walter,
patting Lilia's head (she lay
Beside him) 'lives there such a woman
now?'
Quick answered 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 might poetess, I would shame you then,

That love to keep us children! O I 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 played 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,
If there were many
Lilias in the brood,
However deep you might embower the nest,

Some boy would spy it.'
At this upon the sward
She tapt her tiny silken-sandaled 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 laughed;
A rosebud set with
little wilful thorns,
And sweet as English air could make her, she:

But Walter hailed a score of names upon her,
And 'petty Ogress', and
'ungrateful Puss',
And swore he longed at college, only longed,
All
else was well, for she-society.
They boated and they cricketed; they
talked
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 missed the
mignonette of Vivian-place,
The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he
spoke,
Part banter, part affection.
'True,' she said,
'We doubt not that. O yes, you missed us much.
I'll
stake my ruby ring upon it you did.'

She held it out; and as a parrot turns
Up through gilt wires a crafty
loving eye,
And takes a lady's finger with all care,
And bites it for
true heart and not for harm,
So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shrieked

And wrung it. 'Doubt my word again!' he said.
'Come, listen! here
is proof that you were missed:
We seven stayed at Christmas up to
read;
And there we took one tutor as to read:
The hard-grained
Muses of the cube and square
Were out of season: never man, I think,

So mouldered in a sinecure as he:
For while our cloisters echoed
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--
As many little
trifling Lilias--played
Charades and riddles as at Christmas here,

And ~what's my thought~ and ~when~ and ~where~ and ~how~,
As
here at Christmas.'
She remembered 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 wondered, by themselves?
A half-disdain
Perched on the pouted blossom of her lips:
And
Walter nodded at me; '~He~ began,
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 warped his mouth at this

To something so mock-solemn, that I
laughed
And Lilia woke with sudden-thrilling mirth
An echo like a
ghostly woodpecker,
Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt
(A little
sense of wrong had touched her face
With colour) turned to me with

'As you will;
Heroic if you will, or what you will,
Or be yourself
you hero if you will.'
'Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamoured he,
'And make